Straight Punch by Monique Polak Read Free Book Online Page B

and I want to be supportive”—Cyrus paused, and I could feel the but coming—“but I still don’t get a good feeling about that place. I think the boxing is making you more…well…aggressive. And Randy Randy…”
    If this was Cyrus’s idea of being supportive, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. It wasn’t like I had any other options. And what gave him the right to judge me like that? I nudged his elbow. I didn’t mean to knock his camera out of his hands, but I did. I was relieved when it landed on the bench and didn’t go crashing to the ground.
    Cyrus grabbed the camera and inspected it for scratches or dents. Then he looked up at me. “See what I mean?”
    I got up from the bench. I looked down at my feet and realized that I’d gone into fighting stance. Left foot at one o’clock, right foot at two. “I’m glad your camera’s okay,” I told Cyrus, “but I’ve gotta go. Big Ron’s offered me an extra boxing session tomorrow. I need to be up early.”

Chapter Six
    From the stairway, I could hear Big Ron’s booming voice. “It’s easy to be a boozer,” he was saying, which is how I knew he was talking to Whisky, “but it’s hard to stay disciplined and lead the clean life. What you need to look for are natural things that make you feel good. Not phony, masking things like alcohol.”
    Whisky must’ve been glad when I walked into the gym. If not for me, Big Ron’s lecture would have gone on even longer. Whisky nodded in my direction without missing a beat on the punching bag. When he socked the bag hard, I twitched. Luckily, the twitching didn’t last very long.
    I thought since it was Saturday, Big Ron might go easy on the warm-ups. But he didn’t. This time, I knew better than to argue when he lost count of the number of jumping jacks I’d done.
    I needed to stop to catch my breath after those jumping jacks. “Do you come in every Saturday?” I asked Big Ron. Even after knowing him for only a week, I’d already figured out that the one way to get a break was to get him talking.
    â€œNot every Saturday. I may be obese, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a life. I got friends, I go out on a date now and then. But when I can, I like to keep the gym open Saturdays. Do a little extra work with a newcomer like you. Keep the troublemakers off the streets—and away from all manner of poisons.” He jerked his head toward Whisky.
    â€œSo I guess you really enjoy training teenagers…”
    I was trying to come up with another question when Big Ron gave me a stern look. “You wouldn’t be trying to distract me, would you, Tessa Something-or-Other?”
    â€œUh, of course not.”
    â€œAll the same, gimme another twenty jumping jacks.”
    After leg stretches, we worked on my fighting stance. “Soon that position’ll become automatic,” Big Ron said. I could have told him about how I’d gone into fighting stance when I’d argued with Cyrus, but I didn’t feel like sharing personal stuff with Big Ron.
    Big Ron also wanted to see my straight punches. “Still a little stiff,” he said. “You need to loosen up. That’s important when you’re throwing your punches but also when you’re getting punched. If you’re stiff, the impact is a helluva lot worse. When you’re relaxed, you absorb a blow—like a sponge. I bet you never thought you’d be learning how to take punches, did you, Tessa Something-or-Other?”
    I had to admit, Big Ron was right.
    Whisky was still whacking the bag, throwing body shots. “These are my favorite,” he said when he caught me looking at him. “They do a lot of harm, and they don’t leave marks.”
    Whisky was sober. Otherwise, his punches would’ve been sloppy. But I still smelled alcohol. That’s when I realized it