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Description

I've been working on the rematch with Liz. This is a work in progress of the events leading up to the next fight--it will be flashed out more, but I thought I'd share. (Oddly, no mature content.) That pic is Liz.

I have since written chapter one. I'm only leaving this, for now, so that you can see how it changed, if you're interested. Otherwise, go here: www.deviantart.com/seleneboxer…

Being a year apart, Liz and I didn’t encounter each other often, but we did talk a few times. She also, when no one else was around, gave me a few pointers on how to throw a harder punch, and more important, advice on the best places to hit someone. “Don't just hit her in the head, chose where you want to punch her, and hit her RIGHT THERE. I didn’t just hit your face, I carefully landed my first punches on your nose, mouth, and nose, since I know how much it hurts.”

She smiled when she said that, adding, “You are TOUGH!”

I shook my head, saying, “You beat me up easy.”

She said, “That’s not what tough is about. Tough is taking a beating and not giving up. Tough is getting beat up and smiling afterwards. Tough is making friends with the one that punched your face in.” With that, she clenched her fist and smiled, adding, “Tough is wanting a rematch after a beating like that. It’s what you are—I like that. I like YOU.”

That bit about wanting a rematch threw me a bit; I’d considered it, and I wouldn’t back down, but the way her eyes lit up as she mentioned it told me that it wasn’t going to be a case of if, but when.

Getting my face punched in had given me a reputation as a “crazy bitch,” since I had kept getting up, and even managed to give her a nice black eye. I'd ended up getting in a few fights—but they were FIGHTS, not lopsided beatings like Liz gave me.

The first fight was with a good friend; she’d seen the beating I'd taken from Liz, and we’d joked about how we’d do against each other. That was a close run fight; we busted each other up good, and loved every second.

Another fight was a close run thing; she hit like a mule, but I caught her with a perfect shot on the chin, and down she went. My hand hurt for a week; she had a hard head. Once again, someone looking at us would think that I had lost the fight; my opponent only had a few bruises, and my face was a wreck.

I was in only one more fight before winter break—one of the cheerleaders thought that, because she was bigger than me, I'd be easy pickings. I’d learned from Liz, and took her advice—precise punches. The girl ended up with a bloody nose and a split lip before deciding that she’d had enough.

As everyone was milling around in the lunchroom on the last day before winter break, Liz drifted over to me. “Got a question for you,” she said with a smile.

That concerned me, since THAT smile was something I only saw when she was either about to fight, punching the daylights out of someone, had finished turning someone’s face into hamburger, or was thinking about it.

She calmly said, big grin on her face, “What would you do if I really pissed you off?”

I replied, “Punch your face in...”

She clenched her fist, lightly touching my jaw as she said, “And who’s face would get punched in?”

I matched her mischievous smile and said, “Yours…”

Of course I knew that the could beat the crap out of me, but what kid my age would admit it? The bell rang, ending the conversation as we headed off to classes. "Looks like you were saved by the bell,” she said with a smile and a flexed arm. A long and painful friendship was just forming.

1 week after winter break, the fist storm that I knew would come eventually, broke.

Description

I've been working on the rematch with Liz. This is a work in progress of the events leading up to the next fight--it will be flashed out more, but I thought I'd share. (Oddly, no mature content.) That pic is Liz.

I have since written chapter one. I'm only leaving this, for now, so that you can see how it changed, if you're interested. Otherwise, go here: www.deviantart.com/seleneboxer…

Being a year apart, Liz and I didn’t encounter each other often, but we did talk a few times. She also, when no one else was around, gave me a few pointers on how to throw a harder punch, and more important, advice on the best places to hit someone. “Don't just hit her in the head, chose where you want to punch her, and hit her RIGHT THERE. I didn’t just hit your face, I carefully landed my first punches on your nose, mouth, and nose, since I know how much it hurts.”

She smiled when she said that, adding, “You are TOUGH!”

I shook my head, saying, “You beat me up easy.”

She said, “That’s not what tough is about. Tough is taking a beating and not giving up. Tough is getting beat up and smiling afterwards. Tough is making friends with the one that punched your face in.” With that, she clenched her fist and smiled, adding, “Tough is wanting a rematch after a beating like that. It’s what you are—I like that. I like YOU.”

That bit about wanting a rematch threw me a bit; I’d considered it, and I wouldn’t back down, but the way her eyes lit up as she mentioned it told me that it wasn’t going to be a case of if, but when.

Getting my face punched in had given me a reputation as a “crazy bitch,” since I had kept getting up, and even managed to give her a nice black eye. I'd ended up getting in a few fights—but they were FIGHTS, not lopsided beatings like Liz gave me.

The first fight was with a good friend; she’d seen the beating I'd taken from Liz, and we’d joked about how we’d do against each other. That was a close run fight; we busted each other up good, and loved every second.

Another fight was a close run thing; she hit like a mule, but I caught her with a perfect shot on the chin, and down she went. My hand hurt for a week; she had a hard head. Once again, someone looking at us would think that I had lost the fight; my opponent only had a few bruises, and my face was a wreck.

I was in only one more fight before winter break—one of the cheerleaders thought that, because she was bigger than me, I'd be easy pickings. I’d learned from Liz, and took her advice—precise punches. The girl ended up with a bloody nose and a split lip before deciding that she’d had enough.

As everyone was milling around in the lunchroom on the last day before winter break, Liz drifted over to me. “Got a question for you,” she said with a smile.

That concerned me, since THAT smile was something I only saw when she was either about to fight, punching the daylights out of someone, had finished turning someone’s face into hamburger, or was thinking about it.

She calmly said, big grin on her face, “What would you do if I really pissed you off?”

I replied, “Punch your face in...”

She clenched her fist, lightly touching my jaw as she said, “And who’s face would get punched in?”

I matched her mischievous smile and said, “Yours…”

Of course I knew that the could beat the crap out of me, but what kid my age would admit it? The bell rang, ending the conversation as we headed off to classes. "Looks like you were saved by the bell,” she said with a smile and a flexed arm. A long and painful friendship was just forming.

1 week after winter break, the fist storm that I knew would come eventually, broke.