Fighting For More

She Entered the Ring Alone. Then She Met the Boy Who Refused to Let Her Give Up. CHAPTER ONE The Girl in the Ring The sound of leather hitting a punching bag echoed through the small boxing gym. Sandra Williams threw another jab, followed by a right cross. Her movements were quick, but her breathing had become uneven. Sweat rolled down her forehead, and her black T-shirt clung to her back. "Keep your hands up, Sandra!" Coach Michael called from across the gym. She adjusted her guard and continued. Jab. Cross. Hook. The punching bag swung backward. Sandra stepped forward, throwing another combination before the bag returned. She was determined to get everything right this time. Unfortunately, determination had never been her problem. Sandra had plenty of it. What she lacked was patience. At fifteenth, she had been boxing for almost three years. She loved everything about the sport: the sound of the bell, the discipline, the atmosphere before a match, and the feeling of stepping into the ring knowing that her performance depended on her preparation, now she's 18. But there was one thing she hated more than anything. Losing. Especially to Kiara Bennett. Kiara was another young boxer at the gym. She was disciplined, fast, and frustratingly good at remaining calm under pressure. She had defeated Sandra in their last two competitions, and neither defeat had been easy to forget. The first time, Sandra had lost on points. The second time, she had become so frustrated that she abandoned her strategy and gave Kiara exactly the kind of fight she wanted. Since then, Sandra had promised herself that the next match would be different. Her next opportunity was only two weeks away. She couldn't afford another defeat. "That's enough for today," Coach Michael announced. Sandra ignored him and threw another punch. "Sandra." One more. "Sandra Williams!" She finally stopped. "What?" Coach Michael shook his head. "You want to become a better boxer, or you want to destroy that bag?" A few people nearby laughed. Sandra removed her gloves and wiped her face with a towel. "I'm trying to improve." "Then learn when to stop. Training while you're exhausted isn't always going to help you." She didn't answer. Coach Michael had been saying things like that for months. Sandra knew he was trying to help, but sometimes his advice felt like another reminder that she wasn't as good as she wanted to be. She collected her water bottle and walked toward the benches. That was when she noticed the boy sitting near the entrance. He wore a plain black T-shirt, dark training shorts, and a pair of white sneakers. His gym bag rested beside him, and his hands were wrapped neatly in white boxing tape. He appeared to be watching the training session. More specifically, he appeared to be watching her. Sandra frowned. She had never seen him before. When their eyes met, he didn't immediately look away. Instead, he nodded toward the punching bag. "You drop your left hand after throwing the right cross." Sandra stared at him. "Excuse me?" "Your left hand. It drops after your cross. Someone with good timing could take advantage of that." She looked him up and down. "Have you been watching me?" "For the last fifteen minutes." "And you decided to become my coach?" "No." He shrugged. "I just thought you should know." Sandra let out a short laugh. "Well, thanks for your professional opinion." "You're welcome." He returned his attention to his phone. That annoyed her more than it should have. Most people either tried to impress Sandra or avoided correcting her because they knew how seriously she took boxing. This stranger had pointed out a mistake, accepted her attitude, and gone back to whatever he had been doing. She wasn't sure whether she found him irritating or interesting. Probably irritating. Definitely irritating. She walked toward him. "What's your name?" He looked up. "Best." Sandra blinked. "Best?" "That's what I said." "Is that actually your name?" A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Would you like to see my birth certificate?" Despite herself, Sandra almost laughed. Almost. "You're funny." "I try." "Try harder." This time, he laughed properly. His smile changed his face. He looked less serious, and for a moment Sandra forgot why she had approached him. Then she remembered. "How long have you been boxing?" "About five years." "And you think you're good enough to correct me?" "I know enough to recognize a mistake." "Then why aren't you in the ring?" Best stood up, picked up his bag, and nodded toward the boxing area. "Who says I'm not?" Before Sandra could respond, Coach Michael called his name. "Best! You're late again." Best raised a hand. "Sorry, Coach." "Get changed. You're working with Daniel today." Best turned toward the changing rooms, but not before glancing at Sandra one more time. "Keep your left hand up." "Go and mind your business!" He laughed as he walked away. Sandra watched him disappear through the doorway. Then she shook her head. "Annoying boy." Unfortunately, she was smiling. And that was even more annoying. --- The following afternoon, Sandra arrived at the gym earlier than usual. She had a mathematics assignment to finish and a match to prepare for, but boxing had become the center of her attention. Even at school, she found herself thinking about combinations, footwork, and the mistakes she had made against Kiara. She was determined to fix them. After changing into her training clothes, she entered the gym and headed toward the ring. Best was already there. He was working with another boxer, practicing combinations with Coach Michael watching nearby. His movements were controlled and efficient. He didn't waste energy throwing unnecessary punches. When his training partner moved forward, Best stepped to the side, maintained his balance, and returned to his position. Sandra slowed down to watch. He was good. She hated admitting it, even to herself, but he was good. After finishing the exercise, Best noticed her standing near the ropes. "You're early." "So are you." "I usually am." "Congratulations." He grinned. "You know, you don't have to be rude every time you speak to me." "I don't." "Right. You do it for free." Sandra rolled her eyes and began wrapping her hands. Best walked over. "Can I ask you something?" "You just did." He ignored that. "Why do you want to box?" Sandra continued wrapping her right hand. "Because I like it." "That's it?" "What else do you want me to say?" "I don't know. People have different reasons." She paused. For a moment, she considered giving him the usual answer about loving competition and wanting to become a champion. Instead, she told him the truth. "When I started boxing, I was tired of people deciding what I could do. Everyone had an opinion about me. They thought I was too stubborn, too emotional, or too easily distracted. When I lost my first match, people told me boxing wasn't for me." She tightened the wrap around her wrist. "I wanted to prove them wrong." Best listened without interrupting. "And now?" he asked. "Now I want to win." He nodded slowly. "That's a good reason to start. But it can't be your only reason to continue." Sandra looked at him. "What does that mean?" "It means that if winning is the only thing that matters to you, every loss will make you question whether you're good enough. You'll become so afraid of losing that you'll stop learning." She stared at him for a moment. She didn't like how much sense he made. "You always talk this much?" "Only when people need advice." "I didn't ask for advice." "And yet, here we are." Sandra laughed before she could stop herself. Best noticed. "There. You can smile." Her expression immediately changed. "Don't ruin it." He raised both hands. "Wouldn't dream of it." For a few seconds, they stood there smiling at each other. Then Coach