The Boxing System: I Became the King of the Ring-Chapter 11: Permission

"Um, Dr. Vasquez, do you have a minute?"

Javier stood outside her office door with Tommy, both wearing their cleanest shirts and nervous expressions. The hallway smelled like old paint and burnt coffee from the staff break room. Tommy rubbed his palms against his jeans while Javier’s foot tapped against worn linoleum.

Sunday morning meant paperwork for Dr. Vasquez. Mountains of case files, court reports, and state inspections that determined whether kids had futures or just survival.

"For you two? Always. Come in." Dr. Vasquez looked up from her desk, glasses sliding down her nose. Dark circles under her eyes suggested another sleepless night worrying about seventeen different teenage lives. "What’s going on?"

Tommy’s nervous swallow was audible. "It’s important. About boxing."

"There’s a tournament. The Golden Gloves. But we can’t even sign up unless you let us," Javier said, his jaw tight with contained hope.

"We want to compete, but we need your signature on the papers. Please," Tommy added quickly.

Both boys stood frozen, holding their breath waiting for verdict.

Dr. Vasquez gestured toward the chairs facing her desk. She leaned back, studying their faces. Tommy’s leg bounced with nervous energy while Javier’s hands clenched and unclenched in his lap.

"I didn’t know you were taking it this seriously," Dr. Vasquez said, studying their determined faces.

"We are," Javier replied, his voice steady with conviction. "This is our chance to do something real."

"Miguel’s running a program at the rec center. He said we can join, but we need your permission for everything," Tommy explained.

"I know about Miguel’s program. He’s been working with our kids for years," Dr. Vasquez replied. "But tournament competition is different from just training at the rec center."

"What about school? Training means early mornings, late nights. Who’s going to help you keep your grades up?"

"We’ll keep up. Promise. We can do homework before practice. Even at the gym if we have to." Javier leaned forward, desperation bleeding through his careful control.

Dr. Vasquez glanced at Tommy for confirmation. He nodded so quickly his neck might snap.

"I’ll help him. We can help each other."

A knock interrupted their conversation. Miguel entered carrying his gym bag and a thick folder of official forms. He made a respectful nod to Dr. Vasquez.

"Morning, Elena. Hope I’m not interrupting."

"Not at all. These two are trying to talk me into boxing."

"I know I said just training," Miguel began, settling into the remaining chair and spreading forms across the desk. "But I’ve seen Javier and Tommy in action. They have something special to offer, and I feel I can help them achieve it."

"What made you change your mind about them?" Dr. Vasquez asked.

"Javier landed clean shots on me during sparring. First session," Miguel replied. "Tommy’s got the determination. Both of them absorbed everything I taught them like sponges."

"That’s unusual for beginners?"

"Most kids get overwhelmed and quit after one hard session. These two asked when they could come back for more." Miguel leaned forward. "That’s when I knew they deserved a real chance."

Tommy grinned. "He still makes us do extra push-ups when we mess up though."

Miguel smirked. "And they’ll be doing a lot more than push-ups if they want to compete in the Golden Gloves."

USA Boxing membership applications, medical clearance forms, tournament registration paperwork. Each document represented another hurdle between wanting something and actually getting it.

Dr. Vasquez flipped through the papers, her expression growing more serious with each page. "When does training start?"

"Six AM runs before school, afternoon gym sessions, sometimes Saturdays for sparring," Miguel replied.

"Six in the morning?"

Javier gulped. "We’re up early anyway."

Tommy tried lightening the mood. "Can’t be worse than cafeteria eggs."

Dr. Vasquez almost smiled. "You two know this means earlier bedtimes? No staying up talking after lights out."

"We’ll do it. Promise," Tommy said.

"And how do you get there?"

"If the group van’s busy, I can pick them up, or they can take the bus with the other kids," Miguel offered.

Dr. Vasquez made notes on her legal pad, her pen scratching against paper like tiny protests. The worry lines around her eyes deepened as she processed logistics and liability.

She reviewed the medical forms with growing seriousness. "Boxing means risk. Broken noses, concussions. Competitive boxing is different from our usual recreational activities."

"All my kids wear headgear. Medical checks every three months. No one fights without clearance," Miguel assured her.

Dr. Vasquez nodded slowly, considering the safety measures. She glanced between the boys and Miguel, weighing risks against opportunities.

"You’ll both get sports physicals at the clinic this week. If the doctor says no, that’s final. Understood?"

"Yes, ma’am," both boys replied in unison.

"And no fighting outside the gym. You get suspended for school fights, boxing is done. No exceptions."

"We get it. We’re not looking for trouble," Tommy said.

Javier thought about previous fights in group home corridors. Petty disputes over television channels and borrowed clothes that escalated into bloody noses and suspension threats. This opportunity meant leaving that version of himself behind.

Dr. Vasquez opened the filing cabinet, hunting through manila folders for birth certificates and insurance documents. The metal drawers scraped like fingernails on chalkboard.

"You need a copy of your birth certificate for the USA Boxing membership and the tournament. Tommy, yours is here. Javier, I have to check the archives."

"USA Boxing won’t let you register without proof of age," Miguel explained.

Dr. Vasquez scribbled updates on emergency contact forms. "I’ll update all your files."

"Thank you, Dr. Vasquez," Javier said quietly, gratitude making his voice thick.

"Seriously, thank you," Tommy echoed.

She picked up the desk phone and dialed the school administration office, putting it on speaker so the boys could hear their fate being decided by adults who barely knew their names.

"Hi, Ms. Lewis, it’s Dr. Vasquez from Marcus Garvey. I’ve got two students looking to join a boxing program. Training before and after school. I want to make sure their grades stay on track."

"Boxing?" Ms. Lewis’s voice crackled through the old speaker. "That’s different. What are their current GPAs?"

Dr. Vasquez flipped through their files. "Javier’s at 2.8, Tommy’s at 2.6. Both have been consistent this semester."

"And the training schedule?"

Miguel leaned toward the phone. "Six AM to seven-thirty for conditioning, then afternoon sessions from four to six. Weekends occasionally."

"That’s a significant time commitment," Ms. Lewis noted. "As long as they check in at homework club daily and grades don’t drop below a C average, we’ll approve. Any failing grades and they’re out of the program."

"Understood. And if they need a ride, the gym coach will help with transportation."

"I’ll need weekly progress reports from their teachers. Email them to me on Fridays."

"Will do. Thanks for working with us on this."

Dr. Vasquez hung up and looked at both boys seriously. "You heard her. Grades slip, boxing stops. No exceptions."

"We’re really doing this," Javier whispered to Tommy, disbelief mixing with excitement.

"Feels real now," Tommy grinned, his leg finally stopping its nervous bouncing.

Dr. Vasquez typed a monitoring agreement and pinned it to both boys’ files. Official documentation that their lives were about to change direction.

Lunch in the cafeteria brought tseventeen curious faces wanting explanations. The news spread through the group home like wildfire - some residents impressed, others jealous, most just shrugging at another institutional development.

"How come you get special treatment? I asked to join football last year and they said no," Carlos complained through a mouthful of sandwich.

"We’re not getting special treatment, man. Anyone can try out if they want to do the work," Tommy replied.

Carlos paused, considering. "Maybe it’s time I ask again. I’ll ask the football coach to help me out, like Miguel did for you guys."

Kevin perked up. "I wanna go. Can I sign up, too?"

David, aging out in three months, offered his cynical wisdom. "It’s all dreams till you get punched in the face. Don’t come crying when you lose."

"No one’s crying. We’re just trying," Javier said firmly. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Kevin grabbed his milk carton with renewed interest. Carlos rolled his eyes but some younger kids looked at Javier and Tommy with something approaching respect.

Evening brought another meeting. Dr. Vasquez gathered Grey and the overnight staff to explain schedule changes that would ripple through established routines.

"Training starts early, so bedtime moves up. Homework after dinner, not before bed. On weekends, they’ll be at the gym."

Grey crossed his arms. "As long as they pull their weight with chores, I have no problem."

"Nutrition is part of training. No skipping meals. They’ll need snacks before practice, too," Miguel added.

Tommy whispered to Javier, "Bet you five bucks Grey forgets and wakes us up at five anyway."

Staff members murmured among themselves. Some smiled encouragingly. Others warned the boys to keep their heads down and not expect special treatment.

After dinner, Dr. Vasquez called them back to her office. The forms sat on her desk like a contract with destiny. She studied both boys with the expression of a mother deciding whether her children were ready to cross a busy street alone.

"I’ve told Miguel to go ahead with the registration process," she said, watching relief flood their faces. "But let me remind you both of what you cannot do. No grades below a C+, no fights at home or school, you go to every therapy session. If you break any of these rules, I’ll pull you from boxing immediately. Understood?"

Javier could barely breathe. "We’ll do it. Promise."

"Thank you, Dr. Vasquez. For real," Tommy said.

Dr. Vasquez’s expression softened slightly. "Don’t thank me till you win something. Or better - till you don’t get hurt."

Miguel leaned forward. "You got your chance, boys. Use it right."

Relief flooded their faces. Tommy looked ready to dance. Javier’s fists clenched with silent triumph as Dr. Vasquez signed each form with deliberate strokes.

Miguel scheduled their sports physicals for Tuesday. The boys high-fived, holding their paperwork like golden tickets to a different future.

"Be at the gym at 5:55 Monday morning. No excuses," Miguel said.

"We’ll be there," Javier replied.

"Gonna set my alarm now," Tommy added.

That night, Javier lay in his narrow bed staring at the ceiling. The house had settled into its usual evening quiet - muffled conversations from the staff room, distant television from the common area, somebody coughing in the next dormitory.

His alarm clock glowed, 9:47 PM. In eight hours, everything would change.

Tommy whispered across the room, "We got this, right?"

"Yeah," Javier replied softly. "We got this."

Vicente materialized beside his bed, ghostly form solid in the darkness. "The hard part starts now, kid. Are you ready?"