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"Excuse me?"
"Ignore her," Mr. Garner says, stepping forward and offering his hand.
Mack proceeds to give us a tour, starting downstairs where the pool, locker rooms, and sauna are located. We wind our way up the stairs, level after level. We're shown the basketball and racquetball courts, the group fitness and spin rooms, the weight and cardio centers, until we reach the top floor where a track is suspended above all of it. The inside of the track is lined with a wall of glass, allowing us to look down upon the open stairwell and the cardio and weight areas below.
From here, I spot a separate boxing center partitioned off from the weight room that he didn't bother showing us when we were down there. I can only imagine he thought it would be wasted on us since Mr. Garner is lean, although athletic. But he looks more like a marathoner than a fighter. And, I'm a girl. I guess karma decided to throw my stereotyping back in my face.
Mr. Garner notices the boxing area too. "Do you offer lessons?"
"You're interested in boxing?" Mack asks, not hiding the surprise in his voice.
"No, I am." I stare at him, daring him to make a comment about my size. Or my gender.
But all he says is, "Cool."
"You can sign up for lessons or class slots on t
he tablet outside each room," he explains, leading us back to the lobby. "Do you want to start today? I don't have anything booked this morning with the campus being fairly empty right now."
"Sure," I reply, while Mr. Garner says, "I think I'll stick with the treadmill."
Mack doesn't let me pound the shit out of the heavy bag. He forces me to work, which only makes me want to pound the shit out of him. He has me do a million crunches, toss a medicine ball, jump rope, and do these crazy footwork drills. He said we'd get into hitting next time. That's if I survive this time.
"I hate that I don't hate you," I tell Mr. Garner when we leave, my body dripping with sweat.
"Still need to work on your positive emotive expressions," Mr. Garner teases. "But at least you're too tired to punch someone, which is kinda the point."
"I'm done listening," I say, walking away. My legs feel like they're made of rubber. Just the thought of crossing the Court to read the note waiting in the tree makes me want to fall over. But I make myself go, only to find an antagonizing message addressed just to me from Brendan.
[?] Get in trouble?
How did he know? How does he know anything?
I rip up the note and leave it in the box, removing the ribbon from the swing and sticking it in there as well so Lance and Ashton don't think they have a note waiting for them too.
After I shower, I go to Ashton's room to see how she's feeling.
When she answers the door, it's obvious she feels terrible, with her hair a sad mess on top of her head and the long t-shirt hanging limply off her shoulder. Her liner is smeared around her eyes and she looks pale, despite spending the day in the sun.
"Are you alive?" I ask cautiously, following her into the room where she crawls under a blanket on her couch.
"No," she mutters. "I can't believe I drank like that."
"I didn't realize you were until you couldn't stand on your own anymore."
"What happened to you? How'd you get back? I told Brendan that you needed a ride, but he said something crude about riding Grant." She pokes her head out so just her eyes are showing. "What happened with Grant?"
I scrunch my nose. "Nothing. He wouldn't even kiss me."
"Why the hell not? I would have." This makes her laugh. "I mean I was probably drunk enough that I would have, to be honest." I laugh with her.
"He won't do anything with a girl if either of them have been drinking."
"Holy fuck. Forget about Prince Philip, he's a fricken saint!"
"Speaking of, please tell me you and Brendan didn't ..."
"No," Ashton assures me. "He's definitely not saintly, but he would never take advantage. That doesn't mean we haven't hooked up while drunk, but not when I was that bad."
