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Me? I’m saving myself for a fair-haired Englishman who is oblivious to my existence.
I enter Dawson’s number into my phone, walk to my bathroom and start filling up a bath. I dust the coffee table while the water's running. My twin Izzy's the one footing the bill for the rent and pretty much everything else. I'm the one who does all the cleaning. It sucks, but so does everything else about being Boring Blaire in comparison to Sizzling Izzy.
I run the magic swipe along a picture of my sister and me. I’m petite, slim with curvy hips. Lily-white skin, full lips and dark, wavy hair with blue tips. I have freckles sprinkled on my nose and high on my cheeks. I guess I’m like, air-hostess hot. Meaning I look better than the average girl but nowhere near as perfect as those girls in the magazines.
But Isabelle? Pffft. She is that girl from the magazine cover. Taller, slimmer and prettier by a mile. Higher cheekbones, deeper shade of blue eyes and the aura of a goddess. Izzy basically makes me look like a beta version of her. So at eighteen, instead of debating what to do with her life (like me), she decided to become a model and make tons of money off her beauty.
Currently, Isabelle Stern is traveling the world as a lingerie-wearing Elizabeth’s Passion Fairy, visiting everywhere and living the life, while I’m attending a shitty university and serving lukewarm beer in a neighborhood bar to make ends meet.
Even so, when I’m not working night shifts at Ned’s and she’s not rolling around on an exotic beach in her underwear, Izzy and I have a routine.
I hear my phone ringing, walk back to the bathroom, turn off the faucet and slide a finger into the water to check the temperature.
"Izzy," I answer and instinctively distance the phone from my ear.
“Sissy!” my sister squeals back. She may be gorgeous, but her high-pitched voice could crack double-glazed windows.
“Where’s your skinny ass today?” I sit on the edge of the bathtub, circling my finger in the water.
“I’m in Singapore. You’d love it! It is so different and awesome and full of skyscrapers. Had an awkward incident when I landed here, though. Apparently it's illegal to chew gum here, especially in botanic gardens. I almost got arrested!"
We laugh as I slide my body into the water, letting out a sigh.
“You in the bath now?” she asks.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yup. It’s giant, twice as big as the one in the apartment, and it has jets. Hey, you think we’re freaks for liking to do this every day? Like it’s a kinky twin-womb thing?”
“What, have baths while on the phone?” I chew my lower lip. “It’s not exactly Dr. Phil material. I’d ask my therapist if I could afford one.”
“You need money? You know I can always help you out.”
“No.” I clear my throat and quickly change the subject. "Anyway, what time is it there? I'm just about to head to bed."
“Like, 1 p.m.”
“Taking a bath at lunchtime? You are a bit of a freak.”
“Mmm, okay, Blaire. At least I'm not boring.”
Izzy does have a point.
I chatter about my MMA assignment and about Shane acting weird. Izzy didn’t even realize we were taking a class together. I must have forgotten to mention it. She doesn’t seem very interested though and cuts our usual thirty-minute phone call short.
After she hangs up, I flop onto my bed with my laptop and decide to type MMA into YouTube. Might as well see what I’m dealing with here. The first video that pops up has a guy being knocked out so brutally the referee has to jump between him and the other fighter to stop the match. One fighter is unconscious, the mat beneath him as bloody as a CSI crime scene, while the fighter on top is still trying to pummel his opponent into submission. The crowd is eating this up, encouraging more with claps and excited screams of “Choke him out!” and “Arm bar! Arm bar!”
I'm not into being mainstream or judgmental—some will even consider my profanity, ripped jeans and nose piercing uncivilized (join the petition led by my folks)—but even I recognize how sick this is. I'm not sure where the Arts part fits in Mixed Martial Arts. It's definitely not in the ring, where I just witnessed a guy being choked until he turned blue.
Further research into the subject reveals that there's a heated debate about whether or not MMA should even be legal. The defenders of the sport say it's consensual. But hey, crime can be consensual too.
This is pretty vile, I think as I slap the laptop shut and squeeze my thumbs into my eyelids.
I'm so going to fail this course. Again.
Chapter Two
The good thing about getting MMA as my assignment topic is that the sport seems eager for any kind of attention it can get. I don’t have to go through any snotty secretaries, PR agents or legal obstacles to score an interview at The Grind, a gym in Concord. All I have to do is ask. In fact, the only problem with Mixed Martial Arts is that it’s Mixed Martial Arts.
