Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
He took a step closer. One step closer than propriety dictated.
“What’s the matter, you don’t like cheeseburgers? That’s downright unpatriotic.”
Instinctively, I took one step back, reclaiming my personal space. But Kage stepped forward again and gave me what could only be described as a look of challenge. This time, I stood my ground.
“You don’t get a body like this by eating fast food.” He said, patting his belly. There was so little give, he might as well have been hitting a suit of armor. “How’s your project coming? You got everything you need?”
I shrugged. “I wish I could have gotten better photos. The action shots are blurry. I need a new camera if I’m gonna be doing this kind of stuff.”
“Wanna take one of me?” He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest, plumping up his biceps. I fumbled for my phone, quickly switched to camera mode, and took a picture. Then he struck another pose, this time with his usual face that looked like he was ready to whip some ass. It was shocking to see him change like that, as if he’d slipped into another personality and back again.
“I appreciate you helping me out,” I told him. “If you want to know the truth, I’m a little starstruck right now. I’ve never met a real fighter before.” I bit my lip nervously. “Would you mind taking a selfie with me? It would make my roommates so jealous.”
“Yeah?” He raised a brow. “Well, I’m all for making people jealous.”
We leaned in close to each other, and I held the phone out as far as I could to capture the image. The two well-dressed thugs who had been flanking Kage all night chose that moment to step out of the shadows. “We need to go, Kage,” one of them said. “Plane’s leaving in less than two hours, and we still have to stop for food.”
“Fuck.” Kage rubbed a hand irritatedly over his eyes. “Alright, let’s go. Catch you on the flip side, college boy.” He turned to go, his friends leading the way. But just at the last second, he glanced back over his shoulder at me with a cocky smile and graced me with another of his little winks.
Jesus, that guy was something else.
“It’s Jamie,” I called after him, watching his back disappear into the crowd. “Hey, where can I see you fight?”
I don’t know if he heard me or not. The three of them disappeared into the crowd as if they’d never existed, leaving me wondering what the hell I was going to write for my project, since I’d spent all night trying to bond with a fighter even Google had never heard of.
3
SOMEHOW, I pulled an A out of my project. Between the bits Kage had told me, the stuff I could learn from the internet, and getting to watch the fights in person, I was able to craft an interesting and informative report about how fighters prepare for upcoming matches.
My roommate Trey, an art major who wanted nothing more than to get into a good film school, recorded a video of me doing a mock newscast. I flipped through the photos and video footage I’d shot of Kage that night, but I didn’t use any of them. They seemed too personal. Instead, we used a few of my grainy action photos along with some actual tournament footage found online. I created a makeshift news desk out of the kitchen table, and Trey hung his green screen behind me, then superimposed a newsroom background on it during editing. The end result was enough to put every one of my classmates to shame.
“You looked very professional in your video, Mr. Atwood” Dr. Washburn told me after class. “I wouldn’t have thought you owned a traditional suit.”
“Only because I was a pallbearer in my aunt’s funeral last year.” I admitted. “Not much opportunity for formal attire when you’re a college student.”
“No, I suppose not. Especially when you’re an underachieving college student.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not the underachiever speech again. I would have thought you’d be tired of that by now.”
“I never get tired of encouraging students. Not if I truly believe in them.” He rested a hip on his desk and crossed his arms. “Jamie, I see you languishing away, settling for mediocre, and it makes me want to give you a swift kick in the pants. Because when you put your mind to it and really call up that passion that’s inside you, you’re capable of so much more. I want to see you get fired up about something. This project was the first thing I felt like you’ve really put your heart into, and it was a refreshing change.”
“Doc, no offense, but I’ve been hearing that same speech since I was in the first grade.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to listen to it.”