Eight Times Up

by John Corr

  “Sumo…”

  The girl in the white ninja hood huffed in disgust.

  The huff was a girl noise. The girls in my class made that sound when the teacher told them to run faster in gym class or didn’t let them choose their best friends for class projects.

  This girl sounded just like them.

  But she didn’t move like them.

  Joe was coming right at me.

  The girl pushed off the wall and stepped forward.

  Right into the path of the bull. I don’t think he could have slowed down if he’d wanted to. And he sure didn’t look like he wanted to.

  Just as he should have been smashing her, she vanished.

  On that exact spot, right in front of me, Joe flipped.

  Hard.

  The mats shook under my feet, and he landed flat on his back.

  He bounced up just a little off the mats, then landed flat again.

  The girl rose up from a crouch. She stood over him. “Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Wafaa.”

  FOUR

  A laugh came from the doorway.

  Wafaa stood at attention. Joe, still on the floor and breathing heavily, sat up straighter. I didn’t look at Zack and Dion behind me, but I couldn’t hear them. For the first time since I walked in, they must have stopped fighting.

  A young man stood at the edge of the mats. He wasn’t much taller than us, but he had dark stubble that made him look like a teenager, or maybe even a little older. He looked at each of us intensely, one at a time. When he looked at me, I dropped my eyes to the floor. When he moved on to the other kids, I checked him out. He must be our teacher. He had the same uniform jacket as me, but his was even more broken in than Wafaa’s. The edges of his cuffs and his jacket were frayed. I could see a bunch of loose little threads.

  Instead of pants like ours, he wore a swishy black skirt. It went all the way to his ankles and had long, straight folds down the front.

  “I know you’re all excited because it’s the first class,” he said. He kicked off his flip-flops and stepped on the mats. As he did, I saw two of the folds split apart. It wasn’t a skirt, after all, but some kind of fancy pants. “I’m excited too.” He was holding a gym bag in one hand and a long, skinny black bag in the other hand. He used the long one to point to the mess around Zack and Dion. “But this doesn’t happen again. Ever.”

  Without saying a word Zack started to put the plastic shelves back up. At the same time Dion began picking up all the equipment.

  The teacher used his long bag to point at Wafaa now. “Your throw showed excellent technique. Perfect technique, in fact. Which makes me even more excited. Because I’m here to teach technique. You just showed me that you respect that.”

  The teacher continued. “That was a judo throw, am I right?” Wafaa nodded. She looked proud. “Well, you’re not here to practice judo,” he said. Wafaa’s face fell. “Your parents sent you here to study aikido. So like that”—the teacher pointed at Zack and Dion’s mess—“judo throws will not happen again in this class. Go help the boys tidy up.” He looked at Joe. “Did you catch that? I’m not here to babysit. Whatever it was you were doing, it also doesn’t happen again. Go help them.” I just stood there, stunned.

  The teacher walked to the front of the room. “Your parents sent you here to learn aikido technique. My teacher—Kondo Sensei—has told me to make sure you do. You’re not here to play games. You’re not even here to have fun. Some kids take music lessons and learn piano or violin technique. This is no different.”

  Something didn’t feel right. This guy didn’t sound at all like the guy in Dad’s library book who’d recommended aikido for stressed-out kids. I raised my hand like you do when you want to say something in school. But the teacher didn’t see me.

  I cleared my throat, but he still didn’t notice. That was usually when I was most comfortable. When I was flying under the radar. This time, though, I thought we’d better get things cleared up before the class got really serious.

  “Sir?” I said loudly.

  He looked up in surprise, a notebook in his hand. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed I was there.

  “Call me Sensei,” he said. “Sensei Rick.”

  “Okay…” I said. This guy made me so nervous! “Sensei Rick? You said our parents sent us here to learn technique? But I don’t think my dad cares much about technique.” I know he was hoping it would help me with my anxiety. But I was also pretty sure that at the very least he would want me to have a little fun. “I think he expected—”

  Sensei Rick pointed at me. “Let me stop you right there.” He moved his pointing finger to the corner. “Why is it that the rest of them are tidying up, but you’re standing here arguing?”

  Arguing?

  I knew arguing. I had seen my parents argue plenty this past year.

  I was being helpful. Because he was wrong about why Dad had signed me up. Which meant he might be wrong about why other parents had signed up their kids too. “I think if you just—”

  “Are you now going to argue with me about arguing with me?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. I felt like he was the one arguing. I was still trying to be helpful. But I also felt like if I said that, he would say I was arguing about arguing about arguing. It started to feel like the kind of round and round argument my parents often had.

  “Maybe I’ll go help tidy up,” I said.

  “Too late,” called Joe. “All done!” He and the other kids came back over. I was the only one who hadn’t made trouble, but somehow I felt like the only one in trouble.

  “In that case,” Sensei Rick said, “we’d better get started!”

  We only did warm-ups and some basic movements that night. But those movements lasted a whole hour and stretched every part of me. Muscles I had never felt before. Muscles I didn’t even know existed.

  And then came the body slams.

  Sensei Rick didn’t call them that. He called them “breakfalls.” He said that falling down safely was the most important part of aikido. Again, I wasn’t so sure we had the same idea about aikido. I didn’t see how learning how to fall down was going to help me defend myself. It felt more like learning how to get my butt kicked. I already had that down.

  Sensei Rick told us to drop our bums to the mats, then roll backward and kick our legs in the air. At the same time, our arms should reach out and slap the mats.

  Before I could ever start to picture how to do this, he dropped.

  Boom!

  The sound of his arms smashing the mats echoed around the room.

  Sensei Rick lay on his back for a second, legs sticking up in the air. Then he tucked them back in and curled into a fast sit-up. He rolled back up to standing as easily as he had fallen down.

  It actually looked like it could be fun.

  “Ready?” he shouted. “One!”

  I took a deep breath.

  I threw myself backward at the mats as hard as I could.

  The air exploded out of my lungs like two balloons popping. I couldn’t suck any air back in. I started to panic. A little voice in my mind protested. But the mats looked so squishy!

  I lay there, dying, as the ceiling fans spun slowly above me.

  Finally, I got breath back in me. I decided to stay down for a few more seconds, just to be safe.

  Too late I remembered I was supposed to hit the mats with my arms when I hit the floor. I added them in.

  They didn’t even hit at the same time.

  Pip-pap.

  I rolled over onto my belly and took a quick look around. I had only heard one good arm thump, and it sure wasn’t mine. Aside from that one, everyone else had made little pats like mine.

  That was one breakfall.

  We did many, many more. Falling down was not as easy as it looked.

  At the end of class Sensei Rick told us to kneel down in a line facing him. He knelt at the front of the room, under the photos of the old Japanese men.

  “Sitting like this is cal
led seiza,” he said. “It’s a chance to think about what you have learned. Close your eyes and breathe deeply. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In for a count of four. Out for a count of four.”

  I closed my eyes and inhaled. My uniform was soaked with sweat. My face was burning hot. My chest and back and armpits were on fire. As I inhaled I noticed how heavy my jacket had become on my shoulders. I exhaled and felt the weight grow even heavier.

  I inhaled. How am I ever going to get a black belt if I can barely even do the warm-ups?

  I exhaled. On the other hand, I’m still alive! I survived!

  “Mokuso yame!” Sensei Rick barked. “Open your eyes!” He bowed and told us to go find our parents.

  FIVE

  I usually jump out of bed and slam the snooze button before I even realize I’m awake.

  Today sunlight streamed in through the window, warming my face. It warmed the pillow too, which made it softer, cozier. I fluffed it and smiled.

  The warmth from the sun suddenly felt wrong.

  My stomach flopped, and my shoulders locked tight.

  I never feel the sun on my face when I’m waking up. Never. I shot up and looked around my room. It was way too bright. I looked at the clock: 9:33 AM.

  I could see the numbers just fine, but my brain couldn’t make sense of them. I stared at the clock, trying to figure out how the green numbers and the warm sun could both be so wrong. It made me queasy. I tried to slow down my breathing.

  My alarm goes off at 6:45 AM.

  It is 9:33 AM.

  Late for school?

  Late for school!

  The Surge rushed up in full force. Bad taste in mouth. Head squeezed from inside. Throat swelling shut.

  I jumped out of bed. I was halfway through stuffing my leg into a pair of jeans when I spotted my T-shirt on the floor. I reached for it, tripping over my jeans. I tried to pop my head through the neck hole, but it was somehow way too small.

  What did Dad do to the laundry this time? I was still trying to squeeze my head through when I saw Dad standing in my bedroom doorway, staring at me, head tilted.

  “Morning, champ,” he said. “Glad you were able to sleep in for a change. Uh, I think that’s the arm hole. You look like one of those cats on the internet.” He laughed and shook his head. “They’re always getting stuck in places that they don’t belong.”

  I blinked at him through the neck ho—arm hole—then peeled the shirt off my head. “You knew what time it was?”

  When Dad was doing his math stuff for work, he could get into his own dopey zone. Sometimes a few days would go by where he would forget to shop for food. We never ran out, but sometimes dinner got a little weird. One time he made a stir-fry with rice, peas, eggs and bacon, all mixed together. At the last second he dumped in a jar of sweet-and-sour sauce that turned all the rice hot pink. It didn’t taste too bad, but it looked like a science experiment gone wrong. The other day I caught him leaving the house in work pants and a pajama top. When I pointed it out, he just shrugged. He just didn’t care about the stuff that would bother most people.

  So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he forgot to wake me up.

  “You know I hate sleeping in!” I said. “School, Dad! School!”

  He smiled and nodded. “I know you love school, son,” he said. “So do I. But even I take a break on Saturdays.” He paused. “Well, some Saturdays.”

  I sat down on my bed. I shook my shirt out, found the real neck hole and pulled it on. Got my arms through my sleeves. It still felt like everything was out of order. But the alarm bells ringing in my brain were starting to settle down. I tried again to think it through. Did I have a spelling test yesterday? Because spelling tests are what we do on Fridays.

  The memory came through the fog.

  I did! So yesterday must have been Friday. So today must be Saturday.

  I yawned and stretched. My back muscles had a stiffness that I wasn’t quite used to. I straightened my arm, and one of my elbows cracked the way some kids crack their knuckles.

  It felt good.

  I had decided to stick with aikido, at least for the time being. The next few classes had been pretty much the same as the first night’s. In some ways they had been less scary, because I had some idea of what I was getting into. But in other ways they were scarier because I knew what I was getting into. Then we’d started doing partner techniques, which was scary in a whole other way. But no one had killed me yet.

  I was getting to know the other kids a bit better. Wafaa was still being pretty unfriendly to me, and I didn’t quite get why. Zack, Dion and Joe still goofed around before every class but were careful not to knock anything over. I didn’t get involved, but at our last class I had assigned myself the job of lookout. I’d cleared my throat loudly as soon as I heard Sensei Rick’s flip-flops flip-flopping on down the hall. Zack had given me a wink as we lined up.

  Sensei Rick had started that class by running us through the warm-ups and basic movements. We weren’t spending an hour on them anymore, but we still did them at the beginning of every class. The stances were tricky, feet turned out and knees bent in, arms waving big circles up and down. To me, it felt like learning how to walk all over again. I fell over a bunch of times. Every single time, Wafaa huffed and rolled her eyes. The other boys started laughing so hard that they fell over too, which got me laughing, which made me tip over even more.

  Sensei Rick had given me a stern look. I’d bitten my lip. I knew it wouldn’t stop me from falling over, but I hoped it would at least stop me from laughing.

  I didn’t think Sensei Rick liked me much. One time I asked him if I could get a drink of water from the fountain in the hall. He just looked at me and told me that if I was that thirsty, I should swallow my own spit.

  Ohhhh-kay then.

  I didn’t tell Dad that last part. I knew if I did, he might try to fix things. And when Dad tried to fix things, he had a way of making them worse.

  I flopped back onto my bed. I still had one leg in and one leg out of my jeans.

  “I guess the aikido is really tiring you out, huh?” Dad asked. “It’s really working! You used to have such bad dreams, but now you’re sleeping like a baby!” I couldn’t tell if he was more proud of me for doing aikido or of himself for having solved a tricky problem. But my warm pillow felt nice on my neck and the back of my head, so I didn’t really care. He smiled as I stretched again. “Why don’t we have a lazy day? Maybe a little closer to lunch, we’ll go to the mall.”

  “The mall?” I asked. My raised eyebrows said everything.

  He shrugged. “I think it’s what normal families do.” He thought for a second, then went back downstairs.

  Right. Normal families.

  Me, a normal kid, and us, a normal family. Just a normal family being normal at the mall.

  I dozed off again, the sunlight warm on my face.

  SIX

  Dad and I stood just inside the mall, looking at the directory map. Nothing had changed. Same stores as always.

  “Bookstore?” Dad asked.

  I had seen that one coming. “Gaming store?” I asked.

  He crossed his eyes, stuck out his tongue and gagged.

  Sometimes I wondered which one of us was the real kid.

  “How about we go to the gaming store first, then the bookstore?” I said. We both knew it wasn’t a real compromise. I only ever went to those two stores. If he could help it, Dad only ever went to one.

  He sighed. “Fine, fine. Let’s go to the gaming store. We’ll see if we can find a way to blow a hundred bucks on some game and later discover that it’s impossible to play unless we spend another hundred on game-related upgrades and purchases.”

  I put on my professor voice. “Well, that is, after all, what ‘normal’ people do at the mall, Dad.”

  Dad laughed and threw an arm around my shoulders. He might give me a hard time, but I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to buy me a new game if I found one I really wanted.

>   In the gaming store I stood in front of a display that compared two new consoles. It had a big chart that described each one feature by feature.

  I was trying to compare them both to a third gaming system when I heard a voice.

  I recognized it, but I couldn’t pin down whose it was. But it was weird. Usually when I’m thinking that hard, especially when it comes to video games, nothing gets in the way of my focus.

  I looked around the store, but I didn’t see anyone I knew. Dad was standing just outside the entrance, looking at his phone.

  I went back to my research. Figuring out which console was best wasn’t as simple as comparing prices. I had to consider which one would let me still play my old games as well as the new games coming out that weren’t compatible with the system I had right now. Then there was the question of—

  “Aiki-noogie!”

  The salesperson behind the counter turned his head sharply. Back corner. Two kids. One tall and one shorter, playing a racing game on a huge screen.

  Their backs were to me, but their cool matching haircuts were a dead giveaway.

  Zack was grinding the knuckles of his left hand into Dion’s head. With his right he deftly steered his controller. On the screen a yellow car slammed into a blue one. The blue one kicked up clouds of digital dust and fat clumps of dirt.

  Without taking his eyes off the screen Dion stiff-armed his older brother. In the game the yellow car swerved head on into a wall and exploded into a fireball. In real life Zack lost his balance and bumped into a shelf of empty video-game cases. They toppled and scattered all over the floor.

  The real-life crash was more impressive than the video-game one.

  Do these two ever stop?

  The blue car raced past a checkered line. Fireworks lit up the screen.

  “Champion!” Dion yelled. He tossed his controller back onto the demo display and waved to an imaginary crowd.

  “You little…” growled Zack. A couple more game cases toppled over as he pulled himself back up.

  “You two!” yelled the salesman. “You’re dead meat!” He came around from behind the counter, but slipped on one of the loose game cases.