“Meditation is important for maintaining inner and outer balance,” said Carl. A frown darkened the lines on his forehead. “We teach you Mixed Martial Arts here and, if you've been paying attention, you should know the basics by now. Martial Arts is more than just a way to fight. It's a lifestyle.”

“If we need balance, why's there only one chick here?” said Nigel. “If this ain't a dude's group, shouldn't we at least have more choices to pick from?”

“'Specially since Jason's bagged her already,” added his cousin, Brian. “That's not fair for the rest of us.”

Satara looked him up and down slowly before turning away again. A derogative smile flitted across her face, lingering just long enough for him to see it.

“Oh, fu-” Carl's voice cut across Jason's dry yet less silent response.

“It doesn't matter whether you're a girl or a boy. You're all here to learn MMA. Nothing else.” The chill in his voice swept over them like an unexpected slew of hailstones. He pointed to the entrance they had all come through. “And if that's not the case, the door is there.”

Nigel and Brian laughed but soon fell into the same nervous silence as everyone else. Satara knew she wasn't the only one exchanging glances with the person next to them. Jason pressed his lips together, brows raised.

“Stress?” she muttered and he shrugged, his glowering eyes sliding past her to focus on the two boys at the other end of the group.

“By the end of next week, I want everyone to have their hands up when I ask about meditation.” Carl dragged the mobile whiteboard closer to where they were sitting, writing the word chi at its centre. The pen squeaked across its pale surface, more noticeable in the unnatural silence. “So going back to chi. Does everyone know what it is?”

“Isn't that what Indian people call tea?” asked someone from the back of the group.

“That's chai, you idiot,” said someone else, the words accompanied by the sound of an open palmed slap against the other's back.

“Qi?” Like Street-fighter?” Nigel pressed his hands together in a crocodile pose, opening them like jaws in Brian's direction. “Hadoken!”

“Shroyuken!” Brian swung his fist skyward in an exaggerated uppercut before the two of them started laughing. Again.

“It has to be.” Nigel nodded in her direction, pointing to his own forehead. “Look, Satara even came prepared for class today. Sick!”

“Is it the same as chakra?” she asked, her gaze returning to Carl.

“Not quite.” Their instructor followed her lead, turning his back pointedly on the two disruptive students. A thinly veiled warning settled on his movements. He drew a line from the circle around the word chi and added the word chakra – and more – to his evolving spider diagram. “Chi, also written as qi or ki, is a form of energy that flows throughout your body. Chakras are spiralling pools or focal points of chi that are located along the spine. Some people also refer to them as gateways through which we can access chi.”

“Doesn't Naruto use chakra?” mumbled a boy with short brown hair and glasses sitting in front of her.

“You watch Naruto? Ugh,” said another boy next to him.

“Don't you ugh me. I'm not the one who reads Fruits Basket.”

“What? No, I don't!” The nape of the second boy's neck reddened. Almost as though it wanted Satara to slam the edge of her palm on it.

She curled her fingers inwards until the sting of her nails gave her something else to focus on. If you're not here to learn, don't bother coming. Go talk about that stuff where I don't have to hear it.

“I don't remember saying any of you could start talking about videos.” Carl paused mid lecture to turn disapproving eyes on the two boys in front of her. He then shifted them to Nigel and Brian who seemed to be discussing a very different kind of animation. “In fact, I don't remember saying any of you could talk at all.”

Good old Mr Machine Gun. Satara almost smiled as their instructor continued his lecture in the following silence. He added words to the whiteboard, asking each person if they had any more ideas about it before explaining the history of chi and its variations around the world. Following this, he went into a detailed explanation of how both martial artists, such as Tai Chi practitioners, and different healers, such as holistic therapists, harnessed the power of chi and used it in various ways to achieve their goals.

He really seems to think it's real. Even though it sounds kind of impossible, scientifically speaking. Satara blinked and saw –

– Saytarnia grasping the sword lightly. Drawing her hand down the blade as if she were wiping it with a damp cloth, the blood along its length disappearing –

– and the conclusion she had come to the night before rocked in the black hole she had crammed it into. She's not real. Saytarnia wasn't here yesterday and she wasn't there that time six years ago. I made it up to – to cope or something. Carl's voice faded to a distant buzz like a hive of informative bees. The light coming in through the windows was slowly losing its strength, its bloodied hand prints darkening on the visible roofs and walls of the courtyard. That's what people like me do, isn't it? The psychologists said so. Someone killed my family that night and I made up a whole story about having a sister because I – She held her breath for a second or ten. – because I didn't want –

“Now we're going to practice. Get into pairs.” Carl looked down at his watch then tapped the whiteboard with his knuckle. “I'll give you ten minutes to try out the methods here and then we'll do some sparing. Don't forget you've all got your test tomorrow so think of this as some last minute cramming.”

He nodded, a wordless signal, and the group fragmented to make space for the separate pairs as they usually did during light training. Satara shifted to a corner closest to the board, identifying their latest task from the words written on it. Distracting herself from the destabilising path her thoughts were wandering down.

“I bet I've got loads of chi,” said Jason, sitting down cross-legged opposite her and showing his teeth in a self deprecating grin. “Watch.”

The loud buzz of laughter and conversation behind him lessened a little as Carl began to walk in between the pairs like an exam proctor, making suggestions or correcting mistakes.

“You mean you were actually paying attention?” she drawled, meeting his eyes properly for the first time since the day before. Some of the tension at her core melted against his cheerful response.

“Nope.”

He held his arms out in front of him, warding off unnecessary thoughts, and closed his eyes. His forehead creased. Carl had told them to relax their bodies the way they were supposed to during meditation as it would help them reconnect with themselves and increase their self awareness. Which was supposed to aid them in their search for chi.

Satara shifted on the spot, tucking her feet comfortably beneath her to reduce the pressure on her ankles. Carl had also advised them to first become conscious of and then focus on the movement inside their bodies. Clearly whatever Jason was focusing on required a lot of mental and physical effort. Just as his cheeks started to turn pink, he opened one eye.

“Jayce …” She bit back what might have been a laugh. “You look like you've got bowel problems.”

Unlike her, Jason wasn't as emotionally disciplined. She raised her hands to cover her face as the air burst out of him in a wild bark of laugher that rocked him backwards on the floor. Carl looked at them from the other side of the hall but didn't say anything.

“Why're you always so mean to me?” Jason scowled, mouth forced into a colourless rainbow of fake sorrow.

“To maintain the balance.” She lowered her arms back into her lap and smirked.

He laughed again, quieter this time. “Remind me to trip Brian up the next time I stand next to him, okay?”

“Only if you stay out of the way while I wipe the floor with Nigel first.” She pressed her knuckles briefly to his offered fist.

“Deal. Now let's work out this whole chi thing.” He held his arms out again. “You were listening, right?”

“Kind of.” She pretended not see the extended stare directed at her, half-closing her eyes and keeping both hands on her knees.

“Do you still like coming here?” The question was hushed, as if he didn't want her to answer it.

She nodded, easing into her meditation breathing routine.

“As much as before?” She had a feeling he had closed his eyes. Now all I need is his mouth to get the hint too.

“Before what?”

“I don't know. You just – Recently you don't seem so crazy about MMA.” His voice lowered. Somehow she could still hear it. “It was the only thing.”

“Because I missed one lesson?” She tried to sound amused but her mouth didn't get the hint either. She almost heard him wince beyond the deep, red, semi-raised curtain of her eyelids.

“No.” He chuckled, breath hitching as he altered his sitting position. As if he regretted his decision to sit in front of her instead of at her side. “It's more like something's different recently.”

“Recently as in yesterday?” she asked dryly.

“Did something happen yesterday?” Jason knew better than to push against her boundaries. It was why they had been able to stay friends for so long.

“I had a stomach ache?” she reminded him. If he's being this persistent, he must have a reason. A brand new possibility swam up from the depths of her stomach like a rotting fish. Did he see something? Does he know something?

“Not that. Did anything else happen?”

“Were you expecting something to happen to me?” Her eyes opened fully just in time for her to catch the anxious furrow of his eyebrows. The shocked uncertainty quivering beneath his mild expression.

“What? Why would I expect that?” He recoiled as if she had thrown mud from his past directly at his face. His mouth dropped open a little. “Were you?”

A phantom vibration shook her from the inside out. The ghost of a tinnitus-like hum reached in through her ears and plunged its fingers into her brain. Dragging out memories, truths, lies, feelings –

“I just had a stomach ache, Jayce.” She couldn't control the temperature of her voice as it rose to white heat heights before plummeting to sub zero levels. “I'm allowed to get sick sometimes, aren't I?”

“Y-yeah. Of course.” He waved a hand, remotely patting her shoulder when he was supposed to be using it to focus on his chi. He laughed softly and the sound wobbled on the tightrope of their friendship. “Even the coolest people are allowed to get stomach aches, all right?”

He squeezed one eye shut in a wink and she nodded but the damage was done. A fracture in the shallow peace that enclosed them. She closed her eyes and tried to pick out the movement of the energy within her body. But all she could feel was the same vibration running through her veins and muscles, inside her instead of through the air around her. Parts of her history fell like drops of blood from her ears.

Her mum crouched down to hug her, stroking one of the twin plaits the boys in her class had pulled.

“You shouldn't get angry, Satara,” she breathed. “Bad things can happen when you get angry.”

The other student who had stopped her told her the same thing.

“What should I do then?” mumbled Satara. She could still feel the older boy trembling against her palm and knuckles in turn. His cries had shifted from loud and angry to louder and afraid. He had called for his friends, the same ones who had tried to gang up on her, but none of them made a move to stop her. She placed her hands on her mum's back and pressed her bruised cheek to the side of the older woman's head. “What am I supposed to do?”

She pulled in a breath. A spark of lightning ripped through her forehead from one side of her temple to the other. Another memory.

“Promise you won't tell,” demanded Janie in the secrecy of Satara's bedroom, wrapped up in the guest duvet.

She had her hands held out, trying not to smudge a fresh coat of teal nail polish. Satara checked her own blackened nails, closing the magazine on the mattress in front of her with her feet. “I promise.”

The air was laden with Miss Dior's Blooming Bouquet, Butterkist toffee popcorn, and the chemical sharpness of nail polish.

“There's this boy in my class,” Janie tossed her deep brown hair back, eyes on her nails, as if the conversation were about their plans for the next day. But the skin visible around the fabric of her pink camisole was almost the same shade as her pyjamas. “We've been friends for ages but now we're like –”

She hesitated. Satara tilted her head to one side and waited. “– I kinda want to date him.”

“What's a date?” The black haired girl felt around in her memory for the term and came up empty handed.

“Dating someone is like being friends with someone but –” Janie giggled and bit her lip, dark eyes brighter than usual. “– but you're allowed to kiss and stuff.”

“Like mum and dad?”

“Yeah. It's when you want to be like a mum and dad.” Her cousin looked away with a soft smile. “When I grow up, I'm gonna marry him. I just hope he still loves me by then.”

“So … how long does it take?” Satara blinked at the older girl who always seemed larger than life and ten steps ahead of everything she ever wanted to do. “When will you grow up?”

Several years later, she had received the real answer to her innocent question. Never. Janie's never going to grow up. Or go to college. Satara breathed in to control the vibration but suddenly her veins seemed empty and the strands of her muscles painfully loose. Her mind jolted in all direction as if it were dodging invisible bullets. She clenched her fists and pressed them together in her lap. Or marry that guy. Ever.

She jumped when Carl clapped his hands. Jason smiled tentatively at her when she opened her eyes but then avoided them completely. As if he had watched and breathed her memories alongside her and they had somehow caused him more pain.

“Okay, everyone. Sparring time.” Carl waved a hand towards the edge of the blue, cushioned mats that lined half of the training hall floor. “When I call you, get up and start. We don't have much time.”

Satara pressed her knuckles into the floorboards but Jason's hand appeared in front of her before she could push herself up. A peace offering. His smile made it seem like an apology. What happened in my life isn't your fault, Jayce. She grasped his hand and pulled herself up towards him, touching the back of her fist to his chest and then heading towards the mats. It's got nothing to do with you. I won't drag you into it. And I won't let you become part of it. It's the least I can do as a friend.

<><><><><>

“Nigel. Jason.” Carl didn't look up from his clip board but his voice wavered over Jason's name as if it had been spelt incorrectly. “You're up.”

He rarely paired her with the other boys. A comfortable choice that kept her safe but unchallenged, her growth unintentionally dismissed. Even after she had spoken to him about it, a month into their lessons, he usually paired her up with the less aggressive members of the group or those who weren't as openly antagonistic towards her. She had known from day one that no one except Jason welcomed her in the boy's domain. She had never expected them to forgive her for forcing her way in regardless of their feelings.

“Looks like I'm gonna be wiping the floor for you first, Tara.” Jason stood up, squeezing one eye shut in a wink as she looked up at him.

“It better be spotless by the time I'm up.” A small smile hung from one side of her mouth, heavy enough to drag it down.

“Why?” Jason pressed his palms to his hips, rolling his head from side to side, slowly waking up his neck muscles. “You're only gonna make a mess of it again.”

“I don't write the health and safety policies here.” Unlike her amusement, the banter between them was lighter than ever. Utterly detached from the atmosphere that preceded it before he reached the training mats. “You'll have to ask Carl.”

“I'd rather just polish the floor, thanks.” His gaze switched from her to Nigel as soon as the other boy stood up, switching off from their conversation.

She let the exchange die and he walked to the middle of the square formed by their group members, tightening his obi-style green belt as resolutely as she tied up her hair during matches. She had learnt the hard way that the other boys would grab onto anything they could to humiliate her and mock her dress style. To punish her for not wearing the same tight fitting t-shirts and leggings they did.

“Did Satara promise to reward you if you win –” Nigel's knowing drawl ended abruptly as Jason cut him off.

“Cut the crap and shove it.” A provocative grin curled around her friend's words. Swift. Rude. Intolerant. At odds with the ritual bow the two of them had decided to do before every fight. He pressed his fists together before him, respecting the intent to spar, if not his opponent. “Right back up where it came from.”

He shook back the wavy red hair from his eyes as he straightened up. Nigel laughed at him, cheeks dusted red as he attempted to dilute his embarrassment.

“You first, fu–”

“Start!” snapped Carl, blowing on his whistle the way he had been for the past several minutes.

Nigel shifted on the balls of his feet, hands raised in a boxer's stance. Jason moved too, dropping lower and extending one arm in front of him, palm out. The other curled parallel to his chest. His favoured Taekwondo stance. Each pose matched the looseness of their respective clothes. Satara gathered her hair up into a temporary ponytail, zeroing in on the two as she did so.

The boy's attempts to correct her pointed disregard for their class culture had petered out once the thud of her sparring partners hitting the floor echoed around the hall more often than not. When they collectively sported more bruises than those they had left on her and it became harder to spar when their joints ached from a hold she had caught them in the day before. When they realised Jason was the only one who no longer hobbled into class on sore ankles or winced whenever his sparring partner's fists landed on mostly undamaged muscles.

He had been free to grow while the rest of them faced the backlash of all the negative attention they had forced upon her. Today, you idiots are going to realise just how much time you wasted on me. She smiled grimly. Time to start cleaning, Jayce.

Nigel threw the first punch at his opponent's head. Jason slid away from the blow, light on his toes as he dodged the following attacks, occasionally responding with a few of his own. They circled each other, testing reflexes and seeking weak spots. After a minute or so, the blows grew more direct, targeting perceived weaknesses, gently applying pressure alongside the ever present stress of a fight.

Unsurprisingly, Nigel's fighting style was mainly offensive. He used his hands, elbows, feet, and knees in various combinations, diving in to deliver each one and backing off to assess the damage. Plotting his next moves accordingly. Jason danced around him, switching his stance so both his left and right foot took turns at the front. Wearing the other boy down mentally, a faint grin deep in his stare as he blocked with both hands. It had taken Satara a long time to work out which of his limbs was slightly more dominant than the other.

“Stop messing around, crap-head,” said Nigel, plastering a transparent smile across his growing frustration. Clenching and unclenching his right hand as if he were holding a hand gripper. “I'm not your girlfriend.”

“Thank God. You're not my type anyway.” Jason snapped out a hand, his fist glancing off the other's shoulder. A light strike to keep his opponent on edge rather than cause any real harm.

Carl looked up from his clip board, eyes narrowed as he prepared to intervene verbally. Both onlookers and those sparring were discouraged from talking and advised to share what they needed to say through their fists.

“Guess I'd need long black hair, huh?” Nigel chuckled tightly.

Jason paused, brows raised. “Mate, I didn't even know you wanted to be my type that badly.”

A breeze of laughter circled the class. Nigel reacted to the external and internal pressure, stepping in close and swinging his right fist back for a low but heavy punch. Just as Jason had known he would. Time it, Jayce. Satara's muscles tightened as if she were out on the mats herself, tension settling in her hips and stomach as she leaned forward. Time it …

Jason twisted on his back foot, bringing his knee up and in towards his stomach before kicking out in a dead straight line. His other foot crashed into Nigel's stomach and the other boy stumbled backwards, his red face darkening further. His left hand somehow closed around the loose fabric of Jason's trouser leg. He twisted both the material and his body as he fell. Unable to bring his leg back in, Jason lost his balance, landing on his hands and knees.

Before he could roll out of range, Nigel strengthened his grip and snaked his legs around Jason's lower limb in an ankle lock. His arm shifted to complete the hold and Jason dug his fingers into the mat. The blood rushed to his face and neck but he refused to cry out, twisting with Nigel's movements to reduce the strain on his flexor and extensor muscles but unable to break the brutally firm grip around his ankle. Carl stepped into the ring but Jason had already slammed his palm against the ground.

“He's tapped out. Let him go, Nigel.” Their instructor stood over the pair until until the blonde boy released his opponent.

Jason got up at once, keeping the weight off his foot, and fixed his trousers with a subtly aggravated pull. He looked down at Nigel as the other boy spoke, smiling wickedly even as he tried to breathe.

“No Satara rewards for you today, crap-head.”

Jason bent down, swiping a hand through his opponent's hair and speaking in a deliberately soft cadence. “Guess I'll have to make do with you instead, baby. Don't forget to grow out your hair, okay?”

He pulled his hand back seconds before Nigel could knock it away, blushing and furious, laughing as he made his way back to Satara. He winced only once he had settled at her side and everyone had turned their attention back to Nigel – who was still trying to catch his breath after the kick to his stomach – and Carl, who was apparently still struggling to read his own handwriting on the clip board.

“Sorry for not finishing my chores, mum,” he muttered, authentic bitterness trickling through the gaps in his words.

“There's always next time.” Unexpected frustration lined her lungs at the sight of Jason on the mat, fighting the inevitable moment when he would have to tap out of the match and surrender, and poked something at her core.

A wildness she had never properly acknowledged because it had been asleep and she had not had the energy to rouse it. Because she had only attended the MMA class to release the perpetual flow of negativity building up inside her every day. Allowing it to leak from the outer edge of her psyche. She had only agreed to take part because her foster parents had suggested it and she hadn't wanted to disappoint them and give them any excuse to throw her away. She shifted onto her knees, ready to rise, even before Carl announced the names of the next two sparring partners.

“Brian … and Satara.”