Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 1

Hot water trickled down from the shower head, soothing the tense muscles in my shoulders. I hated to admit it, but I might have gone a little too hard with training today. Pre-season training started a couple weeks back and I’ve spent almost every waking moment in the confines of Fenton’s state-of-the-art boxing facility. It was senior year and I needed to bring my A-game. If I was being honest, there weren’t too many career possibilities that could come from this from me—at least nothing that I would seriously consider.

But being Fenton University’s top boxer had the potential to open doors for me. Doors that could turn things around.

Resting my forehead against the cold shower tiles, I welcomed the drumming of water on my skin. Part of me wished I could stay in here for a while and tune out the world around me and just soak in here a little longer.

But that wasn’t my reality.

When I closed my eyes, all I could hear was my mother lecturing me about how I was going to make her late for work. Again.

Dragging my hands through my hair, I grabbed a towel off the hook outside of the shower threshold. The towels at Fenton felt a lot more expensive than the sheets of sandpaper I used to dry myself off at home. I pressed the plush material to my face, exhaustion washing over me. All I wanted was to get home and climb into bed. But I’ve already done that for the past three nights. The last thing I needed was more overpriced multi-vitamins to appear on my night table.

Oh, the joys of having a mother in healthcare.

I made quick work of ringing as much water as I could out of my hair. The weather was still surprisingly warm for New York in mid-October, but the nights were starting to gain their autumn chill. Throwing the towel around my hips, I headed towards the locker room. As I made my way out of the showers, Dante Wright, Fenton’s star quarterback, was coming in.

“You heading out for the day?” He asked, his hand colliding into mine.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “How’s it been going? I heard you guys are killing it so far this season.”

Dante’s easy-going grin spread across his face. He didn’t carry an ounce of smug bravado like most athletes I’d come across at Fenton. Instead he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. That’s probably one of the reasons why Coach Whitmore didn’t mind having him around. The Fenton Bulldogs had their very own gym to mess around in, but Dante opted to use the facilities over here a couple times out of the week. I didn’t get around to asking why—figured that it wasn’t my business—but if I had to make a guess, it would be because the boxing gym was more low-key. There were less people breathing down your neck, waiting for machines, and no juice-heads blasting heavy-metal to get them through their sets.

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