Karate Kick (2 page)

Cole was more than a little jealous that she was further along in her training than he was. But he could have handled it if
not for one thing. Soon after she had reached a higher rank, Monique had started pointing out his smallest errors. It was
almost like he was a mouse and she was a cat, waiting to pounce on him!

He knew fellow students were supposed to correct one another when they noticed someone making a mistake. Normally, he didn’t
mind it; after all, he helped others as much as they helped him. But there was something about the way Monique did it that
just drove him nuts.

Now, it was his turn to defend himself against her attack, an uppercut punch, for kumite number three. Monique pushed her
curly red hair out of her face and got ready. At Sensei Ann’s command, she scooped her right arm up at him.

He twisted sideways and blocked the blow as it rose toward him. But as he started to do the next moves — grabbing her wrist
and tugging her forward into his jabbing elbow — he saw Monique’s fist continue on its upward path toward his face!

“Uh-oh,” she said smugly, “someone didn’t block very well!”

C
ole dropped his arms and glared at Monique. “What?”

Sensei Joe appeared behind him. “I believe she said you didn’t block very well. And she’s right. You rushed the block to get
to the elbow strikes. But you’ll never get a chance to do the strikes if you don’t block first, because her fist will be jammed
into your eye. Try it again.”

By this time, everyone else was done with the kumite. They all turned to watch Cole and Monique.

Cole flushed from his neck to his scalp as he set up for kumite number three again. This time, when the uppercut came, he
struck Monique with as much force as he could muster.

That strike backfired, for a starburst of pain exploded in his own arm. From her gasp, he knew the blow had hurt her, too.
But he didn’t stop. Instead, he wrapped the fingers of his left hand tightly around her right wrist and, with a quick twisting
yank, jerked her into his jabbing right elbow.

Her free hand whipped up to protect her jaw from his jabs.

Cole let go. “I’m not going to hit you!” he said. But secretly, he was glad he had made her think he might. Maybe next time
she’d think twice before correcting him!

Sensei Joe and Sensei Ann led the students through several more kumites. They finished just as class time ran out.

“Man, my arm is going to be bruised tomorrow!” Marty said, rubbing the spot where students had struck him over and over. “Everyone’s
arms are so bony! It’s like getting whacked with a broom handle!”

Cole looked at his own forearm and grimaced. “Yeah, my arm is sore, too. But what can you do? Karate is a contact sport, after
all!”

“True enough, my friend, and so much more besides,” Marty agreed.

They both glanced at the wall where a poster hung. Written on that poster was the basic philosophy of karate as translated
from Gichin Funakoshi, the man who had put it forth more than a century earlier: “Seek perfection of character, be faithful,
endeavor to do well, respect others, and refrain from violent behavior!”

Sensei Joe clapped his hands then and instructed the students to line up for dismissal. He bowed to them and they returned
the courtesy. Then he told them to remove their belts.

Cole widened his stance, loosened the knot, and pulled the belt free. He folded the canvas length neatly, making sure it didn’t
drag on the floor, and placed it in his right hand. Then he held both hands out in front of him in the ready stance.

His heart started pounding again. If Sensei Joe was going to invite him to test, now was when he’d do it.

Instead, Sensei Joe made an announcement. “Before you go,” he said, “I want to tell you about a contest we will be holding
here at the dojo.”

“What kind of contest?” one of the students asked. “It’s our first annual create-your-own-kata contest,” Sensei Joe replied.
“Contestants will have until this Sunday to make up a karate routine, their own kata. That afternoon, each student who enters
will perform his or her kata for the rest of the class, parents, and other audience members. We will vote for the one we like
best and the winner will teach it to us during future classes.”

There was an interested murmuring among the students, a sound that stopped immediately when their instructor cleared his throat.

“One final thing,” he said. He held out a piece of paper. “Cole, step forward, please.”

A jolt of nervous excitement coursed through Cole’s body. This was it! That paper had to be his official invitation to test
for his green belt!

He was right. “Congratulations,” Sensei Joe said, handing Cole the paper.

As the other students applauded, Cole bowed to both of his instructors and shook their hands. Then he returned to the line.

“Told you so!” Marty whispered. “Way to go, buddy!”

“Thanks,” Cole replied. “I’m really psyched!”

He was, too. And yet, deep down inside, a worm of doubt wriggled in his gut. What if he made stupid mistakes, like the ones
he’d made in class today, during the test? Such mistakes might have been overlooked when he was younger and less experienced.
But now? He wasn’t so sure his instructors would move him up if he made them.

Sensei Joe interrupted his thoughts. “Okay, everybody, one last question: What’s the most important rule in karate?”

It was the same question he asked at the end of every class. The students all knew the answer by heart.

“Never use karate on anybody else unless absolutely necessary!” they responded in unison.

“Exactly!” he said. “You are free to go. If you want to take part in the contest, grab an entry form from my office.”

C
ole and Marty both took contest papers. Cole looked his over as he made his way to the wall of cubbies to collect his socks,
shoes, jacket, and gear bag.

“Hey, Marty,” he said, “it says here that we can help each other out with the katas. Offer advice, suggestions, that sort
of thing. You want to get together tomorrow afternoon and do that?”

Marty nodded. “Sounds good to me. And congrats on your green belt test invite! When’s the test, anyway?”

Cole consulted his invitation paper. “Sunday morning, before the contest,” he said. He blew out a long breath. Today was Monday;
that gave him less than a week to prepare and to make up a kata if he entered the contest. “I just hope I’m ready for the
test.”

“Ah, you are,” Marty reassured him. “But if there’s anything you want to practice outside of class, I’ll help you.”

Cole grinned. “Really?” he said as he put his jacket on.

Marty shrugged. “Sure! In fact, when we get together to work on the kata contest stuff, we can go over your test material,
too.”

“Thanks, Marty. Even just one extra practice session would really help.” He folded his test paper into the contest form and
stuck both into his jacket pocket. Then he waited for Marty to finish gathering his belongings so they could walk out together.

Honk, honk!
A car pulled into the dojo’s parking lot just as they stepped out the door.

“There’s my dad,” Marty said. “You need a ride today?”

Cole shook his head. “Nah, that’s okay, I’m going to walk home on the bike path. See you later!”

“Not if I see you first!” Marty returned as he climbed into the backseat of the car.

Cole laughed and then started walking home.

The bike path had once been railroad tracks. But the trains that used to come through their town had stopped their runs long
ago. So the town transformed the tracks into a smooth paved trail that led through wooded areas, past businesses, and behind
people’s houses.

Both Cole and Marty’s houses were on the trail, as was the dojo. Last year, Cole had asked his mother if he could sometimes
ride his bike to Marty’s house or walk home from karate.

“It’s only two miles from the dojo,” he’d pointed out, “and just four from Marty’s house. I won’t be on busy streets. It’ll
save you gas, too,” he’d added persuasively when she hesitated. “Oh, and think of the exercise I’ll get!”

She had finally agreed, on one condition. “Come straight home,” she’d warned. “Otherwise, I’ll be a nervous wreck!”

Cole had laughed off her nervousness. “Mom, nothing’s going to happen to me!”

He’d almost added that he knew how to protect himself with karate if someone bothered him. But he decided not to plant that
idea in her head; he didn’t want to give her any reason to change her mind!

Sometimes, especially on warm summer mornings, the path was crowded with bikers, in-line skaters, joggers, and walkers. But
now it was late in the afternoon, cool and cloudy, and the path was deserted.

A stiff breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around him. He shifted his bag of karate equipment higher up on his shoulder
and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His fingers touched the papers he’d put in one. He drew out the contest
form and, slowing his pace, began to read through the rules.

The contest is open to all belt levels. Students may help one another if they wish. Each kata should be no less than twelve
moves and have at least three strikes, three kicks, and three blocks.

Strikes:
punches, elbows, shutos, palm-heel, spear hand, ridgehand, back fist

Kicks:
front snap, side thrust, back, spinning back, roundhouse, knee

Blocks:
downward, upward, palm, inward, outward, circular outward

Stances:
cat, front, back, and horse

Be sure to use proper stances, change direction, include transition moves—and have fun!

Cole finished reading, folded the paper, and put it back in his pocket. Suddenly, a blur of movement caught his eye. Then
he heard a loud cry:

“Look out!”

T
he warning came a second too late.
WHAM!

A stocky boy on a skateboard crashed into Cole. They fell in a tangled heap onto the hard pavement. The skateboard skittered
off into a pricker bush.

Cole groaned, pushed the boy off him, and sat up, shaking his head to clear it.

The boy sat up, too. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” he growled.

Cole stared at the boy — a teenager, he now saw — and retorted, “
You
crashed into
me!
”

The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized that the skateboarder wasn’t alone. Leaning against a nearby brick
wall were three more teenagers, each holding his own skateboard. Two of them pushed off the wall and ambled toward Cole.

Meanwhile, the first teen had retrieved his board from the bush. Now he stood in front of the others, looking Cole up and
down. His lips turned up in a half-smile, half-sneer.

“Dude,” he said, “
what
are you wearing?”

The boys behind him nudged one another and snickered.

At first, Cole thought they were laughing at his jacket. Then he realized they were making fun of his gi. Usually, he wore
the karate uniform with pride. But now, confronted by high school kids in torn jeans and T-shirts, he felt a little silly,
like he was wearing a costume.

One of the teens, a gangly youth with prominent buckteeth, spoke up. “I know what he’s wearing, Darren. It’s a karate uniform.”

“Ooooo,” said the other. “We better watch out. This kid knows karate!” He made a hacking sound and spit a wad of mucus into
the bushes.

The third teen, still leaning on the wall, glanced at the spitter with a look of disgust. But he didn’t say anything.

“Is that right, kid?” Darren said. “You know karate?”

“I take lessons,” Cole said defensively. “So?”

“So,” Darren repeated, “let’s see what you can do!”

Cole blinked. “What do you mean?”

Darren took a step closer to him and raised his fists. “I mean, let’s fight!”

The sudden challenge startled Cole. He licked his lips and tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

Then suddenly, the quiet teenager by the wall stepped forward. “Lay off him, Darren,” he said. There was a warning in his
tone.

“Not a chance, Ty!” Darren said, not taking his eyes off Cole. “This kid ruined my ride. He has it coming!”

“No, he doesn’t,” Ty said. He nodded at Cole. “Go on, take off.”

Cole started to move past Darren. But Darren shifted in front of him. “What’s the matter, karate boy? You chicken or something?”

“N-no,” Cole stammered. “I — I’m not supposed to use karate outside of the dojo. It’s against the rules.”

Darren gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Dude, don’t you know that rules are made to be broken?”

Then he rolled up his sleeve and flexed his bicep muscle. “I don’t blame you for running away. I doubt any karate move would
be a match for
this
!” He slapped the muscle with the flat of his hand. It made a loud
smack.

“Actually, Darren,” Ty said mildly, “if this kid knows enough karate, he could probably take you.”

Darren snorted with derision. “Yeah, right!”

Ty ignored him. “What belt are you, kid?”

“Blue,” Cole replied.

“Then you know some grappling and takedowns, maybe some locks, right?”

Cole nodded, his eyes wide. He’d started learning the self-defense techniques Ty mentioned back when he was a purple belt.
But how did Ty know about them? He was tempted to ask him. But he wanted to get away from Darren even more. Asking questions
would only keep him there, so he kept his mouth closed.

Ty turned back to Darren. “He could take you all right. But if you want to embarrass yourself —” he shrugged, “— go ahead
and try to hit him.”

At those words, a slow smile spread across Darren’s face — and every fiber in Cole’s body tensed in anticipation of the blow
that was about to come.