Chapter 1 : The Contender
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See, this is how I know who has bothered to look further into boxing and its history. The average person views boxing as a wild, reckless, savage thing. But any boxer can tell you this isn't the case. Boxing is a game of strategy and, more importantly, of wills. You have to keep a clear head, otherwise your opponent can seek out weaknesses more easily. You have to want to win. You need to want it so badly, no one can get in your way. And if they do, woe be to them.
Few are capable of being great, just for these reasons. Many assume their opponent won't fight, and they aren't prepared for the fight when it comes. Underestimating the underdog is something that brings down the "best" of fighters.
I fight in the bantamweight class, which means I fight people only up to 119 pounds. I'm not quite five foot three. I have a big butt and an even bigger chest. In essence, I am the underdog. But when I step into that ring and I see my opponent already gloating over what is supposedly an easy win, I have to smile. I was underestimated my entire life, and now look at me. Possible candidate for the U.S. Olympic Women's Boxing team, a healthy home life, and a crew of people to back me up when I need it.
Don't overlook the underdog. It might just prove detrimental.
I hate packing for Hogwarts. It seriously sucks. I can't fit my training equipment (because my boxing stuff goes where I go) into the same trunk as my clothes, so that's another bag of crap. Then there are my records, which is another box, and my record player, which isn't quite so bad because it comes with a handle.
The handle is actually a very nifty contraption to have on a record-player. One day I will have to congratulate the person who came up with that. It is just so helpful, when you already have five other- "Lici, are you almost done? We have to leave soon," my foster mother, Mrs. A, calls up the stairs. "I'm almost done," I call back, and right as the words are leaving my mouth, my trunk rolls over on its side and belches its contents on the floor with a loud banging noise. Crap.
I scurry over to the newly-made mess, and attempt to clean it up. Mrs. A asks, "What are you doing up there?" I, with my mouth full of a leather strap (don't look at me like that, when things are hard to tighten I know you use your teeth too!), was only capable of making snarfling noises. There is silence from downstairs and then she says, "Are you having fun up there?" Yes, ma'am, I am. cleaning up crap that shouldn't need cleaning is just SO MUCH DAMN FUN. Really. Truly. And I would have said that, if my mouth wasn't preoccupied. In fact, there is quite a lot I might have said. But my mouth was indeed preoccupied, so I did not respond.
When I finished tightening the straps, the bags/equipment/random crap disappeared. Ah, magic. That is some seriously awesome shit. If only I were of age, then wouldn't life be so frigging spectacular? It would, that is the answer.
Where was I before had another of my world-famous inner conversations with myself? And yes, I've been part of this boxing tournament, so every year for the past three years I fly over to Morocco (it's a shitty place to train, what with the heat and all, but the facility is utterly superb. And did I just say utterly and superb? And I wasn't being sarcastic? The people at Hogwarts have really rubbed off on me…on second thought, ick) and fight like hell for a week. I've made friends, namely the chicks from France and some from the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and possibly Indonesia. I don't know, we don't actually talk to that one, we just sort of sit in non-awkward silence. But since they know how I do, i.e. spazzing like a spazzing spazzer off her antispazz meds, my spazzes are legit world-famous.
Damn. I did it again, didn't I? I did.
Let's get back to the story, shall we? Before I encounter a sudden urge to spaz yet again.
So I trot my little Latina ass (HA! There is no way in hell that my ass could be referred to as 'little'; none whatsoever) down the stairs, where an irate Mrs. A awaited. And I know she was irate because she had that irate look on her face.
She looks up at me, with lips pursed and eyes filled with annoyance. Like, you know, really IRATE looking. God, that's so much damn fun to say! It shall be my new favorite words. Irate, I, Alicia Rosa Maria Santos-Ramirez, now dub thee my new favorite word. Ameneth.
I give her my signature look. You should know something about me. I usually don't spaz out loud. It is just so much better to keep it under control, otherwise I might just lash out and lose my head. And a trained boxer is not someone who you would want to have unleash themselves on your face. I've always been like this. And so, I don't smile or frown. I have, since I was little, perfected the art of grinning maniacally without moving anything on my face except my eyes. It is my signature look; I know of no one else who can do it. My best friend, Dominique Weasley, is a Veela and she can't. So ha on her.
Mrs. A rolls her eyes at my face, but I don't flinch. This is a game, dammit, and I will WIN. She holds my look until she…smiles back! Success! This woman smiles less than I do! "Are you ready?" she asks with a bemused chuckle. I just nod. She nods back, and offers me her arm. I grab it and turn to say one last goodbye to my city. Goodbye New York. Goodbye, Manhattan. I love you. Goodbye, Coach. I still resent all the pushups you make me do, but I love you all anyways. And last but not least, goodbye Mama. I love you until forever comes.
I turn my head back to Mrs. A and I smile(ish) again. "I'm ready now." And with a crack, I am gone.
A/N: I'm going to be completely honest with you. The only reason I started this story was because I'm on a People to People trip and I was jetlagged out of my mind in Greece. So this story is an adventure for the two of us :)) Take it easy on me, okay? And to clear up some other crap, I don't know jackshit about boxing and I took Spanish in the third and fourth grades, but all I remember is "la vaca es verde." Yeah. I can be super-retarded for a smart person.
One of the girls on my trip edited this and said it was pretty good and Lici (that's my character's name) was only mildly annoying, which I took as a great compliment. But I want you to tell me what you think, so PLEEEEEASE review!!!
I'm shutting up now, I'm on the ferry from Patras to Bari and the rocking of the ship is putting me to sleep.
Thanks a billio,
January 12 edits
I can't believe I started this just last July, back in Europe. It seems so much shorter than six months ago. A lot has happened since then: I came back to America, applied to private school, and abandoned The Fancie Girls (I still don't want to talk about that one- too fresh). It's taking me awhile to churn this next chapter, but Chapter 7 is almost done and Chapter 8 is going to be great fun so don't give up hope! Because it's six months in, I'm doing a massive edit of the entire story. We'll see what revamping brings to Lici and Al, mm?
It's still an epic adventure, this story. Thanks for sticking with it.
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