The gym smelled like old rubber and sweat.
Mikey stood outside the building for a full five minutes before stepping inside. It wasn't a fancy gym—just an old boxing club tucked behind a laundromat on the edge of town. He'd passed it a hundred times before without thinking. Today, he walked in.
He didn't have a membership. He didn't have gear. He barely had enough money for a bottle of water. But he needed to see it. To feel it.
The punching bags.
The sound of gloves hitting pads.
The breathing, the grunts, the rhythm of the ring.
It was real. And it was everything he wanted.
He stood off to the side, watching the fighters go at it in the ring. They moved like controlled storms—precise, powerful, focused.
Mikey felt small again.
"Hey."
A voice broke his trance.
Mikey turned to see a girl about his age, taller than him, athletic build, wearing hand wraps and a sleeveless hoodie. She had dark eyes and a no-nonsense look on her face.
"You just gonna stand there, or you here to do something?"
Mikey opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
The girl raised an eyebrow. "You can't just watch forever."
"I… I'm just looking," Mikey said finally, trying not to sound like a coward.
"You don't look like a fighter," she said bluntly, then added, "But that's how most of us start."
She turned back to the heavy bag and began hitting it—jab, jab, cross. Each strike cracked through the room like a whip.
Mikey watched her, more inspired than offended.
He stayed another twenty minutes, just observing. Taking mental notes. Trying to copy the footwork in his head. The stance. The breathing.
---
That night, he practiced harder than ever in his room. His fake punching bag wobbled and nearly fell off the wall. His knuckles stung, his arms ached, but he didn't stop.
The girl's words stayed with him:
> "You can't just watch forever."
---
The next morning at school, Mikey felt something shift.
No, he wasn't strong yet. He wasn't fast. He still sat alone.
But he no longer walked like a victim.
When Jason passed by, he didn't say a word. Just bumped Mikey's shoulder out of habit.
Mikey didn't stumble.
He didn't look back.
He didn't have to.
Because in his mind, he was already back in the ring—fighting for the version of himself he hadn't met yet.
---