Wicked Hunger (Someone Wicked This Way Comes)

by DelSheree Gladden

  “Um, yeah, I guess. If you want to.”

  “I do. You busy right now?” Noah asks.

  I glance down at the mess I just made. “Right now?”

  “Sure. The gym I take Jeet Kune Do at has open gym hours on Saturday afternoons. I could show you some of what I know, and you can tell me if you want to use it for our project or not.”

  It’s a simple request, but my hand starts shaking. If my grandma finds out, she’ll ground me for the rest of my life. If I agree, something worse may happen. Physical activity helps calm my hunger, but dancing is way different than fighting people for fun. I don’t know how I’ll react to that. What if I hurt Noah?

  I won’t, I argue with myself. If things get too intense, I’ll tell him I don’t like it and want to try something else. He’ll understand. It won’t be a big deal, and if it is, maybe we just won’t work together. That would certainly solve my problem of getting too close to him, although it would rob me of the chance to have a normal, uncomplicated friendship.

  I’ll only try it this once. If I can’t control it, I’ll never do it again.

  “Uh, Van?” Noah asks.

  “Sorry, I was just trying to remember if I have to do anything this afternoon.” Cookies down my shirt, long odd pauses, the way I accused him of basically being a jerk the first time we talked, Noah must think I’m a nutcase.

  “Did you come up with anything, or should I come pick you up?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath, and a huge risk. “Sure, I can come, but give me half an hour to take a shower, okay?”

  “You may want to wait to shower until after we go to the gym.”

  “I’m covered in powdered sugar from the cookies, and I probably taste like lemons,” I say with a laugh.

  “Hmm.”

  That’s all Noah says, but the way he says it, slow and thoughtful, makes me wonder what he’s thinking about. A shiver runs down my spine, something that has never happened with anyone but Ketchup before. To be honest, it kind of freaks me out. But I also kind of like it.

  “Half an hour?” I ask.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, that sounds great. Is your brother home?”

  “No. Why?” I ask.

  “Just wondering. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  After giving him my address, I run upstairs and take the fastest shower of my life. No way do I want him showing up before I’m ready. I can only imagine wrapping a towel around my wet body and hearing the doorbell ring. There’s no chance of me answering the door in nothing but a towel, so he’d be forced to stand out there like an unwanted salesman until I finished getting dressed. I already act like a total spaz every time I see him, so I rush through getting ready with the hope that, for once, I can have a normal interaction with him.

  Still wet from my shower, my normally platinum hair almost looks like it has some color to it as I twist it into a ballet knot on my way down the stairs. Wet hair bugs me big time, but faced with a choice between blow drying my hair or putting on my makeup, makeup wins out pretty easily. I dash into the kitchen to find a notepad so I can leave my grandma a note, and step on an already broken cookie before remembering the mess I made. I brush off my bare foot with a grimace and reach for a broom.

  The broom is right where it should be, but I can’t find the dustpan. I’m rummaging through the closet where we keep the cleaning supplies when the doorbell rings. The sudden noise makes me knock my elbow on a shelf and bump into a wire rack as I try to untangle myself from my search and hurry to the door.

  In an attempt to look semi normal, I pause, take a deep breath, and then open the door casually. Noah, dressed in running shorts and a plain white tee, bursts into a huge grin as soon as he sees me. At first, I think he’s super excited to see me, which seems a little extreme, but nice. When his grin turns into a snicker, I get worried.

  “Am I dressed wrong?” I glance down at my black leggings paired with simple black shorts and my pink tank top. It seemed like a decent choice, but maybe I was wrong. “I, uh, didn’t know what to wear, so I just put on some dance clothes. I can change if I need to.”

  Noah’s laugh deepens as he steps toward me. I flinch back, but he brings his hand up and reaches toward my head anyway. I’m a second away from slapping his arm away when I feel something move in my hair. Noah’s hand comes away bearing a small sea sponge. He smiles again and says, “Your clothes are fine, but you might want to leave the dried up sea creatures at home.”

  “I couldn’t find the dustpan.”

  It’s a perfectly ordinary statement, but Noah starts laughing. “I’m sorry, but you say the weirdest things sometimes. What does a missing dustpan have to do with a sponge in your hair?”

  “I was looking for the dustpan in the closet, and I bumped into a shelf. The sponge must have fallen off. What is so weird about that?” I ask, embarrassed once again.

  “Nothing, nothing. It makes perfect sense now.” Noah offers me the sponge with an apologetic smile. “Did you need help cleaning up?”

  “No, just give me a minute. I’ll use the vacuum instead.”

  Noah tries to follow me into the kitchen, but I insist he stay put in the living room. I’ve said and done enough stupid things today to leave me red in the face for days. No need to make him think I’m a slob, too. I suck up the crumbs and write Grandma a note about where I’m going, leaving out certain details, of course. I could text Zander easily enough, but I don’t. Not in the mood for a lecture or more questions, I skip over his name and stop on Ketchup’s.

  I open a message, but knowing what to say is not as easy. Thanks to Laney, he knows about Noah and that we were supposed to get together this weekend, but his reaction to that information wasn’t happy. I don’t want to hurt him even more by flaunting who I’m going to be with today, but I don’t know who else to tell. Laney can’t drive yet. The only other one of my friends with a license is Wyatt, but he’s out of town visiting his grandma.

  Ketchup is the only one who could actually help if things go badly. Plus, I know he’ll be home today. His mom works six days a week, so he’s left to fend for himself most weekends, and his dad lives out of state and rarely bothers to visit his son. I know he’ll be able to come if I need him. I feel like a jerk using him as my backup when I know how he feels, but I have no one else to trust with this. Praying Ketchup will understand, I open a text message to him.

  Trying something new. Not sure how it will go. I may need help later. I’ll be at 724 Alameda.

  Keeping my fingers crossed that Ketchup won’t hate me for asking his help on this, I tuck my phone into my pocket and walk back to the living room. Noah asks if I’m ready. I nod and follow him out to his car. I’m buckling up when my phone chimes at me. I open the message and finally manage to breathe.

  Call if u need me. I’ll B there.

  No questions asked, even though I’m sure he made the connection and knows I’m with Noah. Gratitude for his unrelenting loyalty fills me to the brim, along with a pretty severe stab of guilt. I hate that I had to involve him in this at all.

  “Ready?” Noah asks.

  I nod my head because my throat is too closed up to speak.

  A short ten minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of the gym. A new emotion takes up residence then. Fear. Somehow, I push my door open and follow Noah across the parking lot. As we walk in the front door, I feel like I have to revise my description of the building. Gym doesn’t quite fit. The only pieces of exercise equipment I see are racks of free weights along one wall. The rest of the gym is open space with perfectly square blue mats dotting the area. Four of the six mats are occupied with people ranging in age from elementary school kids to older than my grandma. This isn’t at all what I was expecting. Of course, I didn’t have a lot to go off, either. My grandma not only forbids us to participate in combat sports, but movies and TV shows on the same topic are taboo as well. She wouldn’t even let us see The Karate Kid.

  “So, you ready?” Noah asks.

  A teen spa
rring on the mat nearest me snaps his foot into his partner’s leg and knocks him to the ground. My hunger yearns to get a little closer as the fallen boy groans. I should go. I should really, really go.

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” I say. Nodding, Noah gestures to the far mat and I follow. The fallen teen gets up as I walk past him and rubs his leg. His lingering pain floats off his body and skims through the air to reach me. A fight starts a little further away from me and the air is tainted with their minor injuries. It’s such a small amount. The air is filled with it, though.

  We pass by another mat and I stop, trying desperately to control the sudden urge to leap into the fight I am watching. Two boys, no more than eleven or twelve, are pelting each other with jabs and kicks. One of the boy’s pain leaps out at me, rushing in to stoke my hunger happily.

  “Cool, huh?” Noah says with a smile. “Let’s go get a mat before someone else snags it.”

  I grab Noah’s extended hand, not caring if he interprets it the wrong way. I just need to get as far away from those boys as possible. By the time I reach the mat Noah picked out, I’m feeling a little lightheaded.

  “So, you’re going to want to take your shoes and socks off first,” Noah says. He slips his tennis shoes and socks off and sets them to the side of the mat. Shaking my head to clear it, I follow his example and step back on the mat with bare feet. The impression that I should run only gets worse.

  “Nice toenails,” Noah says, eyeing my glittery purple nail polish.

  I’m so nervous about being here that I can’t even laugh at his teasing. The best I can dredge up is a faint smile. “Are you going to show me what I’m supposed to do, or what?” I say lightly, trying to hide my nervousness.

  “Sure, I’ve just never fought anyone with sparkly toes before,” he says.

  Another round of his playful teasing eases my anxiety a little. I throw him a more meaningful smile, and he continues.

  “So, Jeet Kune Do isn’t a set of patterned movements like some other martial arts. It’s a more free flowing, reactionary style.”

  “What does that mean?” It seems to me like all fighting should be reactionary. If someone’s about to hit you, you have to stop them, and probably hit them back. Zander probably wouldn’t agree with me on that one, but it certainly seems like the logical way to fight.

  “Well,” Noah says, “with Kung Fu, if your opponent strikes you with a certain attack, you would answer with the appropriate response move. Attacks and counterattacks follow a pattern in those methods, but in Jeet Kune Do the idea is to attack your opponent and intercept their attack before it ever lands.”

  I start to relax a little more as I identify with what he’s saying. Why would anyone wait for someone to attack them if they could break in and do it first? Zander swears fulfilling his hunger through a well-planned route is much better than jumping at the first chance to kill, but I don’t believe him. The thrill and rush of adrenaline I get every time my hunger erupts and tries to send me after someone are so completely intoxicating, there can’t be anything better. I’m not sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that Noah and I have the same tastes in that regard. It could lead to some unfortunate situations very easily.

  “So, I guess we should start with the basics. There are four different ranges in Jeet Kune Do, kicking, punching, trapping, and grappling. Kicking is usually the one people are most familiar with. Why don’t we start there?”

  “Okay. Just tell me what to do,” I say.

  “Start with your feet apart and your hands up in front of you in a loose fist.” Noah pauses to see if I’m in the right position, frowns, and steps closer to me. His right foot taps against my left. “Open up a little further. You need a solid base or you’ll fall over when you kick.”

  I reposition my foot and ask, “Like that?”

  He nods. Settling into the same stance, Noah demonstrates the most basic kicks for me. I tried to talk my grandma into letting me learn cardio kickboxing once. She refused, of course, but I had spent a little time learning about it before asking, so the kicks Noah shows me are somewhat familiar. They remind me of something else as well. I mimic his movements perfectly. A low buzz of anticipation shoots through my veins.

  “Great. You wanna try some harder ones?” he asks. I nod my head eagerly. “Okay, this is called a heel hook kick. Watch me, and then give it a try.”

  I watch with rapt attention as his leg snaps out sideways to full extension, then half a second later his knee bends and he pulls his heel back to where I expect his imaginary opponent’s face would be. I can picture a person’s head cracking against the heel, see it whip around and leave them lying on the floor unconscious. My mouth splits into a grin. That’s my kind of kick. Noah nods for me to give it a try, then blinks in surprise when I execute it with precision.

  “Huh,” he says, “are you sure you haven’t tried this before?”

  “It’s not that different from ballet, actually, just faster.”

  He looks at me doubtfully. “Really?”

  I nod. “Watch.”

  Starting in third position, I sweep my leg out to the side, extending it completely before pulling it behind me in attitude position and continuing the motion into a turn on pointe. My leg comes down lightly to rest back in third position. “See?” I say.

  Noah grins. “That’s cool. You’re going to pick this up faster than I thought. Come on, let’s keep going.”

  I’m more than happy to agree with him by this point. We work through the punching and trapping pretty quickly. Not grinning like an idiot while I hit the mitts Noah holds out for me is more challenging than figuring out any of the punches. I’m not actually hurting anyone, but there is something primal and fulfilling about slamming your fist into something. Maybe it’s the knowledge that I could hurt someone, maybe it’s the energy released every time I throw a punch. I don’t know, but I absolutely love it! Even the trapping is fun. When we get up to the grappling range, Noah hesitates, frowning and running his hands through his hair.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He blushes. “I’ve, uh, never practiced grappling with a girl before. They have their own division, for good reason. There’s a lot of contact in this part.”

  “Oh.”

  That’s all I can say, because the feel of my own cheeks turning red distracts me too much to say anything else. In my head, I’m saying, contact? What’s wrong with that? I thought Noah was attractive the first time I saw him in class. Seeing him sweaty enough that his snug t-shirt is showing off his muscles in the nicest way possible, well, it definitely isn’t discouraging. But in the deepest part of my heart, I balk at the idea. There’s only one person I want to find myself with in that kind of situation.

  Instantly, I shut down ideas like that. Situations like that can’t happen with Ketchup, I remind myself.

  Despite my shame, I can’t completely put off thinking about grappling. Maybe it’s just the endorphins running through my body after our workout, but I find that I’m not wholly opposed to the idea of Noah’s hands on me. As my mind starts to run away with itself, I remember Noah is staring at me and my blush goes scarlet. I hope as hard as I can that Noah doesn’t notice, but when he laughs and drops his hands to his sides, I know I’m out of luck.

  “You know, it’s not that big of a deal to skip it,” Noah says. “If you wanted to keep learning you’d want to know, but it’s not like we’re going to be getting that into it for our project anyway. There won’t be any mats, and I’d like to avoid cracking my head against the tile if I can help it.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Yeah, that’d probably be good. I’m pretty sure Mr. Littleton expects a blood free scene.”

  “No kidding.” Composed again, Noah gestures at the mat between us. “Do you want to try and put what you learned into use? It probably doesn’t seem like very many skills, but we could definitely spar with what you know.”

  “No,” I say quickly. Noah looks surprised, but I shake my head fier
cely. I had a blast training with him today. It was so much more fun than I expected, but I’m not stupid. My kind of fun turns into violent chaos way too easily. “I’m not ready for that. I need more time to practice before I actually try to spar with anyone. Way more practice.”

  Noah doesn’t seem to agree, but his confusion about my reluctance quickly morphs into a smile. “So, does that mean you’ll come back and practice with me again?”

  “Yeah,” I say out loud while my brain screams no.

  Noah’s grin widens. “Great. I was hoping you’d like Jeet Kune Do.”

  “I loved it. Thanks for teaching me, Noah.”

  “No problem,” he says. “We can come back next weekend, if you want.”

  I’m about to accept his invitation when I remember that I already have plans. “I’ll have to let you know about next weekend later.”

  “Oh, if you’re busy, that’s okay.” He keeps his smile and casual stance, but I can hear the disappointment in his voice. The silly, girly side of me smiles at the idea that Noah really is interested in seeing me again. The part of me that still has a functioning brain hurries to reassure him.

  “Zander has a football game next Friday night, first game of the season. Saturday I have a dance competition. The weekend after that would be fine, though,” I say. I pause and think for a moment. “Maybe we could get together before the game on Friday, and then you could come watch the game with me and Laney.”

  His expression brightens for a moment before turning cautious again. “I’m not much of a football fan.”

  Now it’s my turn to be disappointed. “Oh, okay then. It was just an idea.”

  I turn away and sit down on the edge of the mat so I can put my tennis shoes back on. The fear returns that Noah is only here to get a good grade on this project. It shouldn’t be a big deal. I’m used to people rejecting me in one way or another. This is by far the slightest, but I thought he’d want to come to hang out with me. Maybe I was wrong. The sudden tightness in my chest surprises me with its strength. Without warning, I’m struggling to hold back tears, telling myself I’m being an idiot at the same time.