Boxing has been part of my life for as long as I can rember. Ok, not my life, but my families life. My older brother, Jake, has been in the ring since he was twelve, my father was the same, and his father before him.
I, being the only girl in a family of men, knew what was coming at me. If for any reason my brother wasn’t able to fight, I would be inside the ring. But that wasn’t where I belonged. My Mother, rest in peace, told my Father the day I came home from my first boxing lesson, which I was terrible at, she told him I was going to do something girly. Which happened to be pageants.
Now I can’t think of a time where I didn’t have a pound of make up on my face, and my hair curled on top of my small head. And my mother handing me pixie sticks. Good, I love pixie sticks.
Now I’m almost sixteen, my mother is dead and I haven’t been on the catwalk in almost three months. I have, for some reason, been at the gym with my brother. Jake is now almost twenty three, and training for the Olympics. Everyone in our small town, Groves Point Population 873, is supporting him. And doing everything they can to make sure he wins. If he doesn’t win, a lot of peoples money, and my education would go to waste.
At least that’s what my father says.