When I heard her talking to Chanel, both of them squealing with laughter, I walked close to where she had been standing and checked each locker until I came across the one she’d dumped her belongings into.
She didn’t have much with her. Just her cell phone, her car keys, and a pair of black Adidas slides. I picked up her phone, but of course it needed a passcode or her face to get into it. Her screen saver was an image of her and Corey standing in front of a crystal-blue ocean, smiling like they had no worries in the world. I wanted to slam the phone to the ground and crack it, but I resisted the urge.
I heard someone coming and put down the phone, shutting the locker rapidly and then grabbing my gloves and making my way to the mat. A Caucasian woman with dark hair smiled at me on her way back and I gave her a tight-lipped smile in return.
When I walked out, Chanel instructed me to place my gloves on top of whichever bag I wanted to kickbox with for the day. I chose a bag that was two away from Lola’s blue gloves.
Class started, and Lola wasn’t kidding. The class was brutal. All the burpees and push-ups and sit-ups were likely going to kill me and were making me lightheaded. By the time we could take a water break, my face was hot, and I was drenched with sweat in places I didn’t even know I could sweat.
Turns out, that was only the warm-up. We started our next round, which was the kickboxing one, but it was much easier to punch the hell out of a bag and pretend it was Lola than do full-body workouts on the floor.
I glanced over every so often at Lola, who was punching her bag with stealth and grace. I tried mimicking the way she punched, but I wasn’t good at it. Chanel watched me a lot because I was new, which irritated me because I hated being watched. She taught me how to roundhouse kick, not even realizing how badly I wanted to roundhouse her ass.
Then the partner drills began. We could pick partners, and to my surprise, Lola looked at me with a smile and said, “Come on, new girl. Let’s do this.” I put on a sweet, bashful smile on my way to her.
Oh, Lola Maxwell wants to partner with me? What a dream this is! Not.
I knew any girl in South Beach would have thought the world of this, but I wasn’t any girl. Still, it was good she wanted to partner with me. Perhaps it meant she saw something in me . . . or maybe she did know exactly who I was and was pretending not to.
I had to be careful.
Partner drills started, and Chanel instructed us on what to do before we got into it.
“So, do you live around here?” Lola asked, lightly punching my glove with hers for our first drill. We were exchanging light punches on each other’s gloves.
“I do, yes. I live about fifteen minutes away.”
“Oh really? What part of the city, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Close to Liberty City,” I panted, punching her glove when it was my turn. Liberty City was bad news and she’d know it. Anyone who lived around that area clearly didn’t have much money. I wanted her to know that about me from the start. I was poor. I needed assistance in any way, shape, or form.
“Oh, that’s cool,” she chimed in. Really, Marriott? Please tell me how it was cool to live near Liberty City? Oh, I’ll tell you how—it fucking wasn’t. “I live close to the beach.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. She really had the nerve to be modest. I’m sure what she really wanted to say was that she lived on the beach, in a mansion with six bedrooms.
I said, “I really love your hair! I’ve always wanted to dye my hair that honey color but never thought highlights like that would look good on me.”
“Oh, thank you! Yeah, I’ve had this custom color for a while now. I’ve been thinking about switching it up lately, though. Maybe to something darker.” She winked.
Chanel told us our time was up and Lola dropped her arms, placing her hands on her waist to momentarily catch her breath. “I think your hair is lovely the way it is, though. Natural suits you.”
I provided a smile—the same smile I’d practiced in the mirror—and then we both sat to stretch with Chanel.
“So . . . um . . . don’t you run the Ladies with Passion project?” I asked in a quiet voice.
Lola’s hazel eyes lit up. “I do! How’d you know?”
“Well, I’m just a little obsessed with that charity, is all.” I laughed, and waved it off like my obsession meant nothing. Little did she know how deep my obsession ran.