CHAPTER 1

  5,000 Baht.

  That’s all it took for my parents to sell me to a Muay Thai gym.

  We’re poor, and my Pa owed someone a lot of money, so they sold me to fight. I hate the rubber farm anyways, the smell, the work, the heat. Being a fighter might be easier, or at least different. I want to say I miss my parents. But right now, I’m too angry.

  The bus is cramped. My old, worn gym bag barely fits in my lap, a hand-me-down from my Pa. People glance at me because I’m in my school uniform, even though it’s the middle of the day. I don’t have money for any other clothes.

  When I step off the bus Bangkok hits me all at once. The noise. The crowds. The heat is so strong you could fry an egg on the street, or a whole plate of Kai Jeow.

  It’s overwhelming.

  Nothing like the countryside.

  A tuk-tuk slows down beside me with a sputter. The driver leans out and nods. “Hey, where are you going, kid?” I pull out the piece of paper with my Uncle's messy handwriting.

  “I can take you for 100 Baht.” I reach into my pockets… Nothing.

  “No money?” He scoffs. “Walk, then.”

  He speeds off.

  Bangkok is busy, but I’ve never felt more alone.

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  I wander the streets, holding the paper to every sign I pass, but there’s no match. I ask a shop owner, and he waves me off. A kind-looking old woman at a food cart squints at the paper but can’t read the directions either. Uncle’s handwriting is so messy.

  My bag strap digs into my shoulder. The sun begins to fall.

  I sit down on a low wall and take a deep breath. Maybe I’m stupid. Maybe I should go home.

  I hear the crashing thud of kickpads in the distance.

  “Lek?”

  I look up.

  There’s only one person in the whole city who should know my name.

  A man covered in slick tattoos, wearing loose, vibrantly colored Muay Thai shorts and flip flops, stands over me with a dangling cigarette, and a confused look.

  “You’ve been wandering around my neighborhood all afternoon, haven’t you?”

  I shake my head.

  Yup. Uncle.

  Of course.

  He takes the paper from my hand and squints at it. “I wrote this? Was I drunk?”

  Then he belly-laughs, pulling me into a hug that smells like cigarettes and tiger balm.

  “Nephew! It’s been so long. Last time I saw ya, you were what… 7? How old are you now?”

  “12.” I fight to keep my eyes open.

  “Damn! Time flies. Anyway, you look like you need to catch some Z’s. Let’s get you to the gym.”

  Uncle leads the way. I follow his trail of smoke.

  “Follow me, Lek!”