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distracted by my lack of curves. All the better for Hudson to smash his face.
    Big Daddy gets back in the ring. He motions for Hudson and the other guy to come forward. We push through the throng of people. There’s barely going to be any space for me outside the ropes. The spectators have moved in right up to the base of the ring.
    Hudson climbs in. I clutch the duffel bag with a towel and medical supplies for cuts and swelling. Despite the fact that I do this sort of thing as my career, I’m anxious watching my own flesh and blood walk into the ring. He seems so young, so inexperienced.
    The other trainer climbs up on the ropes by his corner, so I drop my bag to the floor and do the same. No official rules here. But then, boxers don’t get quite as wild as MMA fighters, who throw kicks and toss each other around. You don’t really want to hang on to the side of the cage.
    I can feel the confused and scornful stares of the crowd as I smack the edges of my hands against Hudson’s tense shoulders. “Loosen up,” I tell him. “Tension steals energy.”
    He nods.
    Big Daddy announces Hudson as “The Contender” and his opponent as “Exterminator.” They both move to the center of the ring.
    “I’d say give us a good clean fight,” the man shouts. “But we all know that’s not what we’re here for.”
    I clamp my jaw. I really wish Hudson had gone about this a different way, but we’re committed now. I know what it’s like to be young and foolish. I just hope this plays out in a way that doesn’t cost him too much recovery time from his training.
    Big Daddy backs away from the boys and ducks through the ropes. There isn’t a buzzer or a bell, because this fight apparently won’t have rounds. Just nonstop hits.
    Exterminator jumps forward to land a punch, but Hudson easily dodges the blow. The other trainer is screaming already, shouting a steady stream of commands and curse words.
    I just watch. Exterminator better be in serious shape, because the way he is feinting and punching air, he’s going to tire quickly.
    “Save your tank,” I tell Hudson in a loud, low voice that cuts through the shouting and cheers. “Save your tank.”
    Hudson moves only as he needs to. He’s got a good pattern, and the next time Exterminator goes for a punch, Hudson takes it so he can land an even harder one to Exterminator’s unprotected jaw.
    “Nice!” I shout. “Nailed it.”
    Exterminator seems pissed that Hudson managed to strike a blow and goes in with a round of fast punishing hits, about half of which actually land.
    Hudson takes the chin jabs while hitting Exterminator at the gut level. But this is no good, because his face can’t take near the force that ribs can.
    “Back off and hit clean,” I tell him, again in the voice I think he can separate from the crowd.
    He must be plugged in to my sound, as he does what I say, hopping backward out of range of Exterminator.
    The crowd dislikes this, shouting, “Pussy” and “Baby Tender.”
    Hudson doesn’t seem to notice, keeping his pattern, protecting his jaw.
    I wish I’d known this was a knockout match regardless of length, as I would have gone over with Hudson how to strike those kind of blows. I hope Akoni has taught him. It should be Boxing 101. But I haven’t been there. I don’t know.
    Exterminator steps into a hard uppercut and lands it solid. Hudson stumbles back.
    Like that , I think, wishing Hudson had been on the delivering end, not the receiving one, of that hit.
    I hold my breath as Hudson tries to shake it off. The side of his face near his eye is already red. He’s not going to escape this unscathed. I wonder if he’s thought this through. Akoni is going to know. I guess he won’t refuse to train him anymore, since The Cure is paying the bill. But what Hudson is doing is not a good plan.
    All I can do is keep coaching him. “Forget about the hit,” I tell him. “Keep your guard. Look for openings.”
    But he’s learning what it’s