Page 60 of In Her Own Rite

“No one’s looking at you,” Maren says gently. “Everyone’s just here to work on themselves.”

“You’reall looking at me,” I say, wiping the sweat from my face.

“Okay, fair. But we’re here to help.”

I nod, but I feel the sting of humiliation behind my eyes.

Seb brings me through the rest of the gym, testing how much weight I can handle on the different machines. Finally, he takes me back to the mat and tests my push-ups (four), and sit-ups (six). He releases the pressure from my feet and I fall back, catching my breath.

“Very good. Drink some water and then we’ll get started.”

“Get started,” I grumble. This fitness test was more of a workout than anything I’ve done in years.

“I didn’t say it would be easy, Em,” he says to me, standing. “You don’thaveto do this.”

Yes, I do, I think, and get up to grab my water bottle.

The lesson doesn’t go well.Seb teaches me some boxing basics: the fighting stance, how to hold your hands to your face for sparring, how to land a punch without hurting yourself.

“We’re not doing FMA today?” I ask. I’ve watched kids take lessons outside the common house after school, and I’ve always been curious.

Seb shakes his head. “Real FMA training takes months before you start combat, and we don’t have that kind of time. We’ll introduce some FMA concepts later, but for now you need to get used to the rhythm of combat and learn how to take a punch. For that, boxing is less complicated.”

We practice a few punches in slow motion, then he has me strap into some absolutely foul-smelling boxing gloves to spar with Quinn. Maren goes across the street to do some work for the salt scrub launch, and Quinn and I climb up into the boxing ring to practice.

“Fighting stance,” Seb calls out. “Good. Em, don’t lock your knees, light on your feet. Yes, better. Tuck your tailbone under, strong core. Nope, too much. Yes, better. Keep your elbows in. Good.”

It’s a barrage of information, but I try to keep up, mirroring Quinn’s body language.

“Okay, let’s just throw some practice punches. Same combination I just taught you. Em, you first.”

I move my hand slowly towards her like he taught me, and Quinn blocks.

“Okay, good,” Seb calls out. “Em, undercut.”

I do as told and she blocks again.

“Okay, great job. Quinn, now you.”

Quinn throws a mock punch, and I deflect with my left arm. Then, without Seb’s command, she undercuts, too, but my arm comes down too late. Her glove lands against my stomach. I let out anoomphas it hits.

“Sorry,” she says. “I thought—”

“No, it’s okay. It’s what he taught us.” It doesn’t hit too hard, but the second her fist lands on my body, I feel a shot of adrenaline surge through me. Instantly I’m a little edgier, a little more reactive.

This is just practice, I think to myself.You’re fine.Calm down.

“Okay, very good,” Seb calls out. “Keep going, just go at your own pace. Em, you keep dropping your hands after you land a punch. Keep them up, protecting your face. And don’t forget to tuck your elbows in, you’re too wide.”

I nod and bring my hands inwards, but I feel tense, frustrated at the amount of things I’m supposed to remember. Quinn guides me through a few of the combinations Seb taught, and when I’m landing punches on her, everything is going well. But the second it’s my turn to block, I feel the panic rising in me again. She keeps having to remind me to fix my footwork, to keep my hands close to my face. Each time I do, it’s too much information, and the waterfall of course-corrections and punches I don’t quite block is getting me worked up. Finally, she accidentally lands a blow on my shoulder, and part of her glove hits my jaw. I stagger back, gasping, and the adrenaline in me is running so high that I feel tears starting to sting my eyes.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Em,” Quinn says, stripping off her gloves. “Hey. We can take a break.”

“No—I’m, fine,” I say, but I’m not fine, and she can see it.

This is so stupid,I tell myself.You’re in a gym. You signed up to do this. You’re safe.But no matter what I tell myself, the shock of the hit and the resulting adrenaline only seems to surge higher, and I can’t push them away. Tears spill out over my cheeks, and I turn from her.

“Agaayu, I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” I mutter, using my teeth to tear one of the gloves off and bringing my hand to my face to wipe the tears.

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