Fight Like A Girl (Part One) by Dawn Pendleton Page B

and paraded around my fellow fighters. They
cheered me on as I strutted through the gym. Until I got to
Freddie. Suddenly, everyone was very busy with something else when
they saw his scowl. They all disappeared as I stopped in front of
his office.
    “What?” I asked him. I thought for sure he’d
be proud of me.
    He shook his head at me. “You’re supposed to
be a professional, Maxine. I thought you were serious about your
career?”
    “I am. You can’t seriously think any of that
was my fault,” I whined. Jeff had started the whole thing.
    “You’re better than that. And you know it,”
he said and then went back into his office.
    I glared at his back, but I knew Freddie was
right. If I was ever going to make something of myself, I needed to
stay focused and not let a douchebag like Jeff get in my way. I
forced myself to walk away from Freddie’s office, vowing not to let
Jeff, or anyone else, for that matter, work me up like that again.
I was through letting anyone get under my skin.
    That night, I was exhausted. I left the gym
and found several messages from Wynter, my best friend. She was a
party girl, the complete opposite of me. Where I was dedicated to
being fit and having a career, she was a tumbleweed. She did
freelance editing, but that gave her enough flexibility to do
whatever she wanted. It helped that her parents were rich and she
had a gigantic inheritance.
    Wynter: Let’s go out tonight!
    Wynter: Answer me back! I want to hit the
bar tonight!!
    I laughed as I read the messages. I dialed
her number as I put my car in drive and left the parking lot.
    “Max! I’m so glad you called! We’re going out
tonight!”
    I loved the fact that she didn’t ask; she
just told me what we were doing. She’d being doing it since the day
I met her during our freshman year of college, so I was used to it.
I didn’t mind, either.
    As a fighter, I generally only met and had a
social relationship with other fighters. But with Wynter’s help, I
was able to actually meet normal people my own age.
    “Where are we going and what time?” I asked
her, knowing there was no escape.
    “I’ll be at your place in half an hour,” she
promised. “I know you can’t be trusted to get yourself ready.” She
hung up.
    I shook my head and tossed my cell in the cup
holder. She was right, of course. I wasn’t now and had never been a
girlie girl. I didn’t own any makeup, let alone wear it on a
regular basis. She was my makeup artist, and I usually let her do
whatever she wanted. There was no use arguing with her; when she
made up her mind, she stuck to it and she was possibly the most
stubborn person I’d ever met.
    I got home, set my keys on the hook by the
door and jumped into the shower. I took my time, washing my hair
and body, being sure to get the sweat of the day off. I might not
be into being girlie, but I loved being clean. Nothing beat a hot
shower after a hard workout. By the time I got out of the shower,
Wynter was already in the apartment, having let herself in with her
key.
    She set up shop in my room, her thousands of
pounds of makeup lining my bed.
    “Hey,” I greeted her as I walked through my
room into my closet in just a towel.
    She jumped off the bed. “Wait! I have
something for you to wear!”
    I turned, waiting. She pulled a little black
dress out of her bag and held it up. For someone like me, a little
black dress was something to be worn at a funeral, not a night
club.
    “No way,” I said.
    She narrowed her eyes. “What else are you
going to wear?” She didn’t sound enthusiastic.
    I stepped into the closet and grabbed my
favorite pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt. I held them up
for her.
    She made a face. “Gross. That’s so simple,
Max, so plain . Is that really how you want to present
yourself?”
    I laughed. “Actually, that’s exactly how I
want to present myself.” I tossed my outfit on a chair in the
corner of my room and went to grab myself some underwear.
    “At least