“Not exactly.”

“Why?”

This child had no sense of privacy boundaries because she was fourteen and curious.

Lena could have ended.

Instead:
“Fewer events. Less money. Less television.”

“Were you famous?”

“No.”

“But champion.”

“Yes.”

Amaya:
“Did people care?”

“Some.”

The girl looked at mop.

“Why do you clean now?”

There it was again.

But tone different.

No smirk.
No disbelief.

Just trying to fit two facts.

Lena answered:

“Because people have more than one job in a lifetime.”

Amaya considered.

“My mom was a nurse then now teacher.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you still fight?”

“No.”

“Could you?”

Lena smiled.

“No.”

“Why?”

“My knees enjoy peace.”

Amaya laughed.

Then:
“Will you teach today?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m working.”

“Oh.”

She looked disappointed.

Lena felt something.

Not guilt exactly.

Memory.

Girls like her at sixteen had almost no women to ask.

She had learned from male coaches, VHS tapes, and whoever would hold pads.

No youth clinic.

No older female champion cleaning benches within reach.

She said:

“Maybe I’ll watch.”

Amaya smiled.

“Okay.”

Later, during clinic, Cassidy taught stance.

Twenty girls.

Some athletic.
Some awkward.
Some afraid to hit pads.

She told:
“Your stance isn’t pose. It is where you can move from.”

She heard Lena in own words.

At station two:
jab-cross.

At station three:
teep.

Cassidy corrected gently.

One girl kept turning heel too early.

Cassidy almost laughed at universe.

She said:

“Let hip start together. If foot announces, person sees.”

Gavin heard.

He looked toward Lena.

Lena rolled eyes.

Cassidy smiled.

During break, Amaya told Cassidy:

“Ms. Brooks was champion too.”

Cassidy:
“I know.”

“Did she train you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Article says.”

“Articles simplify.”

“What did she do?”

Cassidy looked at Lena across room.

“Helped me notice things.”

“Is she better than you?”

Children.

Cassidy:
“She was champion in her time. I’m fighting now.”

“That isn’t answer.”

Cassidy laughed.

“No. It isn’t.”

Amaya:
“Could she beat you?”

“No idea.”

“Ask.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because she doesn’t want to.”

Amaya:
“Oh.”

That answer mattered more than fantasy.

After clinic, Lena approached Theo.

“The panel next week.”

He looked.

“You changed?”

“Maybe.”

“Conditions?”

“Yes.”

Of course.

“No janitor-champion title.”

“Agreed.”

“No filming unless I approve.”

“Agreed.”

“No old fight footage without permission.”

“Agreed.”

“I talk about women fighting then. Not my life story.”

“Agreed.”

“Keisha comes too if she wants.”

Theo blinked.

“Keisha?”

“My cousin. Former fighter.”

“Sure.”

Lena:
“And Cassidy not centerpiece.”

Cassidy, passing, heard.

“Thank God.”

Lena smiled.

Theo:
“Done.”

The next Saturday, about thirty girls and parents stayed after clinic.

Chairs on mat.

Panel:
Cassidy.
Elise Warren.
Lena Brooks.
Keisha Monroe.

Keisha was forty-one, Black, warm face, short locs, no visible fighter hardness except scar near left eyebrow.

She worked in insurance claims.