Page 11 of Property of Camo

“You have all been doing so well. You all listen, even the younger ones; I am so proud of you. Have a water break, then we can move onto some stamina training.” They all run to have a water break.

Some go to their parents, but the older ones just go to their backpacks, as they were dropped off.

I notice a boy hanging back, so I step closer to see if he is okay. He gingerly lifts his arm, sipping from the water bottle in his hand. My blood spikes in anger when I see fingermark bruises on his wrists, and a fading bruise on his jawline.

He sees me watching and quickly pulls the sleeve of his shirt down to cover up.

“Hi, I’m Skyla, what is your name?”

“Aston.”

“Hi, Aston. Are you in this class, or are you waiting for the next one?” I only train one hour with the juniors, so we do not work their still growing bodies too much.

His eyes dart around, looking at the kids, before coming back to me, then the exit. I sense his unease, so I step in to reassure him.

“Hey, you are okay right where you are. Do you want to join in?”

He shakes his head. “I do not have any money.” His voice is low, as his eyes still dart around the room.

“That is okay. You do not need to pay me anything, just join in. Everyone has the right to defend themselves.” As I say those words, his body stiffens.

“I am strong. I can fight back.”

I nod to his wrist and jaw. “I can see that.”

His eyes widen and he turns to leave but I stop him gently.

“Aston, you can stay. I am sorry if I upset you. Please stay and learn some moves, please.” I lower my voice, softening it for him.

The one thing I hate most in the world is kids getting hurt. Not being able to defend themselves against the people who should be protecting them, but who hurt them instead, to make themselves feel bigger and better.

“I can pay,” he whispers.

“Okay. How much money do you have?” I ask, knowing that I will never take a dime from this kid.

He shrugs, dipping into his old, faded pants and pulls out some coins.

“Okay,” I say, ignoring the fact that he barely has a few dollars. “I will make a deal with you. How old are you?”

He nods and answers, “Eleven.”

“Good. You help me clean up after school, and you can train for free. You get free lessons, when you can get here, also freefruit and juices from the staff room.” I hold my hand out to him, and he tentatively takes it.

“Okay.”

“One more condition.” He stiffens again and I sigh, hating that this boy is suffering something that no child should.

“No one here will hurt you. My best friends, Eva, Clark, and Rocky are here to protect you, you hear me?” He nods. “Tell me who did this?”

He hesitates, once again his gaze darting around.

“Sit. I will be right back,” I tell him.

He sits on one of the black chairs we have, and I walk in the direction of Clark, who is talking to a mom who brought her daughter to the gym for help with bullies in school.

“Sorry, can I borrow him for a second?” She nods, and Clark steps to me.

We walk a few feet away, his gaze shifting to Aston.

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