I take my frustration out on the punching bag, hitting that motherfucker as hard as I can. My muscles protest at first, but as I get into the zone, I don’t even feel the pain. Time ceases to exist. I keep picturing myself from seven years ago, when I was dumb enough to fall for Nadine’s bullshit. By the time exertion slows me down, I notice Caio has joined us.
The distraction costs me, and I’m hit in the face by the punching bag when I fail to stop its swinging motion. Pain explodes in my nose. With a grunt, I take a few steps back, woozy from the hit.
“Are you okay there, man?” Caio asks.
“Peachy.”
I take a seat on the nearest bench, hanging my head between my shoulders. Blood drips from my nose. Fucking fantastic. I hope it’s not broken.
“Let me guess. The meeting with the mediator went as bad as I said it would?” Lance chimes in.
Without raising my head, I flip him off. Lance did warn me that the meeting would be a waste of time, but I’m really not in the mood to listen to his I-told-you-so speech.
“Thank fuck I’m single,” Caio adds.
“I really didn’t come here to talk about relationships.” I look up to glare at my friends.
Caio narrows his eyes before his lips curl into a grin.
Ah fuck. I know that expression.
He waves me over. “Come on, Ali-boy. Let’s see whatcha got.”
Lance chuckles, something I rarely see him do. “Oh, this will be good.”
I’m taller than Caio by a couple of inches, packing more pounds of muscle too. But that doesn’t mean shit on the tatami. He’s way more agile and precise than I am, which means in the next half hour, I spend more time flat on my back than landing blows.
“What’s the matter with you, Alistair? It’s like you’re not even trying.” Caio circles me with as much energy as when we started, I’m already winded. Fuck, I need to do more cardio.
Letting out a roar, I aim for the side of his head. Caio easily sidesteps me, sticking out his right leg to trip me. I don’t fall this time, pivoting on the spot and, by some miracle, managing to keep my balance.
Lance chuckles from the bench, and I turn to him, missing the roundhouse kick aimed in my direction. The blow hits me directly in the face, knocking me down.
“Goddamn it, Alistair. Pay attention,” Caio yells somewhere nearby, but with the ringing in my ears, I can’t pinpoint his exact location.
Rolling on my back, I focus on my breathing as I stare at the ceiling. Dark spots fill my line of vision, and then Caio’s face appears.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’ll live.”
He offers me his hand and drags my sorry ass back up.
“I’m gonna have a massive bruise in a few hours, won’t I?” I continue.
“Yep, sorry, man. You should never lose your focus during a fight.”
The way the jiujitsu master keeps staring at me with a deep frown tells me he’s more annoyed than sorry.
“Maybe your friend will finally decide to fire your ass,” Lance says.
I groan before answering. “Unlikely.”
“I don’t get why you don’t quit if you hate it so much.” Caio shakes his head.
“I don’t hate it, but I’m not as invested in teaching as I was before. I made a promise to Forrester that I’d stay another year, and I never back down on my word.”
Both Caio and Lance watch me through narrowed eyes, probably not buying my story. It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the complete truth either.
John Forrester, DuBose’s principal, was there for me in my darkest hour. His friendship saved me from going down a path that probably would have destroyed me in the end. I won’t turn my back on him now.
13
Chiara
I take a deep breath as I stand in front of the DuBose building, one of the most prestigious high schools in LA. It’s a dream come true for anyone who wants a career in show business. The list of alumni includes top celebrities in Hollywood, from actors, directors, to movie studios’ VIPs. I’m tempted to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Pietro came through after my little chat with him. He fessed up to my father that he was responsible for me running away. Dad was furious, wanted to punch the prick’s face, but I was able to convince him to let things go. All that mattered to me was being allowed to study in LA, which he agreed would be for the best, much to my mother’s chagrin.
I head in, not minding one bit that I don’t know anyone here. That means they don’t know me either. I receive curious glances as I go, but they aren’t followed by malicious comments.
The email I received from administration told me a student would show me around before class starts. I’m supposed to meet him at the principal’s office. I follow the signs until I turn a corner and find not only the office but also a tall ginger leaning next to the door with his eyes glued to his phone.
He glances up when I walk over. “Are you Chiara Moretti?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
He offers me his hand. “Robert Donovan. You can call me Robbie.”
