Karate Kick (5 page)

“Hi, Mom,” Cole said after he took the phone from Marty. “I’m leaving in five minutes, so I should be home in less than half
an hour. Okay? Bye!”

He hung up, finished the lemonade Marty had given him in one gulp, and hurried to the basement to collect his things. He stuffed
his feet into his socks, put on his coat, and gear in hand, started back for the stairs. Then he paused.

Monique’s bag was still on the sofa. A corner of the paper with the handwritten kata was sticking out of the pocket.

I bet that’s her only copy,
he thought.
If she didn’t have it, she’d be back to square one. She might even drop out of the contest altogether. And if I enter —

“Hey, did you get lost or something?” Marty called from the top of the stairs.

Cole jumped. “No, no, just — putting on my jacket!” he answered. With a swift, furtive movement, he plucked the kata from
Monique’s bag and shoved it in his pocket. “Here I come!” he cried.

Outside in the driveway, Cole busied himself with strapping his gear bag to his bike rack. Then he put on his helmet and adjusted
the straps.

“All right, you’re good to go!” Marty said, slapping him on the back. “And Cole? About Monique’s kata?”

Cole froze. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for not stealing it.”

C
ole ducked his head so Marty couldn’t see the deep flush that had infused his face.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled. “See you later.”

“Not if I see you first!”

Cole wheeled his bicycle through Marty’s backyard to the bike path entrance. With every step, he could hear the paper in his
pocket crinkle. It sounded like fire — and felt like it, too, as if it was burning a hole right through the fabric.

I should go put it back,
he thought.

But he didn’t. Instead, he swung his leg over the bike’s bar, put his foot on a pedal, and took off. As he rode, the hum of
the tires on the pavement and the wind whipping past his ears drowned out the sound of crinkling paper. He almost forgot the
sheet was even in his pocket.

Almost.

He had been riding for ten minutes when suddenly, he heard a loud
pop.
A few minutes later, he noticed that the rim of his front tire was a lot closer to the ground.

Oh, great,
he groaned to himself.
A flat!

He braked to a stop and got off the bike. Sure enough, the tire was completely out of air.

He put down the kickstand and stood back to consider his options. He could turn around, walk the bike back to Marty’s house,
and ask Mrs. Bronson to give him a ride. Or, he could walk the bike to his own house. He shifted his feet. The paper in his
pocket rustled.

That decided it. He would continue to his house. He nudged the kickstand back up and grabbed hold of the handlebars.

As he pushed the bike along, the late afternoon light began to fade. Creatures that grew active at twilight emerged — creatures
like an annoying swarm of flies that danced just in front of his face and others that were more pleasant, like the tiny spring
peeper frogs that chirped unseen in the nearby wetlands.

He plodded on, batting flies and wishing his bike had a tire repair kit. Then he rounded a bend in the path and realized with
a start that he wasn’t far from the karate dojo.

If someone’s there, maybe I can stop in and call Mom,
he thought.

He walked a little faster. His heart leaped when he saw light coming from the dojo office window. He parked his bike on the
edge of the path and hurried to the door.

Snap!
Just as he was about to knock, he heard a sound like a tree branch breaking behind him. He looked over his shoulder.

There was nothing there.

He shrugged and turned back. At that same moment, the main room of the dojo suddenly blazed with light. A window popped open
and voices filtered out.

Angry voices. He thought he recognized Sensei Ann. Then he frowned. He recognized the other as well.
Monique! What is she doing here?
he thought.
She said she was going home to babysit her sister! And why was she arguing with Sensei Ann?

Feeling like a thief, he moved to the window to peek inside. What he saw made him gasp with alarm.

Sensei Ann was holding a knife to Monique’s throat!

C
ole’s heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst with every beat. Then he blinked, looked again, and heaved a huge
sigh of relief.

The knife wasn’t real. It was one of the dojo’s practice blades, made of black foam and rubber and shaped to resemble a knife.
Sensei Ann was working with Monique on techniques to defend against weapons.

His heartbeat slowly returned to normal.

Then it sped up again — not with fear, however, but with sudden anger.

Monique is getting a private lesson, not babysitting. Another lie!

Movement inside the dojo caught his eye again. Curiosity battled with his anger. He himself had only just begun to learn knife
defense. Part of him wanted to burst into the dojo and confront Monique with her lie. Another part wanted to eavesdrop on
her lesson and pick up a few pointers.

In the end, curiosity won out. He edged closer to the window to get a better view.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash behind him. He whirled around and saw his bike lying on its side. Its back wheel spun slowly,
the shiny spokes winking in the fading twilight.

“What the heck was that?” Sensei Ann said.

Cole heard light footsteps crossing the dojo floor toward his window. He ducked down and flattened himself against the dojo’s
wall.

“Do you see anything?” he heard Monique say from directly above his head.

He held his breath. Could they see his bike in the shadows — and if they did, would they realize someone was just outside?

“Must have been an animal in the underbrush,” Sensei Ann said after a moment. “It’s amazing how much noise one little squirrel
can make.”

“Are you sure that’s all it was?” Monique didn’t sound convinced. “I could have sworn I saw something bigger than a squirrel
moving around out there.”

“Well, whatever it was, it’s out there, not in here,” Sensei Ann said. “Ready to continue?”

Cole missed Monique’s reply, however, because Sensei Ann closed the window. He sat against the wall for a few minutes longer.
Then, moving in a crouch, he tiptoed quickly and quietly to his bike, lifted it upright, and started to push it away. He kept
to the furthest edge of the path, where he hoped the growing shadows would hide him until he was clear of the dojo completely.
Only after he had entered a tree-lined section of the path did he venture back to the middle.

That was close!
he thought.
I wonder why my bike fell over? I’m sure I put the kickstand down.

Snap!

Cole paused. There was that sound again, like a branch being broken underfoot. He looked around. But it was hard to see anything
because the branches above shrouded everything in deep shadows.

Probably a squirrel. Or maybe another wild animal.

He noticed then that his gear bag was dangling off his bike rack. If he didn’t fix it, it would fall off completely. With
an impatient growl, he put the kickstand down and moved to secure it. As he did, he glanced into the gloom.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of being alone on the bike path in the dark frightened him — just a little. After
all, who knew what —

“Yee-ahhh!”

An unearthly yowl shattered the night air. With a thunderous crash, something came hurtling out of the underbrush. Before
Cole could turn to see what it was, strong arms wrapped around his upper body!

“I’ve got you now!” a guttural voice growled.

Darren!

The name flashed through Cole’s brain even as he reacted with pure instinct and adrenaline-charged strength.

Wham!
He drove a sharp elbow backward into Darren’s ribs.
Thud!
He followed that strike with a downward hammer fist to his attacker’s groin area.

“Ooof!” The blows forced Darren to loosen his hold just for a second.

That was all Cole needed. He grabbed hold of Darren’s fingers and spun under the teenager’s arm. That move flipped Darren’s
palm upward — and gave Cole, who still had a tight hold on his fingers, control. All he had to do was bend those fingers back
from the palm to send pain shooting through Darren’s arm.

But suddenly, he heard a familiar sound.

Slap! Slap!

Darren was slapping his thigh, the signal to end a karate maneuver!

S
tunned, Cole immediately let go of the fingers. “How do you know about the thigh slap?” he demanded.

His assailant straightened — and that’s when Cole saw that it wasn’t Darren at all.

“Ty?”
he gasped. “What — what’re you doing? Why did you —?”

Ty held up a hand. “Hang on.” Then he called, “Okay, fellows, come on out.”

One by one, the bucktoothed boy, the one who spit, and finally Darren emerged from the underbrush.

Cole tensed, his eyes shifting from Ty to the three other boys. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m really sorry that I scared you like that, Cole,” Ty said. “I did it for a good reason.”

Cole backed up, still on his guard. “Oh, yeah? What?”

“I had to prove to Darren that if he came after you, you’d wallop him.”

Cole blinked. “Huh?”

Ty nodded. “That’s right. Darren here was thinking he owed you a payback for ruining his ride yesterday. I convinced him to
see you in action before he tried.” He glanced over to the other boy. “What do you think of your chances now, Darren?”

Darren gave a low rumble of laughter. “Well, I don’t know if he could
wallop
me, not in a face-to-face fist-fight or a wrestling match, anyway. But I think he might be able to stop me!” He aimed a finger
gun at Cole then. “Pretty cool moves. You’re okay with me, kid. See you around town.”

He gestured to the other teenagers that they were leaving. “You coming, Ty?”

“Nah, I’m going to walk Cole home,” Ty replied. “But I’ll catch up with you guys at school tomorrow. We’ve got that earthworm
dissection in biology first period, right?”

“Eeewww, gross, why’d you remind me?” The bucktoothed teen suddenly looked green. “I hate looking at guts.”

“It’s just a worm!” the other boy chided. “How much guts can it have?”

“I don’t know, but enough to turn me into a vegetarian, I’ll bet!”

The three teenagers headed away down the path, laughing — and to his amazement, Cole found he was laughing with them.

Maybe these guys aren’t so bad after all,
he thought.
Just because they look tough and act tough, doesn’t mean they
are
tough.

“Come on, Cole, let’s get you home,” Ty said when the others had disappeared. He helped Cole strap his gear bag tightly onto
the rack. Then they started down the path.

They were mostly silent as they walked. Then, as they neared the turnoff for Cole’s house, Cole abruptly stopped. “Ty, can
I ask you something?”

“I guess so,” Ty said, but he sounded wary.

“Why did you stop taking karate?”

Ty let out a long breath. “You really want to know?”

Cole nodded.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but first” — he gestured toward the house — “you better go tell your mom that you’re home.”

Cole looked where Ty was pointing and saw that his mother was standing in the back door, arms folded tightly against her chest.
From her posture, Cole could tell she was worried.

“Hey, Mom!” He hurried to her side, explained about the flat, and introduced her to Ty.

“If it’s okay with you, Mrs. Richards,” Ty said, “I’ll help Cole fix his flat and then be on my way.”

Mrs. Richards raised her eyebrows but nodded. “That would be very kind of you, Ty. Thank you. I’ll open the garage door so
you can get in. The tools are all there.”

Two minutes later, the flat tire was off the bike and resting on the floor between the boys. But they weren’t working on replacing
it.

Instead, Ty was telling Cole about when he took karate — and why he had stopped training four years ago.

I
trained at the same place you do, with Sensei Joe,” the teenager said. “I started when I was seven years old. By the time
I was eleven, I was a green belt.”

“Hey, what do you know?” Cole said. “I’m eleven and I’m testing for my green on Sunday.”

Ty smiled. “Are you nervous?”

“Nah!” Then Cole grinned sheepishly. “Well, kinda. Okay. Yeah, I’m nervous.”

“I remember what that’s like,” Ty sympathized. “But if you perform all your moves the way you did against my attack tonight,
you shouldn’t have a problem.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I was a green belt. One day after karate class I accidentally left my bo staff back at the dojo.”
He glanced at Cole. “You have one of those, right?”

Cole nodded. The bo staff was a lightweight wooden pole that was just slightly taller than he was. His was black with silvery
dragons painted on it, but they came in different colors, too. Some of the girls even had pink ones, which he thought was
funny; after all, the bo was a weapon, not a plaything!

Ty leaned against the garage wall and stared at the ceiling. “When I realized I didn’t have my bo with me, I went back to
get it. I was walking by the playground that’s near the library — you know the one?”

“Yeah, I used to play there when I was little,” Cole said. “It was always crowded with kids.”

“Well, that day there were only two people there, a mom and her little girl. The mom was talking on her cell phone. I guess
she wasn’t getting good reception because she wandered away from the playground. But she left her purse sitting on a bench.
As I was passing, I saw a man sneaking up to the bench.”

Cole’s eyes widened. “He was going to steal the purse?”