“How exactly should I put up my dukes?” Rafe imitated a boxer with hands held in front of hisface.
“You want to hold them comfortably.” Eamonn stood behind Rafe and positioned his arms and fists to where they should be.Concentrate. Don’t be…unsportsmanlike.But that was hard to do when Eamonn’s scent of cologne with a hint of cigarette smoke took over Rafe’s nasalpassages.
Eamonn moved away from Rafe in an instant, seemingly flustered.Crap. Was I smelling him?Eamonn held up his fists to show Rafe. “You need to hold your fists tight, like you fucking meanit.”
“Is violence really the answer? Maybe Gandhi was ontosomething.”
Eamonn got right up to Rafe’s face and jutted out hischin.
“Do you see this scar?” Eamonn asked. “This cunt named Daniel Washburn sucker punched me in the cafeteria because I was a puff. I was eating my sandwich, someone tapped me on the shoulder, andboom!”
Rafe jumpedback.
“Did I run to a teacher? No, I got up, and I pasted him in his pretty mouth. He was the one who ran away crying. And from then on, the pricks at school let me eat my lunch inpeace.”
“Shit. I thought stuff like that only happened inmovies.”
“No. It’s real fucking life. You got to be prepared. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Eamonn glanced into the woods for a second. “I mean, let’s give this anothergo.”
He stepped back and held up his palms in front of Rafe’s face. “Let’s go. Give me onepunch.”
Rafe tightened his fist. He’d always been a bit of a teacher’s pet, and he wanted to do right by this teacher. Eamonn cared about him and his wellbeing. He slammed his right fist into Eamonn’s leftpalm.
“Nice!”
Rafe shook out hishand.
“Remember what I said. Thumb out and angle yourwrist.”
Rafe heeded his orders and punched his right palm, thenleft.
“Better!”
They went a few more rounds. Rafe’s fists slapped against Eamonn’s calloused palms, and the louder the slap, the more it motivatedhim.
“Harder,” Eamonn said. “Don’t go easy onme.”
Rafe tightened his fists and shot them out with morestrength.
“What was his name?” Eamonnasked.
“Whose name?” Rafe didn’t stoppunching.
“The kid who bullied you, who laughed atyou.”
There were too many to name. His school had a strict zero tolerance policy, but Rafe didn’t get off scot-free. None of us did. Memories came back to him of kids snickering when he talked and imitating him when they thought he wasn’t in earshot. Rafe felt his face crystallize into ascowl.
Eamonn shook out his red palms. “You’re getting some good blows in,mate.”
As soon as his hands were up, Rafe went back to punching.Right, left, right, left.He let out grunts with each swing, and he didn’t care how they sounded. It was energy that had to beexpounded.
He locked eyes with his sparring partner and slammed his fists into his hands. The setting sun bathed Eamonn in silhouette. Electricity crackled in the air between them, like the promise of lightning fizzing in a stormy sky. Heat burned in Rafe’s hands and coursed into his chest. His grunting and the contact of his fist into Eamonn’s palms filled the strangled silence betweenthem.
The look Eamonn fixed on Rafe could strip the paint off a car. It made Rafe punch harder, punchfaster.
Right, left, right,left.
Eamonn caught Rafe’s fist and held ontoit.
