21. Calista
TWENTY-ONE
CALISTA
“ W e should do something,” Ella said for the seventeenth time that evening.
I kicked my legs out on my bed, the heat from my computer seeping into my lap.
We were on our third episode of Friends for the evening, and I was living for it.
For once, I had nowhere to be and nowhere to go.
I was caught up with assignments, and I didn’t have to worry about practicum for almost another whole week.
The only thing that had been irking me was my impromptu kiss with Lincoln.
But I was on the fast track to forgetting that ever happened as well.
It had been a few days since then, and I forced myself not to dwell on it.
How did I do that? By pulling three straight all-nighters in the library.
I had never been so ahead of my courses.
The issue now was that I didn’t have anything else to keep my mind off things.
Until I invested in purchasing all ten seasons of Friends .
Everyone knew that the best way to forget about your own situationship was to laugh at Ross and Rachel’s.
Harper peered around me to eye my roommate .
“Like what?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s a Friday night,” she said, throwing her hands up as she stood in the middle of our dorm room. “You’re seniors. I’m a junior. We should be going out!”
I groaned. “Going out is so much work.”
“Agreed,” Harper chimed in next to me.
“Come on,” Ella whined. “We don’t have to go to a club or anything.”
“Think of somewhere I can go like this, and I’ll consider it.” I gestured down the length of my body, forcing Ella to take in my oversized sweater, leggings, and fuzzy socks.
Ella crossed her arms across her chest. “Aren’t you meant to be tutoring tonight?”
I hid my smile by pulling my lips into my mouth. She knew it would be easier to get Harper to agree to going out with her if it wasn’t two against one.
“Lincoln cancelled,” I replied. When Harper’s green eyes narrowed in my direction, I added, “He has a match tonight.”
Ella clapped her hands in delight. “Oh! We should go.”
“I don’t know,” I said at the same time Harper said, “Sure.”
I sent her a muddled expression. She shrugged in response. “What? You spent all this time ensuring he didn’t get kicked out of boxing. I want to see if it was worth it.”
“No,” I said, removing my computer from my lap and scooting out of bed. “Absolutely not.”
“And why not?” Ella argued.
“Because it’s weird!”
“What’s weird? Showing up to watch Lincoln’s match?” Ella arched an eyebrow. Then she paused for a moment, realization sparking across her face. “Something happened between you two, didn’t it? ”
“What?” I scoffed. Now it was my turn to cross my arms. “No?”
Ella pursed her glossed lips. Both she and Harper were analyzing me. Pinning me to the spot in the room with their penetrating stares.
Heat rose up my neck. “You know what. I’ve changed my mind. We can go to Lincoln’s match. Actually, we should go. Yes, we absolutely should. Let’s go,” I rushed out, slipping past Ella and heading for the closet.
“Are you sure?” Ella asked. She looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head.
“Absolutely.” I turned my back on my friends, ducking down to pretend to look for shoes until my face cooled down. “But since this was your idea, you’re buying the popcorn.”
“I can’t believe how packed it is,” I said in awe. The arena was brimming with people. Rows upon rows of college students flooded the brightly lit room. “I didn’t realize boxing was such a big deal.”
“Of course it is,” Harper said, grabbing some of the concession stand popcorn Ella had bought and popping it into her mouth. “People love watching other people beat the shit out of each other.”
“There are a few seats over there.” Ella pointed to a cluster of empty chairs. They were up in the stands, but close enough that I wouldn’t have to squint the entire time.
The three of us made our way single file up a short flight of steps.
Ella led the charge as we shimmied into a row, apologizing profusely to the people we had to step over.
I flopped down into the first available seat, which, unfortunately for me, was between Ella and Harper, who were fighting over the giant bag of popcorn.
While the two of them were slapping at each other’s hands, I took the popcorn off Ella’s lap and placed it onto mine.
The heavy bass and excited chatter created a buzz of electricity in the air.
There was so much pent-up energy for the match to begin.
During all the commotion, an announcer welcomed the crowd and introduced the match-up for the night.
From what I understood, Lincoln was up against a junior from North York, another college based in the state.
During these introductions, both fighters made their way into the arena.
Lincoln was the first one to make his way into the ring with the referee.
He ducked under the ropes as the crowd cheered, leaving the two men he entered with on the other side.
I figured one of them had to be his coach.
But I didn’t know who the other one could be.
A trainer or an assistant, possibly? As I mulled over the question, I realized how little I knew about the world of boxing and Lincoln Pierce.
As his opponent made his entrance, my eyes roamed over Lincoln.
He was sporting a pair of navy-blue boxing shorts and a tank with the word ‘Fenton’ inscribed across the chest in white, bold font.
The color scheme spread to his boxing gloves and protective headgear.
But all of that wasn’t what had my attention.
The muscles in Lincoln’s arms rippled under the stadium lights.
The same arms that had pinned me down and caressed my skin only a few nights before.
I tore my eyes away, trying to focus my attention on anything that didn’t involve Lincoln’s corner of the ring.
Ella leaned in, her shoulder brushing against mine. “Lincoln is looking shredded these days.” She wiggled her brows. “Now I understand why you decided to take your tutoring sessions to the gym. ”
“Oh, shut up,” I bit back a smile, slapping her jean-clad leg.
She laughed along with me, throwing more popcorn in her mouth as the referee waved both men into the center of the ring.
From a distance, I could see the man’s mouth moving.
He spoke in a hurried tongue, gesturing with his thick hand between the two.
I assumed he was going over the rules for the match.
Both Lincoln and his opponent nodded, bumping their gloves together. Then everyone moved back.
Lincoln’s opponent didn’t waste any time. In a matter of seconds, he had shuffled across the ring, closing in on Lincoln and trying to land the opening blow. He was fast, rolling out a number of jabs. Lincoln was quick to respond, moving back and out of the way.
“Why isn’t he fighting back?” I asked.
Harper shifted closer so I could hear her over the shouting. “Just wait.”
I crossed my legs, one thigh over the other, to stop my leg from bouncing. The adrenaline rattled me to my core. I raised my fingers to my lips, nibbling on the tip of the black manicure that I had gotten done for Halloween. How could people watch this? It was so nerve-wracking.
I felt like I was watching a game of cat and mouse—Lincoln’s opponent putting on the pressure and Lincoln finding a way to escape.
The man Lincoln was facing was ruthless.
He didn’t pause for a moment. He simply continued his assault, showering Lincoln with a range of punches.
They were taunting jabs, brutal, unspoken promises on what was to come.
Lincoln took them all, shuffling around the ring and trying to keep his space.
I guess Lincoln’s opponent didn’t like that.
The stop clock on the far wall had trickled down to thirty seconds when he lunged across the ring.
In one unexpected movement, he pulled his arm back before launching his glove into the side of Lincoln’s face.
The contact only urged him on. His fists rained down, forcing Lincoln to shield his head with his forearms until the bell rang, signifying the end of the first round.
The crowd roared, more of that electricity funneled into the air.
“I don’t think I can watch this anymore,” I confessed, observing as one of the two men from Lincoln’s corner packed Vaseline into a gash that had appeared on his cheekbone.
“Trust me,” Ella said. “If he’s anything like he was when I last came to one of his matches, he’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right,” I muttered as I slipped my hands under my thighs. If I gnawed on the skin around my thumbnail anymore, I was going to make it bleed.
The referee motioned both fighters back into the ring. Lincoln slipped his mouthguard back in and rose from the stool they had situated in his corner. Concern bloomed in my chest. I hoped that the one minute between rounds was enough for him to re-center himself.
“Don’t look so nervous,” Ella said in my ear. “Give the guy some credit.”
Before I could respond to her, the bell rang once more, and the referee lifted his arm in a motion to commence the next round.
Lincoln’s opponent didn’t change tactics.
From the moment the referee moved, he came flying across the center of the ring.
This time, Lincoln stood his ground. Unlike the first round, Lincoln managed to maneuver around each sloppy blow thrown by his opponent.
It was like trying to hit a shadow. Concentration shrouded his face.
His gaze was intense and calculative, predicting his opponent’s next move.
Frustration rolled off the other guy in waves.
He tensed, lunging forward and throwing his arms around Lincoln’s shoulders.
A few seconds into the grapple, the referee intervened, forcing both fighters to give each other space.
From my seat in the stands, I could make out the corner of Lincoln’s mouth turning upward in a smirk around his mouth guard.
I didn’t understand what was so funny. That was until I transferred my gaze to the other man in the ring.
Lincoln’s opponent was slowing down. His chest heaved, taking in as much oxygen as he could.
His sweat-slicked arms dropped a fraction, as if holding them upright was too difficult.
That was a mistake.
Lincoln took those signs as his time to strike.
With quick steps, he moved across the ring and let loose a storm of heavy blows.
He was unstoppable, and no one did anything but cheer him on.
All the other guy could do was cover his head and wait for the assault to end.
Lincoln moved back a fraction, giving his opponent a false sense of hope.
But when he peeked around, his forearms, Lincoln was there to deliver one final blow that brought North York’s fighter to his knees.
The crowd around me had launched to their feet.
Lincoln Pierce had won by a knockout.