The cops exchanged glances. “Well, that part of their story checks out. We got a call that there was a fight in this parking lot so we came over here and saw what looked like an altercation between these two gentlemen. But they claimed they were just sparring.”
Jansen raised his eyebrows. “Well, I don’t train my fighters to spar on concrete, so if it’s true, they might be the two dumbest fucks I ever trained.”
The cops laughed. “This guy got banged up a little,” one said, gesturing to me.
Jansen frowned. “Yup. He’s an idiot all right.”
A few minutes later, after Coach Jansen somehow convinced the police we were just fools, the cops left, giving us all a stern warning not to fight or spar outside of the gym again or we would be arrested and Coach Jansen might be fined.
When they were gone, Coach unlocked the door to the gym and started to walk inside. Uriah and I followed him, but he turned around at the last moment. “Where do you two think you’re going?” he said, and his voice was cold.
“We want to train,” Uriah replied.
Jansen laughed. “I don’t train thugs,” he said. “You see, this gym here is for real MMA athletes. And I don’t see two athletes in front of me, I see two street punks. Now get the hell out of my gym.”
At first, I thought he was just giving us a hard time, trying to scare us. But then I realized he was serious. And a moment later, he’d slammed the door to the gym in our faces.
Uriah looked at me balefully. “First time I’ve ever been kicked out of a gym in my life. This is just another day for you.”
“Whatever. Go fuck yourself,” I told him, and walked off.
I went inside a Panera Bread and grabbed a bunch of napkins, putting pressure on my cut. The bleeding wasn’t terrible, but clearly I’d taken a setback on healing. Beyond that, I wasn’t sure if Coach Jansen would ever let me back in the gym, and that could mean much bigger problems long term.
As the bleeding slowed, I had time to think more about what Uriah had told me. I started picturing Lindsay and some guy at a swanky bar, kissing, touching each other. It made my stomach sick and I closed my eyes, trying to tell myself it was nothing. Uriah was lying, trying to piss me off. That was it.
But then, after a few minutes, I started to wonder about Lindsay. Maybe I was putting all of this innocent stuff on her, imagining that she was pure and perfect when nothing could have been further from the truth. Maybe I needed to find out for sure who Lindsay really was and if there was anything between us at all.
LINDSAY
I woke up the next morning feeling fresh and wide-awake, which was surprising after the drama of the night before. Of course, it could have had something to do with the fact that I’d slept until eleven. I looked to the other side of the room -- Rachel’s bed was made, and she was nowhere to be found.
She must have left this morning, and I was sleeping so soundly that I hadn’t noticed. There was a note on my door from Adam, letting me know that he’d stopped by.
He left his number and asked me to call him and let him know I was okay.
I sent him a quick text, telling him I was fine, and that I hadn’t been feeling well last night, but that I was better this morning. He wrote me back, saying he was glad I felt better and asking if I wanted to grab lunch, but I told him I had a lot of work to do and would have to take a rain check.
It wasn’t a lie. I had two afternoon classes, and then I needed to barricade myself in my room and work on my essay for Dr. Klaxton.
And that’s just what I did.
I went to my classes, grabbed lunch from the dining hall and brought it back to my room.
And then I got into a zone.
I wrote and rewrote my essay, going over and over every word, every sentence, every argument. I wrote about how it wasn’t the exact knowledge of organic chemistry that was important, but that the mere activity of learning something challenging increased our confidence, making us want to learn more.
When Rachel came in at around six, I could tell she wanted to ask me how I was doing. After I broke down to her last night, I’m sure she was curious.
But instead, she just nodded her head at me and opened her own books.
We were like two studying fiends.
At around seven, after a quick trip to the dining hall for some carb-loading in the form of pasta and breadsticks, I was back in my room, a fresh mug of coffee in front of me.
I reread my essay.
It was good.
I knew that.
But I didn’t know if it was good enough. Was everyone else going to write about how the mere act of learning something was good for you? What I’d thought was so original now seemed trite. This was Cambridge. I needed to bring my A game.
I frowned and thought about it.
I still had time to write another essay.
If I could come up with a different stance, I’d have this one, plus the new one. I could decide which one to use tomorrow, before my class started at ten.
I pulled up a new blank document and took a sip of my coffee.
There was a knock on my door, and I jumped.
So did Rachel.
“Jesus,” I said. “That scared me.”
I went to the door, expecting it to be Adam.