by Jo Knowles
“Not yet,” I say. “I have a lot of research to do.”
“Well, I’ve heard Roosevelt has a great guidance office to help students with college applications. And I’m sure Larry can help, too.”
“Yeah, Larry’s great,” I say. Because really he is. Even if he’s hands down the biggest dork on the planet.
I decide I should probably give them some time alone, so I clear the table and bring everything to the kitchen. I put all the leftovers away and wash and dry the dishes. As I’m standing there with my hands all soapy, washing more than my own plate, I realize this is the first time in months that I’ve had a real meal with another person. Sure, my dad and I sit on the couch and watch TV while we wolf down a pizza or something. But this was different. With real plates, not paper. And no TV.
When I turn off the water, I hear them laughing in the living room and decide to slip out for a while. I grab my new keys off the hook by the door and start to leave when Larry calls over.
“Hey, where are you going?”
I turn. They’re sitting on the couch, Larry’s arm over Arielle’s shoulder. They look good together.
“Just for a walk,” I say. “I’ll be back later. No worries.”
Larry studies me for a second, then nods. “OK, just come back before it gets dark.”
Before it gets dark? What am I, ten? But I admit, it’s nice to have someone care for a change.
I nod. “Be back later.” When I step into the hallway, the warm feeling I had earlier slowly drains out of me and I stop and stand there. Alone. I lean back against the closed door and listen to the music on the other side. Larry must have turned it up as soon as I stepped out. I imagine him with Arielle inside. Maybe they’re dancing. They seem like the type. I picture them in there, swaying to the music, holding each other. Falling in love. A new feeling starts to seep inside me, starting at my feet. It’s cold, and dark, and it feels like if it reaches all the way up to my head, it will simultaneously freeze and suffocate me. So I take the stairs two at a time, and get out and away before it can catch up and swallow me whole.
Outside, it’s still pretty hot and muggy. I take the same path Larry and I took to the park. Lots of people have come here to walk their dogs tonight. Some have picnic dinners spread out on blankets. I head over to the deli and buy an ice-cream sandwich, then go back to the park and find an empty bench.
I used to get these from the ice-cream truck that came to our park when I was a kid. Caleb, Dave, and I would scrounge for change in all the best spots — our parents’ coat pockets, under couch cushions, etc. Then we’d each buy whatever we could afford. Usually, it was the lame stuff like a Popsicle or an Italian ice cup because those were the cheapest. But sometimes, if we could find enough money, we’d splurge on a Bomb Pop or Choco Taco and see who could eat it the slowest without getting the drips all over us.
I take a bite and I feel like I’m back there again. When everything sucked, but it was OK because I was with my best friends and we were all in it together. And to be honest, life didn’t really suck all that much. We just felt like it did because we wanted a Choco Taco every day. That, and maybe to be playing catch with our dads like some of the other kids in the park, instead of being mostly parentless all the time.
I squeeze the chocolate sandwich so the vanilla ice cream oozes out and lick the sides, just like we used to.
“You keep doing that and you won’t have any ice cream left to eat the sandwich with.” Stella is standing over me, grinning like I’m something to be amused by. She sits down next to me. She’s kind of dressed up, with a nice shirt and a short skirt. She looks really great, actually. If Dave were here, he’d elbow me and say something totally inappropriate about her legs.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” She looks down at her lap.
“You want one? My treat?”
“Nah,” she says. “I’m on a diet.”
“You? But you’re so —” I realize I just revealed that I’ve checked out her body. Or at least, that’s what it will sound like. “You don’t look like you need to be on a diet.” I finish my sandwich to occupy my mouth and keep it from saying anything else to make me look like an idiot.
“What are you doing out here, anyway?” she asks.
“Larry’s girlfriend is over, and I wanted to give them some space.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“My boyfriend just dropped me off.”
“Here? Why not at the apartment?”
“I wanted to take a walk before going home. Get some fresh air.” She looks in the direction of the apartment building, as if there’s something there she wants to avoid.
“My mom has this new boyfriend, and she invited him for dinner. I’m kind of avoiding them.” She checks her watch.
“Do you like the guy?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. We haven’t really hung out. My mom thinks I scare her boyfriends away.”
“Yeah. I can see that,” I say. “You’re pretty scary.”
“Heh. Yeah. Well, it’s the whole ‘being saddled with a kid’ thing. She doesn’t want to scare them away on the first date. So . . . I keep my distance.”
I nod and try not to think about the phrase she just used.
“Karate practice was kind of fun, huh?” she asks. I swear she could sense I wanted her to change the subject.
“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d choose, but —”
She laughs. “Well, I’m glad you’re in class. It’s nice to know someone who can teach me the ropes.”
Right.
“Larry said you stayed with him one summer when you were little and took his class then?”
“Yeah. My dad’s in this band, and they traveled around for the summer, playing at different pubs and stuff. My parents couldn’t really take me to all the bars, so Larry took me in for a few weeks and made me go to all his classes then, too.”
“Your dad’s in a band? That’s so cool!”
“Not really. They’re kind of lame.”
“Oh. Well, it must have been fun to hang out with Larry for the summer. He seems like such a kid himself.”
“Yeah. We had a good time.”
“What’s his girlfriend like?”
“She seems pretty cool, actually. I hope it works out. Larry deserves a happy life.”
She turns to look at me. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“I guess.” I don’t tell her I think there are plenty of assholes in the world who don’t deserve anything. Including me.
“I wish Britt was more like Larry. He’s so serious all the time.”
Britt? You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Why are you with him, then?” I ask.
“Oh, I didn’t mean there’s something wrong with him. Really. He’s great. He’s just — never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I promise I won’t tell him.”
She laughs. “You’re funny, Sam. You’re different.”
At this point, I know I should tell her my actual name isn’t Sam. But I don’t. Somehow, I like being this new me. Sam. Sam the so-called smart kid, staying with his uncle and going to school so he can get into a good college. Not Josh the loser, living with his uncle because he can’t face the girl whose life he ruined. The girl he got pregnant after a freaking one-night stand.
“Nah,” I manage to say.
“You are. I can tell. You’re not like most guys.”
I cringe as I try to block out the memory I’ve been trying to forget for almost a year.
No, I’m not like most guys. I’m worse.
“How long are you staying out here?” she asks after we’ve been sitting in silence way too long. “Do you want to walk back together?”
“Sure.” We get up, and I throw out my ice-cream sandwich wrapper.
She nods approvingly, as if she expected me to toss it on the ground.
We walk toward the apartment. It’s s
till hot outside, even though it’s dusk. I can feel the heat coming off the pavement. It feels good, though, somehow. It feels alive.
“I still can’t believe you left your school senior year just to come to Roosevelt,” Stella says. “You must be a really serious student.”
Time to perpetuate another lie, I guess.
“Actually, my grades weren’t so good, and my guidance counselor thought taking special classes my last year would show colleges I was serious about architecture and stuff.”
“You already know what you want to do with your life? That’s so great. I have no clue. Not even a remote idea.”
All I really know is that I need to get away, and this is the only chance I have. That’s all I know about what I want to do with my so-called life. And now I have officially reverted to my asshole ways by not even owning up to this fact. But obviously, I don’t tell Stella this. I don’t say anything at all.
“Well, thanks for walking me home,” she says as we come to our apartment building. “Samurai Sam.”
Samurai Sam. That’s me.
We go inside, and she takes the elevator while I head for the stairs. “See you tomorrow!” she says just before the door slides closed.
I watch the lights above the elevator door light up as it passes each floor. The light stops on the fourth floor, and I imagine her walking out, going to her apartment, and heading straight to her room to call Britt. I know I shouldn’t judge the guy by his name, or apparent lack of a sense of humor, but I can’t help it. Something about the way Stella talked about him, like she had to convince me he’s a good guy, felt strange. Why do girls do that? Why do they go out with guys they have to convince people — convince themselves — to like?
But the second I think that, I see another face. The one I wish I could forget. Looking at me the same way I bet Stella looks at Britt. Like I had something for her. Like there was some gift I could give her that was finally going to make her happy.
I remember how I smiled back.
How I played the game.
How I ruined her life.
I stand outside Larry’s door and try to take slow, deep breaths. Just try to forget. But even with my eyes open, I see her face, and know I never will.
That night, I wake up again at two a.m. and hear the familiar crying. Only it’s not familiar. It’s louder. More desperate. I wait for the footsteps, the creak-creak, creak-creak. But they don’t come. Then, the cries turn to screeches.
I throw the covers off and stand up. Clover grunts and stretches her legs, then looks up at me in the dark.
“Sorry,” I tell her.
I pace back and forth. Where the hell are the baby’s parents?
Why is it so hard to breathe?
I want to hit something, but none of this crap is mine.
I pound the wall with my fist instead. Jackie Chan smiles at me on that stupid poster, and I punch his face. He keeps smiling, so I punch it again. Hard. And again.
“What the hell?”
I jump and turn around.
Larry is standing in my doorway in his boxers.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I look down at my fist. “Sorry,” I say.
He steps inside the room. “What happened?”
I don’t know.
He lifts his head when he hears the cries above us, then looks back at me.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
Arielle appears behind him, wearing an oversize T-shirt that comes to her thighs.
“Everything OK?” she asks. She has this sweet, concerned look on her face.
And it’s too much.
Too much.
I shouldn’t be here.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“No, don’t be. I understand.” Larry motions for Arielle to go back to bed.
“I’m such an asshole,” I say.
“No.” He reaches out to put his hand on my shoulder, but I move out of reach.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. Because I don’t know what else to say. And I am. I’m sorry for a million things. For everything.
“Josh,” Larry starts, but there’s nothing he can say, either. He knows he can’t change the past.
Finally, above us, the crying stops. We both look up, and our eyes follow the sound of footsteps crossing the ceiling. Then the rocking.
Creak-creak, creak-creak.
I feel my body relax, like a balloon deflating. Larry reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “Everything’s all right now. Try to get some sleep.”
“Sorry to wake you.”
“No worries,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything.”
He shuffles back down the hall and closes his door.
As soon as I sit down on the bed, Clover pads over to me and leans against my arm, purring. I wipe the side of my face and wonder if I started crying these silent tears before Larry came in, or after.
Arielle is making chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast. Larry can’t stop grinning, and I can’t stop feeling like I am the biggest third wheel in history. Arielle acts like my being here is no big deal, though. And that last night never happened. She sips her coffee and tells Larry, who refuses to eat the pancakes and downs his smelly egg shake, how life is unpredictable and he should enjoy food, especially when she makes it. But Larry says he can make his life more predictable by taking care of his body, and tries to convince her to have one of his shakes.
I’m tempted to remind him of the pint of ice cream he finished off by himself, but don’t.
“What is a true karate man?” Larry asks me.
“You?” I answer.
“Should I give you a printout so you can practice?” Larry asks. “As soon as you get the katas down, I’ll be testing you for your blue belt. You used to know this stuff, remember?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Not really.”
“I’ll leave a copy in your room. We’ve got a whole year together. If you practice every day, you could really move up fast. Maybe even make it to brown belt. That’ll look great on your college applications, too!”
“Larry, ease up,” Arielle says. “He’s been here less than a week. Karate may not be his thing.”
“Impossible,” Larry says. “He’s a natural.”
Arielle rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying.”
Larry stands and leans forward to kiss the top of her head. She reaches up and pats his cheek. He glances over at me and winks.
I take that as my cue to go to my room.
I flop on my bed and check my phone for messages.
Caleb: wuts up? y haven’t u called?
Because I don’t know what to say.
Dave: ashley wants 2 break up. call me.
Who the hell is Ashley?
Mom: sorry i missed call. love u. next time leave message.
And say what?
I finally decide to text Caleb back: sorry. nothing 2 report
I won’t have time to call Dave until after “camp,” so I just text: call u l8r.
I decide to delete my mom’s message. Is she not capable of dialing my number and calling me herself? Still nothing from my dad. I know what they will say when I finally talk to them: “We wanted to give you some time to settle in.”
Right.
The truth is, my parents are afraid to talk to me face-to-face. We all know it. I’ve become who they were, and it is killing them. It’s like looking in a mirror to their past. Who wants to do that when it’s filled with one giant mistake?
“Let’s go, handsome!” Larry calls from the hall.
I throw my gi in my gym bag and leave my phone on the bed.
In the locker room, I struggle with my new gi. Larry tells me it looks great and helps me with my belt. I feel like I’m eight again. If I didn’t know everyone else was wearing gis, there is no way in hell I’d even put this thing on.
When we get to our practice room, people are already doing the stretches Larry taught us. I find a space in the back and start stretching my arms, wh
ich are embarrassingly sore. When Larry calls us to line up, I find my place in the yellow-belt row and look for Stella, but she’s not here. Larry busily checks everyone off his list, then looks over at Stella’s empty place. He shrugs and puts his clipboard down.
After doing the stretches we learned yesterday, we all kneel on the floor and Larry has us take some deep breaths.
“Eric,” he says seriously to one of the blue belts. “What is a true karate man?”
Eric repeats the question and starts to lead us in the opening ritual. “What is a true karate man?” he asks.
“What is a true karate man?” we all repeat.
As he continues, the door flings open and Stella rushes over to her spot behind me. Her hair is kind of messy and her face is covered with red splotches, like she’s been crying. I’m about to ask if she’s OK, but she gives me a look like, Don’t ask. So I don’t.
All morning we go through the first Taikyoku, which involves a series of blocking and punching moves. The moves feel like a strange kind of dance. You have to get your feet and arms in just the right positions or you lose your balance. “Learn how to release your mind,” Larry tells us. “Embrace the movements.”
After we all demonstrate that we more or less understand the first kata, Larry tells us it’s time to spar. He brings out all the protective equipment, and we figure out how to get it on. Predictably, Larry puts me with Stella. He even has the nerve to wink at me. I pretend not to notice.
“Victory relies on your ability to know the difference between vulnerable points and invulnerable ones,” Larry says. I’m not sure anyone knows what he’s talking about. It’s another precept we’re supposed to follow.
Stella and I try to go through the moves, but she’s totally distracted and I’m too worried I’m going to hurt her, so we make a terrible pair. When Larry comes over to watch us, he rolls his eyes dramatically and tells us to get over ourselves. And then the weirdest thing happens. Stella steps back, looks at me, and starts to cry. Before Larry and I can do anything, she runs out of the room.
“Stop trying to be a matchmaker,” I say. “She already has a boyfriend.”
Larry makes his hurt-puppy face. “How was I supposed to know?” he asks.
