Page 28 of Under Pressure

“I’m just showing her the ropes,” Tyler calls out.

“Holler if you need it,” the guy says, turning around and heading back into his office.

“That’s it?” I whisper. “I don’t need to sign paperwork or pay money or anything?”

“Marty only cares if you’re actually training. And I’ve been coming here long enough for him to trust me.”

Tyler goes to grab some equipment and I wander over to a wall plastered with newspaper clippings of boxing tournaments, some yellowed with age dating back to the nineties. It seems like they’re all local. One of the oldest articles shows a guy in his twenties with his arms raised in victory. The caption names him as Martin Farrell. “Is this him?” I ask as Tyler returns with an armful of stuff.

“Yeah,” he says, indicating for me to give him my hand. I place it in his, shivering slightly at his touch. He wraps it in a long strip of stretchy cloth as he continues, “He was big on the boxing scene in his twenties, then became a coach when he got too old. Opened this gym about ten years ago.”

“So he’s like the real deal?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, wrapping up my other hand, his fingers somehow warm despite the frigid temperatures outside.

I flex the fingers of my finished hand. “Will this keep it from breaking?”

“Not necessarily.”

“What?” I look up sharply to find him smirking.

“It provides support. Secures all your joints and bones and distributes the shock across your whole hand. The gloves will cushion it too. But you still have to be careful. Don’t think just because you have it on that you can’t hurt yourself.”

I nod at his seriousness as he hands me a pair of boxing gloves next.

“We’ll start with some punching mitts. Just hit my hands.” He slips protective mitts over his hands and I happily punch them, imagining Matthew’s face… and Kelsey’s. Oh, and my Classical Mythology professor too. I’m already not a fan of his.

The silence between us is comfortable, but there’s still an unspoken tension lingering.

“Are we going to talk about what happened the other night?” I ask, unable to bear it any longer.

He glances up at me, at first serious, then smirks. “You mean why you’re Amelia Bedelia?”

I huff out a laugh unwillingly. “You’re still on that?”

“I looked it up. She’s like a maid from these kids’ books? I don’t get it.”

“How about if I answer that, you answer my actual question?”

“You already said you’d tell me. Now you’re adding stipulations?”

“That’s the deal.” I shrug, jabbing his hand with extra force.

His eyes gleam with approval at my punch and he takes a second to shake out his hand. “Okay, why?”

“My name is actually Amelia. But when I was younger, kids would always make these stupid jokes about Amelia Earhart or Amelia Bedelia. They weren’t even good jokes, but you know how kids are.” He nods like he understands. What did other children ever say about him growing up? “So I started going by Mia. But Kelsey still thinks it’s funny to call me it when she’s drunk. Especially because I cook and clean at our place.”

“Why’d you ever even tell her about the Amelia Bedelia thing? And why are you friends with her? I’ve met her twice and she’s been jerky to you both times.”

I pause, the muscles in my arms on fire. “We’ve known each other since birth. Literally. Our moms met each other during some birthing class when they were both pregnant and became friends. We’ve just always been together.”

“If you were to meet her right now, would you be friends with her?”

I bite my lip. “She’s fine. I’m used to it.”

He makes ahmmnoise in the back of his throat that has me wanting to explain myself further.

“She lets me borrow her clothes. And she does my hair sometimes…” I trail off, realizing how lame I sound.

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