by John Corr
There was a word Dad used when something was gross. I mean really, really gross. It popped into my head and was the only thing I could think of.
Revolting.
That was this girl.
Revolting.
Zack started forward. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but Dion must have had some idea. He jumped up off the bench and grabbed his big brother by the shoulders. He pulled him a little, just enough to stop him going forward.
Then he relaxed, keeping one arm wrapped casually around Zack’s shoulders. “You going to listen to this troll, guys?” he said. “She’s just a nasty little troll. Don’t waste your breath on her.”
The girl’s face turned ugly. Mean. “What-ever,” she said, tossing her head and prancing off to the change room.
She almost ran right into Kondo Sensei and Joe as they came around the corner. She pulled up short, then huffed and shoved between them.
The boy who had called her over chased after her for a few steps, then stopped. He looked back at his bag on the floor by us. “Madison!” he called. “Wait up!”
He ran back toward us to get the bag. He yanked it off the floor by its strap.
A pair of bright yellow underwear fell out. He froze when he realized what had hit the floor in front of all of us. Then he quickly bent down to snatch it up and stormed away.
None of us said a thing to him.
But he stopped after only a few steps as if we had. He turned and looked past me. He dropped his bag and in one motion yanked the waistband of his underwear around his head. He pulled the loose parts down under his chin and pinched them into a mock hijab.
He made a nasty face. “Lousy little terrorist!” he said.
Time seemed to slow down.
A sound like the ocean filled my ears.
All other sounds around me were buried under layers of distortion and buzzing. Everything was white noise, like being underwater.
Usually in bad situations, I overthink everything. Every little word, every facial expression, every little feeling.
And a lot of the time, my overthinking triggers the Surge. That triggers even more overthinking. And so on and so on and so on.
But right then, I don’t think I really thought anything at all.
It’s hard to say, because I don’t remember it too clearly.
But some part of me must have decided to punch.
Because that’s what I did.
Hard.
TWENTY-FIVE
Up at the aikido camp, Kondo Sensei had taught us to throw whippy punches. He’d made us flop our arms around like cooked spaghetti so that our hands were loose. Then we’d snapped them into fists aimed at imaginary attackers.
“Not like karate or boxing,” he had said. “Aikido punches distract, disturb and surprise. They break balance. Set up the real technique.”
The punch I threw at this kid in the hallway? It was no kind of aikido punch.
I don’t even remember getting off the bench. All I remember is that I had the full weight of my body behind my skinny little fist.
The judo kid looked surprised.
And then I kind of went blurry.
But moments after it was all over, some of the aikido kids filled me in.
“It was scary, dude,” Dion said. “When you stood up, your face was, like, not even mad. Just no expression at all.”
“Then you were running at that guy!” Joe said. “Like you were going to crush him! But—”
“Kondo Sensei flew right in front of you!” interrupted Dion. “I didn’t even see him move! He just…got there! From, like, six feet away! It was like the stories about those old guys who started aikido! It was…supernatural!”
“It was awesome!” Joe said.
I guessed that my hand, instead of smashing into the boy’s face, had smacked into Kondo Sensei’s open palm.
“You could tell he did not expect you to hit that hard,” said Dion. “He looked surprised. His hand still kind of bounced off the kid’s head.”
As Dion described it, the feeling of the crack of my fist in Sensei’s palm came into focus.
“And he definitely didn’t expect the second one!” Joe said.
After my first punch landed in Sensei’s hand, my other fist must have followed.
“But Wafaa’s dad reached in,” said Dion. “He just reached over your shoulder from behind and hooked your arm with his!” Dion acted it out in slow motion. “But man,” he said, “you nearly pulled him off his feet. You got some power there, Riley!”
The kid still had the underwear on his head when he turned and ran.
And if something hadn’t been holding me back…
Yeah. I remember.
I looked down the hall at Kondo Sensei. He had a serious expression as he spoke with a tall man. It was the man who had told the judo kids to “move it along.” I had assumed he was a judo parent. From what Dion had said, though, I guessed he was an aikido dad. Wafaa’s dad.
The last of the judo kids had cleared out, but a judo sensei appeared in the dojo doorway with Sensei Rick. It wasn’t the tall guy I had seen Sensei Rick talking to before. This one was shorter and wore a red belt.
He looked familiar.
It clicked. He was in the judo picture with Wafaa that I’d seen on the bulletin board. Her old sensei.
“Everything all right out here, guys?” he asked.
Kondo Sensei and Wafaa’s dad looked at each other.
“Some of your judo students are still having a little problem with respect,” answered Wafaa’s dad. “The kind of thing that you and I have spoken about in the past. But it’s no big deal.”
“No. It is a big deal for sure,” said Kondo Sensei. “Maybe something happened before, and maybe you spoke about it before. That’s your business. But this is my student now, so it’s my business too.”
Kondo Sensei’s teaching voice was loud. When he was hollering up at the camp, it had filled the whole clearing. But there in the hallway his voice was much more quiet. And somehow even more powerful.
“We’re going to have that conversation another time. For now, the kids’ testing is what matters,” Kondo Sensei said. “But we are going to have that conversation.”
The judo sensei nodded. “I think that’s a very good idea.” He gave a short bow, and Kondo Sensei returned it. “I think we have some very important changes to make.”
He walked past us toward the change room. Kondo Sensei stepped into the dojo.
TWENTY-SIX
With everything that had gone on, I had lost sight of Wafaa.
But then I found her.
Zack was standing near the entrance to the dojo. I could hear crying just around the corner. Soft, muffled crying.
I rushed over. Zack waved his hand, trying to get me to slow down.
I poked my head around the corner. There, just by the water fountain, was Wafaa, her face buried against a woman’s chest.
Her mother.
For a second I didn’t even think of Wafaa.
I just wanted my mom.
I wanted her to be there.
Then Wafaa took a big sniffling breath, and her mother looked at me. Her head covering was a lot looser than what Wafaa wore in the dojo.
I didn’t want to interrupt. But Wafaa’s mom motioned for me to come closer.
She smiled. “I won’t thank you for trying to protect my daughter,” she said. “If you know her at all, you know that she’s a strong, stubborn girl. And she’s very proud of the fact that she doesn’t need anyone to stand up for her.” She pushed Wafaa back a little and looked at her, one eyebrow raised. Then she smiled and hugged her close again. “So I’ll just say this. I am very happy to know she has friends like all of you to stand beside her.”
Wafaa grabbed a handful of her mother’s shirt and used it to quickly wipe her eyes. She sniffed once and then stood up straight.
She took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. She turned and yanked the loose ends of her white belt
tight. She cleared her throat.
“Well, boys,” she said. “What do you say we go get some color on these belts? Mine’s looking a little too white.”
Zack and I put our hands up for Wafaa to give us a high five and then stepped to the side so she could lead us into the dojo.
As I turned, my eye caught the wall of judo photos. I found the picture of Wafaa with her medal and her smile. When I’d first noticed this picture, I had wondered if I would ever see that smile in real life.
I couldn’t help her get more medals. We don’t have competitions in aikido.
But a smile grew on my face, matching the one in the picture.
If I couldn’t get her more medals, she’d just have to settle for getting new friends.
Because that’s what we had become. All of us.
Whatever happened in today’s test, we were going to stand up for one another. Stand beside one another. We had already done it once today, and now we would do it again. No matter how many times we were put down, we’d keep getting up. Together. As many times as it took.
I was as ready for this test as I was ever going to be.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The test went as planned. After everything else that had happened that day, it almost seemed easy.
Almost.
We needed to wait for Sensei Rick to get changed and for the rest of the aikido parents to make their way to the dojo room.
Dad gave me a thumbs-up and went to sit with the other parents on the floor along the wall.
After a few minutes of stretching, Sensei Rick cleared his throat and called for us to line up in seiza.
We did, and Kondo Sensei took his spot, front and center, with a clipboard in his hand. He put it beside him as he knelt in seiza too. Sensei Rick called for us to close our eyes, and we did, clearing our minds for a few seconds.
Then he called for us to open our eyes again. We bowed, yelled “Osu!” and went to work.
Kondo Sensei called us up one by one, reading our names off his clipboard. He pointed carefully, making sure he assigned us the partners he wanted us with.
I got Dion.
Joe got Sensei Rick.
Wafaa got Zack.
I faced Dion in kamae. We looked right into each other’s eyes. He almost burst into a huge smile but fought it down until Kondo Sensei yelled, “Hajime!”
Then Dion’s smile disappeared, and he chopped as hard as he could at my head.
My shoulders relaxed. I know what to do.
At times I caught sight of what the other kids were doing as I was doing it. We didn’t all do everything exactly right or at exactly the same time.
I told myself that it was okay. That it wasn’t a dance recital.
Dion and I held our own as Kondo Sensei kept up the pace.
“Right side! Left side! Sh’te–uke change! Hajime!”
We went faster than we ever had in training, and both of us started to sweat. The sweat made things slippery. On one technique, my hands shot right off Dion’s wrist instead of grabbing it and turning his arm over.
I couldn’t help it. I looked up at Kondo Sensei. Of course he was looking right at me.
Breathe.
I inhaled, straightened my posture and took Dion’s wrist again. I found my grip and put him down.
I was doing it!
I looked back at Sensei. He had moved on.
Then, just when I felt I was really building up my power, getting into the groove, it was all over.
“Yame!” Kondo Sensei called.
We stood in a line. My chest was rising and falling, and I could hear the other kids breathing heavily too. Sweat ran into my eyes, but I didn’t move to wipe it away.
Kondo Sensei waved Sensei Rick over and showed him the clipboard. Pointing, frowning, they went back and forth in a hushed conversation. Finally, they both nodded.
Sensei Rick ran back to join us in line, waving us back a step and gesturing for us to kneel in seiza.
Kondo Sensei opened his mouth to speak and then paused, considering carefully. Choosing just the right words.
“No problem,” he finally said. “Everybody, no problem.” He led the applause. The parents joined in. “Even you, Ricky!” Kondo Sensei said. “Congratulations on passing your yellow belt test again! Good uke!”
Sensei Rick laughed. “The kids really held their own today, Sensei,” he said. “If I looked good as uke, it’s only because they did a great job of sh’te!”
Kondo Sensei smiled. Then he bowed, yelled “Osu!” and made his way to the door.
“Osu!” we yelled back.
Was that it?
I looked sideways and caught Wafaa’s eye.
I was glad to see that even she had worked up a sweat.
She just smiled and shrugged.
“AY, OSU!” Kondo Sensei bellowed again from the door. He bowed once more and stepped out into the hall.
“Osu!” we yelled again.
The parents rose slowly, looking proud but not quite sure what to do. Then Wafaa’s mom started walking over to her daughter. Wafaa’s dad followed, smiling from ear to ear. Joe’s parents came over too. His dad rubbed Joe’s sweaty bald head. Then he laughed and made a big show of wiping his hand off on the shoulder of Joe’s uniform. Zack and Dion’s mom came over, hugging the boys and speaking in Greek.
Dad jogged over and grabbed me in a huge bear hug, almost knocking me over. He squeezed me tightly, then picked me up and swung me around in a circle.
“Dad!” I said. “Stop it!”
I was so embarrassed. And I loved every second of it.
He set me down. I looked around. No one was paying any attention to me anyway.
I jumped at him, giving him a bear hug back. I was still pumped from the test. I bent my knees and gritted my teeth and tried to lift him.
It was his turn to be embarrassed.
“Riley! Riley!” he said when I got him up off the floor for a second. I kept my grip around his waist after I put him down. I smiled up at him.
“Wow, kid,” he said. He sounded really impressed. “You really are growing up.” He blinked. “I wish…”
Sadness crossed his face. He quickly blinked it back into a smile. But I had seen it and knew what it meant.
“I know, Dad,” I said. “I miss her too.”
My dad bit his lip. His eyes filled. “That doesn’t mean we’re not still a family, Ry. I’m very proud of you. And I love you.”
He mashed my face into his chest. I didn’t know if it was so I wouldn’t see him cry or to stop my own tears.
I straightened up in surprise when the yelling started.
“PIZZA!” Joe hollered. “Piz-za! Piz-za! Piz-za!”
Dion and then Zack joined in the chant. “PIZZA! PIZ-ZA! PIZ-ZA!”
“AY!” A giant voice cracked through the room. We looked at the doorway. Kondo Sensei stood there. He was already back in his plaid shirt and shorts and had his scuffed leather bag in his hand. “What’s going on?”
No one answered.
“Directions? I don’t want to get lost!” He pointed his finger, quickly zigzagging from one of us to the next. He zoomed in on Wafaa’s dad. “YOU! I’ll follow you! Let’s go!”
He turned and bundled off down the hall. As he went, we could hear him chanting.
“Piz-ZA! Piz-ZA! Piz-ZA!”
GLOSSARY
aikido—a form of self-defense that allows people to defend themselves without harming their attackers. The name of this martial art comes from three Japanese words: ai, which means “harmony” or “blending”; ki, meaning “spirit” or “energy”; and do, which means “the way.” There are no competitions in aikido.
dojo—a training hall. The word itself means “place of the way.” In an aikido or judo dojo, the entire floor is covered with soft mats to allow for safe practice. Martial arts students and guests must behave respectfully when visiting a dojo.
hajime—“begin.” A teacher says this when it is time for students to start
doing a technique.
kamae—aikido’s basic stance. One arm is held straight forward at chest height. The other arm is bent, with the hand held at stomach height. The hands are open, with fingers spread out. One foot is placed in front of the other, each turned out at a forty-five-degree angle. The front knee is bent, and the back leg is straight.
mokuso—“close your eyes.” The sensei calls this out to signal the start of meditation at the beginning and end of each class.
mokuso yame—“open your eyes.” The sensei calls this out to signal the end of meditation at the beginning and end of each class.
osu—a word often yelled in the dojo to show respect and express enthusiasm. It is heard many times throughout a class. It sounds like oos and is a shortened version of a longer Japanese phrase. (There are many theories about what that longer phrase is.)
seiza—a form of kneeling from traditional Japanese culture. In the dojo, students kneel in seiza to focus their minds and show respect. They kneel this way at the start and end of class, or when a teacher explains a lesson. A student in seiza should be relaxed but alert.
sensei—“one who has gone before.” In Japanese martial arts, the term is a title of respect for teachers. Traditionally, the teacher’s last name is said before the term (e.g., Kondo Sensei). In English, however, the term is usually said before the teacher’s first name (e.g., Sensei Rick).
sh’te—the student who performs the lock, pin or throw on their partner. In aikido, this student is almost always attacked by uke before doing the technique. Some styles of aikido use the term tori or nage for this role.
uke—the student who receives the technique. This student usually attacks sh’te with a strike or a grab before being thrown or having a joint lock applied.
yame—“stop.” Used by a sensei when they need to explain something or teach something new to students.
Zen—a Japanese philosophy that emphasizes compassion, self-control and respect for others. People who practice Zen focus on mindfulness and meditation.
