101 Ways to Bug Your Friends and Enemies (17 page)

“Wow. You
rode
that sucker?”

“Ain't you listenin'? Red Rock
was unrideable
. He retired undefeated. But I gave him a go. Three times.”

“Three . . . !
Tony, you could've gotten maimed.
Killed
. Why'd you do it?”

With his thumb he wiped dust from the frame's wooden edge. “'Cause Red was the greatest challenge. And each time I gave him a go, I knew I'd learn somethin' important about him, somethin' important 'bout myself that I could use one day. So the risk of not ridin' him was greater than the fear, greater than the risk it took to give him a whirl. Get what I'm sayin'?”

“I think so.” I peered a final time at Red Rock's massive body, his sharp horns, roiled dust beneath jackknifing hooves. “You're saying that compared to love, bull-riding is a piece of cake.”

The end-of-lunch bell rang.

Tony shook his head. “Why do I even try with you, boy? Might just as well be a guard dog barkin' at a knot.” He swept off his hat and swatted me. “Get outta here. Go on, move your tail to English before I buck you there myself!”

Laughing, he planted a boot on my butt as I escaped out the door.

Time oozed the rest of that hot school day till I felt as melted as the clocks Salvador Dalí painted in the picture my art teacher discussed. Of course, it didn't help that my classes were made further surreal by:

I couldn't wait to get to hapkido. Today, with any luck, I'd learn how to kick something.
Hard
.

 

Have you ever been walking along, deep in thought, when a bee zips out of the wild blue yonder and bounces off your face?

That's what happened to me at Hapkido Family Fitness as I left the boys' locker room.

Except this Bee zipped faster than your average insect.

And weighed eighty pounds more.

“Steve!
There
you are!”

Bounce.

“Aaaaaa!”
I stumbled backward into the door. It swung outward, smacking me into Joonbi's slender arms.

“Aaaaaa!”
I bounced off her again, landing on my butt.

A petite but strong hand with dainty shell-pink nails hauled me to my feet.

“I finally found you!” Joonbi said in her lilting laugh. “Did you get my messages? I called you four times last night.”

I turned toward the angry sound. Steps away, Hiccup stood, arms crossed, at the entrance to the
dojang
. His eyes bored into mine in an SOAA (Squint of Attempted Assassination).

“I couldn't wait to talk more
101 Ways to Bug Your Parents
,” Joonbi continued without my answer. “I tried to find you at school this morning, but no one knew what classes you're taking.”

I started to explain about Patrick Henry, but thought better of it.

“At lunch, I met this girl who claimed to be one of your ‘bestest best friends.' But she wouldn't tell me anything about you unless I agreed to an interview for the school paper. When I said no, you should've seen her reaction! She actually stamped a foot! Reminded me of Jek ki, my oldest sister. Truth!”

“That would be Goldie,” I said, relieved that Ms. Snoop hadn't succeeded in getting or giving any . . .
information
.

“I hope she's not your sister or something.”

I choked. “Great golf tees, NO!”

“Are you still free to get a smoothie after class?
Aigoo
, don't let Master Yates see your belt dragging on the floor like that! Allow me.”

Joonbi's arms encircled my waist, lassoing me with the belt. She stood so close that the inky tuft of her ponytail itched my nose.

I sneezed.

“Steve, I can't tie this when you're arching away like that. I don't bite. Truth!”

Two more angry eruptions from Hiccup. His SOAA practically bored straight into my skull, through the wall, and into the skateboard shop down the block.

“Tuck one end of your belt under like this, bend the short end over . . . ” Joonbi hum-buzzed while she worked. “ . . . pull both ends to tighten and the finished knot resembles a fortune cookie! See?”

“Cool,” I said, free at last to sidle away and scrub my tickled nose. “Thanks.”

“Now for your fortune!” Joonbi pretended to read from a scrap of paper:
“You will share secrets with a new friend while imbibing a liquid refreshment
.”

“Secrets? But I don't have any—”

“HIC-HUMPH!”
Hic stomped into the
dojang
.

“Business before pleasure, though,” Joonbi said. “Today you'll be learning how to defend yourself with an unlikely weapon.”

“What kind of weapon?” My mind swirled with exciting possibilities: nunchuks, bokkens, maybe even the
'alngegh
, a Klingon battle ax.

“A cane!” Joonbi announced.

“A
cane
cane? You mean like what little old men use?”

“I told you it was an unlikely weapon!” Joonbi zipped into the
dojang,
where the rest of the students had assembled.

I hurried after her and tripped—sprawling onto the padded mat.

“Excellent falling skills!” For the second time in five minutes, she hauled me up.

I glanced back to see what I'd tripped over.

“My apol
hic!
gies,” Hiccup said with a bow. “My left foot inadvertently strayed into your path.”

“Apology accepted,” I said coolly.

“Attention!” a red belt ordered.

Students bowed to Joonbi and raced to form lines on the mat.

I turned to take my place with the other white belts—

—and sprawled in another face-plant.

“My apol
hic!
gies,” Hiccup said. “Restless Leg Syndrome.”

“I'll Restless Leg Syndrome you,” I muttered.

I didn't get the chance.

Master Yates strode into the
dojang
. Class began immediately with warm-up exercises and forms. Then, after dividing us into groups of separate belt levels, Master Yates ran through a series of basic blocks, strikes, and kicks. I punched and
ki-yupped
till my muscles shrieked, but I managed not to embarrass myself.

The “best” was saved for last. Fifteen minutes before class ended, Master Yates clapped his hands for silence and gestured at the equipment shelves. “Choose a cane for today's weapons lesson.”

Several younger students gamboled across the mat to snatch canes. They hobbled in circles, clutching their backs, cracking geezer jokes, and cackling like wizened crones in a fairy tale.

Master Yates clapped his hands again and murmured a reprimand. Red-faced, the students slunk back into line.

“Your perception of the cane and its owner is a common one,” Master Yates said with a wry smile, “and may be used to your advantage. There is hidden strength in appearing weak, frail, or injured. An assailant may make the mistake of assuming you are easy prey, discovering all too late that you are not.

“The greatest strength of the cane is this: It is a potent defensive weapon! Unlike most weapons, it is already drawn. Therefore, if an attack is imminent, you can strike with instantaneous, dramatic speed and power to disable your assailant. Like so.”

Master Yates motioned for Joonbi to join him at the mirrors. “Fighting stance!”

Joonbi pretended to rush him with a knife.

Cane in hand, he pantomimed several fast, hard strikes and hooking techniques to disarm and take her down. Each movement was focused and controlled; never once did he actually touch or hurt her with the cane, although she pantomimed that he had. The entire demonstration took seconds. Joonbi faked a grimace from where she lay on the mat. Then she sprang to her feet and bowed.

Everyone applauded.

“Choose your sparring partners!” Master Yates said.

Hiccup headed straight for me.

Joonbi zigzagged between us. “If we're quiet,” she whispered, “we can talk while we train.”

She proceeded to show me the correct way to hold the cane, block an attack, and take down an attacker.

“I was wondering,” she murmured, “if you've ever thought of writing another bugging book?
101 Ways to Bug Your Sisters
, perhaps?”

“I don't have a sister—yet,” I answered. “But my mom's pregnant. Baby Sis is due in December.”

“But if you had a sister now, how would you bug her?”

“Why would I want to bug her?”

“Just wait. You will!”

“I was sorta freaked out when I first heard about the baby,” I said while practicing a hook move. “I mean, my life will be so different with her around. But now I'm looking forward to having a little sister.”

“A little sister, maybe. Five big ones? They're an absolute pain in the . . . belt. Truth!” She moved my fingers to the correct position along the staff. “You must have at least one or two bugging ‘secrets' I could use. Maybe something left over from the bug-your-parents research that didn't work on them, but might work on kids?”

“You could rip the heads off their Barbies.” I concentrated on pantomiming a block.

“Excellent. Try a first strike,” Joonbi said. “But your suggestion won't work. My sisters haven't played with dolls in years. What else?”

“Read their diaries?”

“Yes! Baekjool keeps a journal under her mattress. What else?”

“Would you show me how to do that first strike again?”

Joonbi huffed a sigh, but her small hand grasped mine firmly.

“This strike can travel in two directions,” she explained. “Straight up, to hit the hand, wrist, or funny bone of the weapon-bearing arm. Or, if your attacker is right-handed, strike cross-body like
this
. To be effective, you have to use a great deal of speed and power. Try it.”

I clutched the cane hook. Took a deep breath. And—

The cane flew over my head, narrowly missing Hiccup before clattering against the mirror.

I cringed. “Oops!”

Hic glowered and clenched his cane, knuckles whitening.

“Eep!”

Hiccup advanced, lips pursed, eyes blazing, cane held high.

“Yipe!”

Joonbi's face paled. “Hector! That's not—!”

“Enough.” Master Yates stepped in front of me. The room fell silent. “Lower your weapon, Mr. Denardo.”

Hic stared at his arm, his hand, the cane rising high. He stared as if they belonged to someone else. Then he turned and stared at our classmates. Like Joonbi's, their faces were pale with shock.

Hiccup's cheeks blotched. “Sir, yes, sir.” He hung his head. The cane dropped to the mat. “I apologize, Master Yates. I apologize, Mr.
hic!
Wyatt.” He bowed. “I—don't know what
hic!
came over me.”

Master Yates did not return the bow. He moved, unhurried, to the front of the room. “Line up!” he instructed.

We snapped to attention.

“Hapkido is not street fighting,” the master said, hands clasped behind his back. “There will be no conflict of ego on the mat. There will be no competition on the mat. The purpose of hapkido is not to fight and defeat an enemy. The purpose is to train your aggressive instincts and reactions. We spar not to win, but to learn. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“It is your moral responsibility,” he continued, “never to use your martial arts skills on anyone except in an emergency—and only to defend yourself and your family. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Master Yates focused on Hiccup—then me. “The
dojang
membership is one of family,” he said, his voice kind, compassionate. “The secret of hapkido is harmony. Remember that.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Recite the tenets!”

“You would do well, all of you,” Master Yates finished, “to think hard about number four. Now bow to the flags, bow to the black belts. Thank you. Class dismissed.”

“Smoothies, here we come!” Joonbi burst from the
dojang,
tugging me out to the sidewalk.

Hiccup shuffle-hicked from a way-too-close distance behind us. I shot him a wary glance. Why was he following? Was he biding his time, waiting for the right moment when he could push me into the path of an oncoming cement mixer?

“I shouldn't, Joonbi,” I said, fidgeting to flee. “I can't miss the bus. I have a lot of homework tonight.”

“Just half an hour! Afterward, Umma will drive you home. She was so excited when I told her I had smoothies with you yesterday. She's always pressuring me to
socialize
more. That's number four on her
101 Ways to Bug Your Youngest Daughter
list. Anyway, remember what the ‘fortune cookie' predicted!”