Steven, a nearsighted, asthmatic redhead, strode into the center of the ring holding two hunks of wood. Normally nervous and tightly wound, he was radiant with excitement today. He turned around in a slow circle and raised the blocks of wood above his head.

“All right,” he said. “All right.” The crowd quieted a few degrees. “All right. It’s time for the main event! The battle of the century! Only one of these fighters will leave the ring victorious. This is a battle of strength and courage. Each round is two minutes. We’ll go until we have a winner. No biting. No scratching. When I hit these blocks together, you men come out fighting. All right?”

The crowd roared and Michael made a bestial sound as Ronnie kneaded his back. Tony, seeing the massage strategy, clasped Joseph’s back and began pinching and prodding as well. Steven banged the two pieces of wood and scurried off, and the boxing match was underway.

Before Joseph could even think, Michael raced from his corner with his arms flailing. Somehow Joseph managed to evade him, awkwardly shuffling off to the side, and from there the boys began circling each other. Michael pranced, making tight, exploratory jabs, and Joseph ducked to avoid the punches. Michael turned his head and spit hard onto the ground. The spectators screamed.

They circled the ring three times before Michael finally pulled within arm’s length. He began swinging wildly. Joseph couldn’t quite believe it. The fists jumped all around him, to the left and right, falling wide, and he held his glove with both hands before his face, trying to protect his nose and mouth and eyes. For a moment he thought he might come out untouched, but then the first blow connected. He felt the heavy, dull weight of Michael’s arm on the bone of his skull.

The crowd roared and Joseph stumbled back, swinging blindly in defense. He had trouble aiming his gloved hand but his bare right fist clubbed Michael on the side of the face. Joseph felt a surge of hope, but a second later Michael was back, windmilling and shoving, elbowing and kicking.

Joseph was on the verge of falling when the wood blocks clacked and Michael was pulled away. Joseph staggered to his corner and sat down on his bucket, breathing hard. His mind was empty and alert. His arms were exhausted. He felt his lip swelling and tasted blood in his mouth. He passed his tongue over his front teeth and felt it slide like oil. He saw the whole situation with clarity. The boys were forcing the universe to turn on itself, to vanquish itself, and that was demonic somehow.

“Keep your hands up,” Tony said. “You’re letting him land every punch, all right? Don’t take that shit. You’re awesome. You’re a killer.”

“I’m bleeding,” Joseph said.

“It’s nothing,” Tony said.