At the end of the recording, he asked Nia whether she was sleeping enough and whether she was still moving her feet on tired legs. She smiled at the familiar combination of care and criticism. She forwarded the message to Elena with a note that the official copy was on its way. Elena replied with a thumbs up and a reminder that the event committee would still need to confirm it. Nia went to school for half the morning.
She managed not to check her phone. By lunch, a student she barely knew had asked whether she was really going to be allowed to fight. He wasn't cruel. He seemed genuinely interested in the rumor because it had become a story that belonged to anyone with a screen. Nia said the organizers were checking her record.
The student nodded as though that answered the question, then asked if she was scared of Avery. Nia picked up her tray and moved to another table. At 4, Elena called. Paula had received a source letter from Baltimore. The letter established that additional sanctioned bouts existed, but the committee still needed the underlying entry to populate and match the categories correctly.
Paula would have access to the National Archive on event day through the officials registration terminal. The transfer remained pending, though the documentation allowed Nia to report and complete check-in. No boot could begin without the completed verification. Nia asked Elena to repeat the last part. She did without softening it.
You may arrive, pass your physical checks, and still have to wait. Then I wait, Nia said. That's the plan. Denise heard the conversation from the kitchen. After Nia hung up, she set an extra piece of toast beside her and asked whether she wanted to make a different plan for the weekend.
Nia shook her head. Her mother nodded once. They sat together for a few minutes without filling the room with motivational speeches. Outside their window, a delivery truck struggled to back into the narrow street. Its warning beeps steady and unglamorous.
When Nia returned to the gym that evening, she saw the event schedule posted by the entrance. Her name was still there, printed opposite Avery's with a small administrative note beside it. Some other athletes had withdrawn from events for illness or family reasons. Two children were proudly circling their first exhibition bouts. Nia touched the corner of her own line, then put her hand away.
A public sheet could show a possibility. It could not decide what she had earned. The last school day before the invitational brought a different kind of oscion. The edited sparring clip surfaced again, this time with a caption claiming that Nia had almost been removed from the event. People repeated it without checking whether removal was even possible when her status had always been provisional.
Tessa sent a message asking whether Nia wanted company at lunch. Nia said yes. The invitation helped more than the 20 supportive comments that arrived under an old training photo. At lunch, one girl from a neighboring class said she'd heard Nia had hidden her real experience to get into a beginner division. Nia put down her fork.
She asked which division the girl thought she was entering. The girl didn't know. [laughter] She looked embarrassed and muttered that somebody else had said it. Nia almost launched into the exact eligibility categories and the location of the registars's office. Then she saw how little good that explanation would do. She told the girl it wasn't a beginner bout and the organizers were checking the records.
The girl apologized. Nia accepted it without pretending the rumor had vanished. That evening, she opened the folder on her laptop and began a social post. She could put the complete record in one image. She could post the results from the tournaments in Maryland and Pennsylvania that taught tough losses as well as the wins and the dates that proved none of the information was invented.
She typed, "I shouldn't have to do this, but since everyone keeps asking," she read the first sentence three times. Denise passed the kitchen table carrying clean towels. "Are you writing an appeal to the internet?" she asked. Nia laughed once without much amusement. "Apparently.
Do you want those people to know something or do you want them to stop talking?" Both. One of those might happen. Denise didn't tell her to delete it. She asked whether the picture showed any personal information beyond the records Nia wanted public. Nia zoomed in and found the contact address of her former club and the youth athlete number that could be misused for more than gossip.
She cropped the image, then sat looking at it again. She had already sent the documents through the proper channel. Posting them would not make Paula's verification faster. It might simply move the argument to a larger room. Nia saved the draft without publishing.
She was not proving maturity by staying silent. She was protecting information she did not want turned into ammunition. She wrote a short message to Elena. Instead, if verification runs late on tournament day, can you tell me who makes the final call and where to wait? Elena answered with the check-in desk, Paula's name, and the process.
That reply gave Nia something practical to do. Before bed, she packed a second clean shirt, checked her mouthguard case, and placed the old folder in the inner compartment of her bag. Her gloves lay on the table beside it. She pressed along the seams out of habit and felt each line of stitching hold. The gloves had survived more rounds than most people in Columbus knew.
She had no reason to think that would change overnight. Avery finished her own Friday session after everyone else had gone. She moved through a final set of combinations with the intensity of someone trying to erase a thought. The bag swung and came back to meet her. When she missed a timing change, she started the set again.
Kelsey sat on the edge of a bench scrolling through the comments on Brooke's newest post. Every few seconds, she made a noise of approval at something a stranger had written. Can you put that down? Avery asked. Kelsey looked up.
I'm showing you how many people think she's bluffing. I said put it down. Brooke, who had been gathering tape scraps, stopped moving. She was used to Avery controlling the mood without needing to shout. Kelsey set the phone face down but remained beside the bench.
"Why do you care so much?" she asked finally. "If the record's fake, they'll bounce her. If it's real, you fight her. Either way, you get your match. Avery pulled at the fastening on one glove.
You didn't feel that counter. She barely touched you because she chose to barely touch me. The admission seemed to surprise Avery as much as it surprised her. Friends, she peeled off the other glove and stared at the damp lining. At the beginning, she'd enjoyed telling people Nia had two fights.
It gave her a simple way to explain why the new girl didn't belong. But in the ring, Nia had read an opening. Avery had spent months learning not to give away. That single counter had followed Avery home and appeared again whenever she tried to sleep. Everybody's been talking like I'm the one to beat.
Avery said if she comes in wins once, they'll act like none of it mattered. All the early mornings, all the drives, all the bouts I fought before she got here. Kelsey shifted beside the bench. Then don't let her win. "I know how to box, Kelsey." Avery's voice was low.
That's the part you keep missing. She does, too. Brooke suggested that maybe the incomplete paperwork would solve the problem on its own. Avery shook her head. She had seen Elena.