Happy Kid! (14 page)

“Red.”

Ms. Cannon said, “You're really right up there!”

What was I supposed to say then? I'm a white belt! You just don't get any lower than that, right, Chelsea? It didn't seem like something that would keep me in the discussion for very long.

They were just getting started on how Chelsea was about to start learning how to disarm attackers who were holding knives when I slouched back to my desk. Chelsea was having a conversation about taekwondo, just as I'd expected her to. It just wasn't a conversation that involved me.

Just like
Happy Kid!
said: “Every plan has a flaw.” I wondered if maybe the passages in the book weren't advice but warnings and I just didn't get them.

On a Thursday morning more than a week before Halloween, I decided to check out
Happy Kid!
while I was on the bus. I had let it open that morning right after I got up and again when I finished in the bathroom, but the book kept flipping to the same “Nothing Comes Easy” chapter I'd been seeing for more than two weeks. I really didn't have much hope that anything would happen on the bus, but I didn't want to spend the whole ride to school reading ahead in my copy of
The Odyssey,
either. So I pulled
Happy Kid!
out of my backpack and let it fall open.

There it was, a new message.

New opportunities? I thought. There is no way I'm going to like this.

Sure enough, the first new opportunity came up in English class.

 

 

“We'll be coming to the end of
The Odyssey
soon,” Mr. Borden announced at the beginning of class, which was a huge relief as far as I was concerned. “We should be finishing in two to three weeks. It will be time, then, for another presentation here at Borden's Playhouse.”

Some girls clapped their hands. Even a couple of the boys looked excited. I thought I should try to show some A-kid-type enthusiasm, just in case Chelsea was looking my way, so I managed a weak “Oh. Yay. Borden's Playhouse.”

Then Mr. Borden asked, “Who wants to be part of the creative team behind ‘Scenes from
The Odyssey
'?”

If Chelsea volunteered, I would, too. I didn't have a clue what we'd have to do, but if Chelsea was on a creative team, I was going to be there with her.

Slowly, smoothly, Chelsea's hand went up. My arm shot up with a snap. (It felt a lot like a perfect taekwondo punch, as a matter of fact, though in a totally wrong direction.)

“ . . . Melissa and . . . oh, Kyle,” Mr. Borden said, sounding surprised. “Very good. So that's Emily, Gillian, Phil, Melissa, and Kyle. That should be enough.”

I looked away from Chelsea to Melissa. Melissa looked away from Mr. Borden to me. I hoped the expression on my face wasn't half as disappointed as the one on hers. A
quarter
, even.

 

 

A second opportunity
almost
came up at lunch.

It being Thursday and all, I had hoped someone at lunch would mention going to the movies Friday night and there would be an opportunity for me to say, “Yeah, I guess I could meet you there.” That was a really, really positive thing for me to be thinking.

But instead of making plans to go to the movies the next night, Luke started talking about Halloween, which wasn't for another week.

Ted said to him, “You know what I was thinking we should do for Halloween? We should use our doboks for costumes.”

“Yes!” Luke exclaimed. “That will look cool—especially now that we have yellow belts to wear with them.”

“What are you guys doing for Halloween?” I asked, trying to sound as if I really wasn't paying too much attention to the conversation.

“This girl in our English class asked us to a party,” Luke said. “I don't think you know her,” he added awkwardly. “You're in accelerated English, you know.”

I knew.

Oh, this is a great opportunity, I thought. An opportunity for everyone to know that I'm alone—again—on Halloween. For everyone to see that no one wants to be with me.

While those thoughts were going through my mind, I heard someone say, “I don't know what I'll be doing on Halloween. I haven't made up my mind yet.”

That someone was me.

Everyone around me started talking about what they were doing on Halloween. Hearing all their plans didn't bother me nearly as much as I thought it would because I was just so glad that they were talking about something, anything, and not silently wondering what was wrong with Kyle.

 

 

The third opportunity came later in the afternoon.

I got to science class and in walked Jake, who came up to me and said, “Hey, you're not going to this kid Halloween party little Lukie's going to, are you? Tell me you're too cool for that.”

“I'm too cool. Way too cool,” I told him.

“Good. Why don't you come out with Brian, Kenny, and me? We're going to hang out at the mall. You can be part of my posse.”

No, no, no. This was an opportunity to do something new and different, and I was saying
no
to it. I didn't care what kind of message
Happy Kid!
was trying to give me. I was not hanging out at the mall with Jake.

“We might go in some kind of costumes, but we haven't decided yet,” Jake continued. “We're going to hit the Mexican place at the food court, and then go into some nice stores and fart in the changing rooms. We've done that before. It is hysterical. You don't know any girls you'd like to invite, do you?

It would be really funny if we could get a girl to gas up at the food court with us and then head on into the women's changing rooms.”

Jake couldn't find a girl on his own to “gas up at the food court” with him? Why wasn't I surprised?

“Ah, that sounds great. I'm not going to be able to make it, though,” I said.

“Why not? You going out trick-or-treating?” Jake sneered.

“Ah, no, no, of course not. Haven't done that in a while,” I said, trying to buy some time while I came up with a good excuse. Behind Jake's back I could see Luke staring at me and silently mouthing a word. He had to do it a few times before I picked up on his meaning.

“Taekwondo,” I said to Jake finally. “I have to go to taekwondo class that night.”

“On Halloween?”

“Hey, martial artists don't care about Halloween,” I told him. “They're going to be training that night just like any other Friday night.”

Oh, no. Halloween
is
on a Friday this year, I realized. I just told someone I was going to spend Halloween
and
a Friday night at the dojang. It sounded a lot like a nerd twofer to me.

“They have classes six days a week,” Luke broke in. “Kyle needs to go to some extra classes because . . . he's not very good.”

Thanks for the help, Luke.

“So, that's why I can't go with you,” I said to Jake. “Thanks anyway.”

I was used to having bad days when things didn't go my way and nothing came easy. And that particular bad day probably wasn't much worse than any other. I was just getting so tired of them, though.

When I got to the dojang that night, I was way past caring if people saw me stretching, punching at myself in front of the mirror, or standing on my head. I warmed up and then practiced my roundhouse kick in front of the mirror. Turn. Kick. Turn. Kick. Turn. Kick. I saw Chelsea's reflection in the glass. Turn. Kick.

Then I went through the moves for the poomse, or form I was learning. It was a series of punches, kicks, and blocks that I had to memorize. Low block. Punch. Low block. Turn. I could see Chelsea out of the corner of my eye practicing something with an older girl. Low block. Punch.

“Line up, please,” Mr. Goldman called.

“Sir!” I shouted and ran to my place.

“Ten jumping jacks!”

“Hana!” I shouted with the others, counting in Korean each time our arms went up into the air.

“Follow me, Paul,” Mr. Goldman said to the highest-ranking black belt in the room. The rows of people fell into place behind Mr. Goldman as he led us in a run around the dojang. When we were done, the long line that had snaked around the big room immediately broke up and silently rearranged itself into three rows, three people across, for warm-up and drills.

How much longer do I have to do this? I wondered as we started the drills. Punch. Shout. Punch. Shout. Punch. Shout. Why don't they have a clock in the front of the room? Palm strike. Shout. Palm strike. Shout. My fingers should be together. Shout. Kick. Shout. Kick. Shout. I want that foot higher. Shout. Bring the knee up and then straighten the leg. Shout. Higher. Shout. Switch stance. I can do that faster next time. Kick. Shout. Kick. Shout. Higher. Harder. Louder.

We did self-defense training that night and then lined up in front of the heavy bag for another kicking drill. I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, keeping everything loose and ready to move when I noticed Chelsea was somewhere ahead of me and realized that I'd lost track of her earlier in the class. Then I had to look away from her and toward the bag. I had to keep my hands up to guard my face. I had to guard my chest. I had to turn on my left foot, bend to my left so my body was parallel to the floor, bring my leg up, and kick the bag. The next time I came through the line I hit the bag harder. The next time I hit it at a higher spot. Harder. Higher. Harder. Higher. I just kept coming through the line toward that bag, over and over and over again.

“Line up!” Mr. Goldman shouted.

“Sir!” I shouted back with the rest of the class as I ran to get into line for the cool-down stretching.

Suddenly, we were through with even that.

“Charyot!” Mr. Goldman called, and we stood at attention.

“Kyungye!” We bowed.

“Kamsahamnida. Thank you for training this evening.”

“Kamsahamnida,” we all replied.

The class was over, and my mind was empty. There was just nothing in it. Probably this was because I hadn't been able to think of anything but the moves I had to make for the better part of fifty minutes. For that whole time all I'd been able to do was move. I didn't think about being the guy everyone believed had pulled a weapon on a school bus. I didn't think about being the guy who sat next to Jake Rogers in so many classes. I didn't even think about being a B-minus guy who wanted an A-plus girl to like him. As I left the dojang, I wasn't that other guy. He didn't exist there.

On the way home in the back of Ted's dad's car, I relaxed back against my seat and thought, Yes, I'll keep coming here for a while.

A week later I suddenly realized I had plans for Halloween. Halloween was the very next day, and I had a place to go. This year I wasn't going to be stuck staying home with my parents, pretending I was having a good time handing out candy. I was going to taekwondo. Taekwondo, where, on Tuesday night, I had kicked the stuffing out of a target. Really, little bits of fluff were floating all around the person holding it for me. Where else can a guy kick something so hard, he knocks the insides out of it and the adults watching him tell him he's doing a great job? Who knew I would be so good at this?

I didn't even mind that Luke and Ted weren't going to be there. You aren't supposed to talk, anyway, so it doesn't matter if you don't have any friends at the dojang. It might be the perfect place for me.