Eliza Bing Is (Not) a Star

by Carmella Van Vleet

We gave the formal greeting. “Annyeon hashimnikka.”

  “How is everyone today?” Master Kim asked.

  “Good, sir!” we said in unison.

  He introduced the other people at the table. The judge I didn’t know was Master Sanders. She was a fifth-degree black belt visiting from another school.

  Master Kim gave us a rare smile. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “I am glad to hear it. No need for luck when you are prepared.”

  I supposed it was true, but still. Yikes! I wondered if anyone else’s stomach flipped.

  The test was like a longer version of a class. Well, if the class was being watched and recorded by a few dozen people, and there were three judges who took notes on your every move.

  We went through our basic kicks and punches and blocks. Sometimes Master Kim called them out in Korean and other times in English. I only had to peek once at the people next to me to make sure I was doing the right thing.

  I concentrated on what I was doing and tried not to think about everybody watching. (Even though I hated to admit it, it helped that Dad was the only one there.) I wondered what opening night was going to be like. Would the whole cafeteria be full? Would parents be filming that, too? What if I forgot my lines?

  Focus! I told myself. That’s a problem for Future Eliza.

  Ha. Future Eliza would be a funny name for a superhero. There’s evil in the world, but don’t fear! Future Eliza will save the day…tomorrow!

  Rats.

  While I was thinking about the play, Master Kim had told everyone to demonstrate their back kicks. I scrambled to catch up without drawing too much attention to myself. That was kind of impossible since Master Kim No. 2 was looking right at me. He wrote something down on his score sheet.

  Double rats.

  After showing that we knew the basics, we moved on to our self-defense skills. Yellow belts testing for gold had to show they could defend themselves from a shove.

  Since Marco and I were about the same height, we paired up. I ran at him first and he moved out of the way easily. Next, he ran at me with his arms ready to shove. I pivoted on my left foot, swung my right to the side and opened like a door.

  Perfect!

  Hopefully, my judge saw that, too.

  Next, we were called up to the table a few at a time to do the memorization part of our tests. Master Kim’s brother was my judge.

  “Yes, sir!” I answered when he called my name. I jumped up, bowed, and hurried to the table.

  He gave me a smile. “Good afternoon, Eliza.”

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  I concentrated on a spot on the wall just over his shoulder as he quizzed me.

  “What is your uniform called?”

  “Dobok.”

  “How do you say ‘Thank you’?”

  “Kamsahhamida.”

  “Where does taekwondo come from?”

  This was something I had to know for my yellow-belt test. “South Korea.”

  Master Kim No. 2 smiled. “Please count to twenty in Korean,” he asked.

  I knew this! Piece of cake!

  “Hana, dool, set, net, dasut, yasut, ilgop, yuldol, ahop, yul, yul hana, yul dool, yul set, yul net, yul dasut, yul yasut, yul ilgop, yul yuldol, yul ahop, seumul.”

  “Nicely done,” Master Kim No. 2 said. “Now please count to thirty.”

  My brain slammed on the brakes. Count to thirty? That wasn’t on my flash cards! Did I forget to study?

  Master Kim No. 2 gave me an encouraging nod.

  I shifted my weight from side to side. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know how.”

  “Yes, you do,” Master Kim No. 2 said. “Think about it.”

  I searched the files in my brain but came up with nothing, nada, zilch.

  “Counting to thirty was not on your test requirements,” Master Kim No. 2 said. “You do not have to know this yet. But a martial artist takes what he or she knows and adapts to solve a problem. So, adapt.”

  How on earth was I supposed to figure out how to count to thirty?!

  I counted to twenty again in my head, hoping the answer would magically come to me. I couldn’t see him, but I knew Dad was watching from the sidelines. Probably wondering why it was taking me so long to be dismissed. It was too bad he couldn’t telepathically send me a last-minute mnemonic device like he did to help me remember how to count from ten to twenty. (“Seumul sounds like Samuel. You don’t need twenty brothers.”)

  Wait! Eleven was just ten with a one added—yul hana.

  I took a chance. “Seumul hana,” I said. Master Kim No. 2 motioned for me to continue.

  “Seumul dool, seumul set, seumul net…”

  I paused after twenty-nine (seumul ahop).

  Master Kim No. 2 smiled. “Seoreun,” he said. “That’s how you say ‘thirty.’ ”

  I repeated the word.

  “Well done, Eliza.”

  My cheeks hurt from grinning. “Thank you, sir.”

  The board breaks were last. The students lined up along one side of the room so we could watch each other. Master Kim called Marco up first. Which meant I’d be second since we were going in order of rank.

  You may not want to go first when you’re auditioning for a play, but going first at a taekwondo test is good. It means you have less time to worry. That didn’t help me much, though. Since my brain works at a hundred miles an hour, I’d already (as Dad liked to say) “pushed all the buttons on the Panic Elevator” by the time Marco broke his board on his first attempt.

  Master Kim picked up another board from the stack and called my name.

  Gulp! Good thing I wasn’t supposed to be breaking with a kick, because my legs were rubber bands.

  Master Kim held up the board and I adjusted it so it was just right.

  “You got this!” Dad called.

  “Go, Eliza!” Sophia and a few of the color belts yelled.

  I got into my ready stance, my hands pulled into a fisted guard.

  It’s gonna hurt, a voice in my head warned. Don’t do it!

  Master Kim always said to visualize. I tried to ignore the voice and imagined the board as nothing but a giant graham cracker.

  I can do this. No problem!

  With a kihap, I raised my right hand into a hammer fist and brought it down on the board.

  Owwwwwww!

  I opened my eyes.

  The board wasn’t broken.

  Master Kim nodded. “Try again,” he commanded.

  I lined up the board/giant graham cracker again.

  “Huuup!”

  But my hand hit the board with a thud. I shook my hand, trying to shake off the pain.

  “You have one more attempt,” Master Kim reminded me.

  I nodded.

  “Take a moment if you need it,” Master Kim said.

  I didn’t need a moment. I needed ice! And maybe a more cooperative board.

  The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering like mad. And hot tears pricked my eyes. What if I couldn’t break the board? A boy at my first test couldn’t break his board and Master Kim made him sit down. Madison said he’d get another chance during class. But he didn’t get his new belt that day.

  I wanted my gold belt. Today.

  I looked at Dad, who gave me an encouraging smile. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Master Kim No. 2. I remembered what he’d said about a martial artist taking what they know and adapting.

  Okay. Here’s what I knew:

  Imagining the board being easy to break wasn’t working.

  My hand hurt. A lot.

  I hadn’t practiced my hammer fist with my left hand. So switching hands was out.

  Suddenly, a lightning-bolt idea came to me.

  If imagining the board as something
weak wasn’t working, then maybe I needed to imagine my hand as something strong!

  I lined myself back up and took a deep breath. Then I drew all my power from my danjun. My energy wasn’t red, like Master Kim had suggested that day in class.

  Mine was silver. Like the top of a hammer.

  My hand was a hammer.

  “Huuup!”

  And just like that, I was a gold belt.

  After Master Kim handed out the new belts, Marco bowed us out.

  “Hae sahn, class dismissed,” Master Kim said. “And congratulations!”

  Everybody’s families crowded us for hugs and pictures. Dad admired my new belt. “Gold suits you,” he said.

  He held up his hand for me to high-five, but I shook my head.

  Master Kim strolled over and handed me an ice pack. “Here. I thought you might need one of these.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “How is your hand?” he asked. I showed it to him.

  “That will have a nice bruise by tomorrow,” he said.

  “As opposed to a mean bruise?” I asked. I wanted to take it back the second it was out of my mouth. But Master Kim and Dad laughed. So I did, too.

  Mom and Sam got home a little after nine that night. Mom gave me a big hug, congratulated me on my new belt, and then examined my hand. “Good news,” she said. “You’ll live.” Afterwards she announced she was exhausted and headed to bed.

  Sam went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and I followed.

  “How’d the test go?” he asked.

  I told him all about it.

  “That’s good. So, uh. I really am sorry about missing it. I think it’s cool you’re still taking classes and stuff.”

  I eyeballed him. Sam wasn’t the kind of brother who usually apologized for stuff. Not even that one time he told me there was a snow day, so I turned off my alarm and then Mom yelled at me for sleeping in. Maybe I could use his guilt to my advantage.

  “If you feel so bad about missing the belt test,” I said carefully, “just think how bad you’ll feel about missing the play.”

  Sam scowled at me as he slapped cheese on his sandwich. “I’m not skipping the dance,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not.”

  “You don’t even like dancing.”

  “That’s true,” he admitted. “But I like Megan.”

  “More than you like me?”

  Sam sighed. “You’re my sister. She’s my girlfriend.”

  “There’s only one opening night,” I tried. “It’s not like there won’t be a bunch of other dances. Can’t you miss one?”

  “I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “Fine. I won’t. Happy?”

  “No.”

  Sam added lettuce and the second slice of bread. His voice got quiet. “It doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it, though.”

  “Just not bad enough,” I said.

  “Nope,” he said. “Not bad enough.”

  I wasn’t a quitter, but I knew when I was beat.

  It was Monday. Opening night was four days away. It was good my gold-belt test was over, because we had rehearsals every day now. I would have to miss taekwondo classes, but Master Kim said he understood.

  The crew was finally finished with the sets. The barn set everyone had painted was the biggest.

  “I need all hands on deck,” Mrs. Delany called. “The barn wall is too big to go up the stairs, so we’ve gotta hoist it up to the stage.”

  Everyone started moving to the cafeteria floor, where the crew had laid the set so we could grab an edge. Annie was on the other side of the barn wall. With Paige. I could see their fake diamond earrings from across the room. She hadn’t hung out with me during rehearsal since the night I’d said I wanted to do the new ad-libbed line. At lunch, we stuck to complaining about homework and teachers.

  JJ slid in next to me. “ ‘Hoist’ is a great word, isn’t it?” he said. “It rhymes with ‘joist,’ and that’s on my Top Ten list of favorite words to say.”

  Vivian and I rolled our eyes.

  “What’s one of your favorites?” JJ asked us.

  “Favorite what?” Vivian answered.

  “Words to say.”

  Vivian thought it about it. “ ‘Pumpernickel’ is fun, I suppose.”

  “ ‘Nougat,’ ” I said.

  JJ grinned. “Ooo. ‘Nougat’ is a good one!”

  Mrs. Delany started barking instructions. “Don’t bunch together. Make sure you’re evenly spaced. Okay, squat down. Don’t bend! Lift with your legs. Calling your parents and explaining that you hurt your back because you didn’t follow directions isn’t on my list of things to do today.”

  I got into position. JJ was to one side of me, and Vivian was to the other. We did squats in taekwondo, so doing them now wasn’t a big deal. But some people moaned and groaned. Surprisingly, Paige wasn’t one of them. In fact, she was right in the middle of things, helping to lift the set.

  “One, two, three, lift!” Mrs. Delany called.

  The wall wasn’t so heavy with everyone helping. I had a solid grip, but to the left of me, JJ adjusted his hand until it was next to mine.

  Holy smokes. Our pinkies are touching. Does he notice?

  I glanced at JJ and he smiled. It was just his regular smile. Nothing weird. But he didn’t move his hand.

  Is he leaving his hand there on purpose? Or is it just too risky to change positions again since we’re moving?

  Arg.

  Cole, who was wearing a shirt that said STAGE MANAGER, crawled under the wall and pushed from the middle so we could raise it up to the stage. After we slid it onstage and raised it into position against the backstage wall, Vivian pulled me aside.

  “I think JJ likes you,” she whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded and smiled. I was so confused about it all that I told Vivian about the pinkies.

  “Did you feel electricity? My sister’s in college and says you’re supposed to feel electricity when someone you like touches you.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It just felt warm.”

  Vivian put her hands on her hips. “Warm’s a start!”

  I approached Annie at our break. “That barn set was heavy, huh?” I said.

  “Yeah. A little.”

  “Did you have a good weekend?”

  “I guess. I mostly just ran lines and stuff like that.”

  I didn’t bother asking who she ran lines with since I already had a pretty good idea.

  “Guess what? I passed my gold-belt test on Saturday.”

  Annie brightened and gave me a hug. “Wow! Congrats!”

  Finally! We were getting on the right track.

  “Check out my war wound,” I said, holding up my hand to show her my bruise. (Master Kim was right; it was a pretty nice one. It looked like a galaxy.)

  “Oh my goodness! What happened to you?” Mrs. Delany asked, coming up behind us. She gently grabbed my hand to examine it.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Please tell me that didn’t happen when we were moving the set earlier.”

  “No, no,” I told her. “It’s from my taekwondo test over the weekend. I had a little trouble with my board break is all. But it’s fine. Really. It only looks bad.”

  Mrs. Delany breathed a sigh. “Thank heavens.” She smiled. “I didn’t know you did martial arts. What belt level are you at?”

  “I just tested for my gold belt,” I told her.

  “That’s fabulous!” She leaned in closer. “I did karate in college. I got all the way to my purple belt.”

  “No way! Really?” I said. Mrs. Delany nodded.

  Annie sighed. “I gotta go,” she said.

  Later that night
, I sat on my bedroom floor and tried to work on my homework. But I kept thinking about Annie.

  Clearly, she was upset about something. Maybe she was just tired from the long rehearsals; we all were. But I didn’t think that was it. And it was strange how she left so suddenly when Mrs. Delany and I started talking about martial arts. What had I done to make her mad? Operation BBF was going downhill. At top speed.

  Now, Paige was a different story. I knew exactly why she was mad at me. But that one wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t like I set out to embarrass her when the set door got stuck. Or planned out the snouty-snout-snout line. Those things just happened. I guess she had a point about the play being her big break, though. Was I really ruining it? It was one new line.

  “Knock, knock,” Dad said from my bedroom doorway. “Got a sec?”

  I shoved my books aside. “Sure.”

  As he walked in, Dad pulled something from behind his back. “Here. I made you a present.”

  It was a wooden board with my name painted on it. Below that top board, two long, thin boards hung horizontally. It reminded me of a very short rope ladder. My white belt and yellow belt were folded and secured to the lower boards with elastic bands.

  “I figured we can add a new board with each new belt,” Dad said.

  I jumped up and hugged him. “It’s awesome! Thank you!”

  Dad grinned. “I wanted to do something nice for you. I’m glad you like it.”

  “I really do,” I told him. “Where should I hang it?”

  Dad and I hung the belt rack over my desk. That way, I could always see how far I’d come. I only had three belts so far (two on the rack and one that I wore) but it made me feel good that Dad believed I could make it all the way to my black belt someday.

  After Dad left, I took a break from my homework. The belt rack had inspired me. Maybe all I needed to do to fix things with Annie was to do something nice for her. And it would be nice to do something for the rest of the cast and crew, too. After all, best friends did nice things for each other for no particular reason.

  I knew just the thing. Cupcakes!

  * * *