Then quit measuring how they feel and measure her feet. What changed before the right hand? Nia closed her eyes for one breath and replayed the exchanges. Avery was not simply throwing harder when she committed. She was telling Nia in advance which way her body wanted to go.
Her lead shoulder drops. Nia said before the hard right. She brings the weight forward before the punch gets there. Elena leaned in. Can you make her show it?
Maybe with the jab. If I give her the same look twice, she'll try to come over it. Don't guess. Build the look and watch her answer. You don't have to win this fight in one exchange. the corner.
Belle warned that the interval was nearly over. Denise watched from the second row, her hands folded so tightly that the knuckles had gone pale. Nia gave her the familiar two-finger signal again, and Denise managed the smallest smile. Across the ring, Avery was talking fast to her coach, whose voice stayed low. He tapped the mat to indicate distance, not anger.
Avery nodded several times and stood before the official called seconds out. Nia touched the new glove seams once more, confirming the equipment still held after the exchanges. She had no reason to think about the damaged blue pair while the bell was sounding. That was a boundary, too. This round deserved her full attention.
Nia rose more slowly. The first round had given her a clear picture of Avery's strengths. She controlled space well, hid her first punch behind movement, and punished hesitation. It had also shown a habit. When she became convinced she could reach an opponent, her weight arrived before her right hand.
A habit was not a fatal flaw. It could be corrected. Nia would have to earn the opportunity to use it, and Avery might adjust if the pattern became obvious. Marcus glanced at each boxer, confirmed the corners were clear, and signaled the second round. Nia stepped forward with a different task.
She was not trying to erase the first round. She was asking Avery a question with her jab and waiting to see whether the answer stayed the same. Nia opened with a jab that stopped just short of Avery's guard. Avery moved to counter and Nia pivoted away. On the next exchange, Nia touched the glove, stepped to her left, and watched Avery turn after her.
The shoulder remained level. She had not committed yet. Nia resisted the temptation to declare the pattern solved. After two movements, she worked patiently through a series of small exchanges. A jab to the body made Avery lower an elbow.
Nia went upstairs only when she had a safe angle. Avery answered with a quick hook that reminded everyone why she was the gym favorite. Nia felt it on the side of her headgear and immediately moved off the line. She did not let the crowd's shifting sound persuade her that the match had turned completely. Then the opening appeared.
Avery stepped heavy onto her lead foot, shoulder dipping as she loaded the right. Nia had already begun to pivot. The punch passed close enough for the air to brush her cheek. Her returning jab landed before Avery finished turning. Nia followed with a compact straight shot and left before Avery could plant again.
The combination was clean, visible, and entirely ordinary to someone who understood good boxing. To the people who had called her a beginner, it seemed to happen from nowhere. Elena clapped once. That's the distance. Nia repeated the footwork, but not the same combination.
She knew Avery would begin looking for it. She used the threat of the counter to make space for a body jab. Avery circled the other direction and landed a scoring touch of her own. For several seconds, the contest became a genuine chess game. Fought with aching legs and gloves instead of pieces.
Each girl asked a question. Each had enough skill to offer an answer for. Nia had learned this patience in Baltimore through losses as well as wins. She remembered a regional final where she spent two rounds chasing a faster opponent, then walked out of the ring knowing she had made the same mistake 12 times. Her old coach had told her to stop confusing effort with progress.
She had hated hearing it. Now the advice returned without bitterness. She could work hard without charging to Avery's preferred range. The bell ended the second round. Nia sat with her lungs burning and her gloves resting on her thighs.
Elena did not promise victory. She said the cleaner counters were there. But Avery had adjusted during the last minute and would likely bring new pressure in the third. Nia nodded. The fight still had to be fought.
Avery stood in her corner with her jaw clenched around the mouthguard. Her coach told her to trust the jab and stop loading every hard punch as if one perfect shot could repair an entire afternoon. Avery heard him. She also heard the murmurss beyond the ring. 24 wins, three losses.
People were repeating the number as though it could explain the girl across from her and reduce Avery to an extra in somebody else's story. For years, this gym had measured her life. She had learned to box here, learned to lose without crying in public, learned to come back after her first tournament defeat. Coaches greeted her by name. Younger boxers watched the way she taped her wrists.
She had earned that attention. When Nia arrived, Avery had mistaken a new rival for a verdict on everything she had done before. Every clean punch Nia landed seemed to confirm the verdict, and that fear made Avery reckless. In the third round, Avery tried to take away Nia's space immediately. She crowded behind hard jabs and pressed at the edge of the ropes.
Nia blocked the first attack, but gave ground on the second. Avery landed a solid shot to the body. Nia felt it in her ribs and breathed out sharply, unable to hide the discomfort. She moved out before another followed. The pain sharpened her attention.
Avery drove forward again and they collided shoulders. Both girls reached to steady themselves, creating a rough clinch. Marcus called, "Break." Avery released late enough to draw a firm warning, and Marcus reminded both boxers to disengage immediately on his command. He did not lecture Avery in front of the crowd or treat Nia as a favored athlete because of her record. The same rule applied to both.
That neutrality mattered. Nia did not want a referee to rescue her from a difficult opponent. She wanted an official to keep the boundaries in place. So, the work inside them meant something. She returned to the center of the ring and put a jab between herself and Avery.
It did not score cleanly. It established space. On the next exchange, she saw Avery's feet cross briefly while changing direction, but the chance passed before she could safely act. There would be another if she remained present. In the audience, Kelsey leaned forward with her hands over her knees.
Brooke had stopped speaking. Their earlier laughter belonged to a different afternoon now, one in which they had imagined the event would end before anybody had to see what Nia could do. The match continuing had deprived them of that easy ending. But neither girl knew what Paula might find in the venue footage, or whether she would find anything at all. With less than a minute remaining, Nia was tired enough to notice the weight of her own arms.
The red gloves had warmed and softened, but the muscles beneath them had begun to burn. She had no grand speech to give herself. She focused on breathing as Elena had taught her. Out on the punch, in on the move, never hold breath while waiting for danger. Avery scored with a short jab.