The Gang

Noah

"How'd it go?" Jack asked as Noah closed the supply room.

"It went good." He smiled. "I went easy on them since it was their first day. I wanna make sure they come back."

"Good thinking. Too many times these beginners come in here all gung ho, get their tail whipped, and never come back."

Noah nodded. That's exactly what he'd been thinking, especially about Veronica. For obvious reasons, the workout had seemed so much harder on her. That's why he'd made sure to tell her she did good.

"So they're coming back tomorrow?"

"That's what they said." Noah really hoped they did. He needed this money, and if something didn't change soon, he'd have to look for a job somewhere else. He really didn't want to have to leave the gym. It'd been like his second home for years now. He felt more comfortable there than he did at the garage where he was now staying. He even showered here instead of using his foster parents' bathroom. A lot of his personal belongings were here in his private locker too.

"Noah, I wanted to talk to you," Jack said, scratching the back of his head and looking a bit nervous. "I already talked a little to Gio about this. You boys are all I got. It's not that I didn't think you had it in you to train. I hope you know that. I just wanted to wait until I thought you were ready. I'm counting on you guys to do more and more around here as my tired ass gets older."

Noah shook his head. "Nah, you still have a few more fights in you," Noah kidded him. "And don't worry. You can always count on us, Jack."

Jack had done so much for them already. He'd never married and had no kids of his own. 5th Street and the people he met through it were his life. Gio told Noah that when his dad died, Jack took him under his wing and taught him everything he knew about boxing and being a man. When Gio introduced them and Jack found out he was an orphan raised in foster care his whole life, he'd done the same with him.

Noah clapped Jack's back. "And thanks man for giving me the opportunity to train. I'll make you proud. I promise."

Jack smiled, and with that, their man talk was done. Noah headed for the parking lot. He hopped on his motorcycle and headed home. His bike sputtered, reminding him of the other reason he needed more money. The motor on his bike needed a major overhaul. There was no way he could afford to buy a new one. He didn't want one anyway. This was another one of his comfort zones. He and his Ninja had been together now for over two years. Even if he ever could afford a newer and better one, he'd never sell this one.

He saw the gang as soon as he came around the corner of First Street. Abel was already laughing. Hector smirked, but Gio didn't seem as amused as the others. They were leaning against Abel's old pickup truck. He was forever working on it.

Noah slowed as he came up to them.

"So how'd it go with the chicks?" Abel laughed. Clearly, this was hilarious to him.

Hector, Abel's younger brother, added, "So did you work them out good, Noah?"

Noah ignored the suggestiveness of Hector's tone, putting his foot on the ground as he came to a stop and pulled off his helmet. "I took care of business, since none of you wusses stepped up," he said this as if that annoyed him. But the more he thought about it, the more he was glad none of them had. The funds from the joke of a check the state provided him with were running very low. This couldn't have happened at a better time.

Hector made a face. "Waste of time. Those two old ladies ain't coming back."

Noah eyed Hector. At sixteen, he would think those women old. But after getting a closer look, Noah realized neither was as old as he first thought. Out of shape, yes—but old—no. They couldn't be more than a few years older than he and Gio.

"Nah, they might," Gio said. As usual, he was the only one Noah could count on for a little support. "You didn't work them out too hard, did you?"

"Nah," then remembering how tired they both seemed afterwards, he got a little worried. "I don't think so, anyway."

"Then they should." Gio shrugged. "They'll probably quit eventually, but I doubt they'd quit after only one workout. By then, Jack'll know you're good to go."

Noah wouldn't mention to them how much he was counting on that, but he'd already started applying for jobs using the computers down at the library. He was getting that desperate.

Gio, who had been leaning on his own bike, got on it. "Stop by my house before you go home. I got something for you."

"I'll just follow you then," Noah said, pulling on his helmet. "I gotta long day tomorrow. I wasn't planning on hanging out here too long anyway."

Unlike girls, neither of them ever said it, but Gio had been his best friend since he'd moved from his last foster house to the Fuentes' home over four years ago. He lived up the street, but that's not how he met him. They met in auto shop in high school sophomore year. When Gio found out about Noah's love for bikes and that he was working on getting his Ninja running, he invited him over to check out the bike he was working on: an old GXXR his uncle had given him.

Gio introduced him to everyone else on First Street including the Fifth Street gym where they all hung out, Noah discovered his passion for boxing, and the rest was history. He'd been part of the gang ever since, but his bond with Gio was the tightest.

They pulled into Gio's backyard and parked their bikes just in front of the detached garage. "Whatta ya got for me?"

"Mom's spaghetti—she made me promise I'd bring you over to have some."

Noah laughed. Gio's mom knew her spaghetti was his favorite. He'd told her so ever since he first had some. She called it spaghetti, but it was more like a lasagna because she used whatever pasta she had available. Then she mixed everything together with extra cheese and baked it. But it was always awesome and she made the best garlic bread to go with it. Noah's stomach growled just thinking about it.

"Damn, that'll hit the spot. I'm starving."

Not wanting to be too much of a burden on his former foster parents, who he knew weren't doing so great financially, he'd started eating less and less at their place. For months now, he'd been telling them he'd already eaten at least four times out of the week. Tonight was going to be one of those nights, settling for whatever he could put together from the small fridge in the garage—usually a bologna or just cheese sandwich, if he was out of bologna.

Tonight it would've been a cheese sandwich, but thanks to Mrs. Bravo, he'd be feasting. He smiled, hoping tomorrow would be as good a day as this one had been.