Katana

Woodbury, Minnesota

Copyright Information

Katana
© 2012 by Cole Gibsen.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover models used for illustrative purposes only and may not endorse or represent the book’s subject.

First e-book edition © 2012

E-book ISBN: 9780738732671

Book design by Bob Gaul

Cover design by Adrienne Zimiga

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Blossom © OriArtiste/Shutterstock Images

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Manufactured in the United States of America

To Josh,

Who lent me his faith when
I ran out of my own.

1

I
stepped outside the department store and felt something squish against my heel where concrete should have been. “Oh no.”

“What’s wrong?” My best friend Quentin shoved the last bit of a soft pretzel into his mouth and passed through the automatic doors, joining me under the mall’s awning. The St. Louis summer night enveloped us like a towel pulled too soon from the dryer, causing beads of sweat to form along my forehead and plaster stray hairs along my cheeks in blond lines.

“You tell me.” Balancing the large box I held, I closed my eyes and lifted my foot. “How bad is it?”

Quentin sucked in a sharp breath, rattling the chain hanging from his pocket. “A big ol’ wad of bubblicious bad.”

Opening my eyes, I dared a look. Sure enough, a line of gum stretched from my new DC skate shoe to the sidewalk. “Craptastic! These shoes cost seventy dollars.” I scraped the bottom of my sneaker against the edge of the sidewalk, but it did little more than turn the pink wad of gum into a black wad of gum. “Maybe I have time to run back inside and grab some napkins?”

As if in answer, the night security guard locked the door behind us.

Groaning, I shifted my grip on the box. “This stupid toaster is ruining my life!”

“I don’t think the toaster has it out for you,” Quentin said, batting a moth away from his face. “It could be karma. Or it could be your own guilty conscious for trying to kill your mom via a credit card statement.” He nodded to the chrome, digital, top-of-the-line monstrosity I’d chosen for my cousin’s wedding. “Seriously, two hundred dollars for a toaster? Was that thing even on the gift registry?”

“It’s chrome, Q.
Chrome.
How could we show our faces at the wedding with some pathetic stainless steel toaster in hand? People would talk.”

He laughed.
“Uh-huh.
Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, you know.”

I looked at him and huffed. “Seriously, Dr. Q? Can you lay off the head shrinking just for tonight?”

He shrugged. “I’ll try and contain myself.”

After several more attempts to scrape the lump off of my heel, I gave up. “Good. Our last day as juniors—we should be celebrating with the rest of our class, not hanging outside the mall while I destroy the cutest pair of skate shoes in existence.”

“Relax,” Quentin said. “You know the party doesn’t
officially
start until we arrive.” He looped his arm through mine and we made our way along the sidewalk. We fell into step behind an elderly couple who had been in the checkout line ahead of us.

“Yeah? You wanna know what
does
start?” I said. “Your stupid sister putting the moves on that hot transfer student Whitley Noble because I’m not there to stop her.”

Angry heat rushed through my veins as I recalled our earlier run-in with Quentin’s twin sister Carly. She had stood fluffing her chocolate-colored hair and puckering freshly glossed lips in the mirror at Clinique’s display counter when Quentin and I rounded the corner.

“Rileigh and Q!” she’d said. “Can’t wait to see you at the party tonight. If you run late, I’ll make sure to tell Whitley
‘Hi’
for you.” Then she planted two sticky kisses on either side of our faces before dashing off, leaving Quentin and me scrambling for makeup remover and cotton balls.

“Don’t worry about Carly.” Quentin’s voice dissolved the memory. “I don’t know what her disorder is, but I’m sure it’s hard to pronounce.”

Laughing, I shifted the bulky appliance against my hip.

Quentin glanced at the leather cuff on his wrist that was also a watch. “There is one problem, though. By now, the wine coolers have started to work their magic on Carly and her friends. If we don’t get there soon, we’re not going to witness—and more importantly, make fun of—all of their bad choices. I’ll bet you five bucks they’re dancing on the tables by eleven.”

“You’re on! I’m giving them until ten-thirty.” I reached into my pocket and engaged my skinny jeans in a game of tug-of-war until I finally pulled the car keys free. Quentin sped into a trot and dragged me behind like a three-legged mule. I struggled to keep up, giggling each time I had to stop to adjust the toaster that slipped lower in my grip with each step.

Hearing our commotion, the older couple in front of us shot us the stink eye as they walked on. The woman was so focused on perfecting her pinched-eye glare that she bumped into a man as he hurried around the corner of the department store.

“Oh!” She clasped her hands as she stepped to the side. “I’m terribly sorry.”

I didn’t realize that I slowed my pace to stare at the stranger until Quentin huffed impatiently. Something about this man triggered a silent alarm in my head, like when I walked past the alligators at the zoo and felt their hungry eyes upon me; only this time there was no protective glass.

The stranger frowned. He was a little man with tanned skin and dirty brown hair that hung loosely over his face. His long pointy nose and bucked teeth reminded me of a weasel. He mumbled something I couldn’t hear from where I stood.

The elderly man straightened and the woman took a step backward.

“Come on, Ri-Ri.” Quentin tugged my arm.

Weasel screamed, “I said give me your purse!”

Fear tore the breath from my throat in a gasp and Quentin went rigid at my side, his fingers digging deep into my arm.

With a shaking hand, the woman tried to slip her purse off her shoulder, but Weasel snatched it before she was through. The white strap tightened around her wrist and she was jerked forward.

We watched, not daring to breathe, as she fell to the ground.

Cursing, Weasel tugged on the purse again, and this time the thin leather strap broke, freeing the old woman. Weasel tucked his prize under his arm and ran down the sidewalk in our direction.

I could feel my arm bruising under Quentin’s iron grip as we stood paralyzed. I begged my legs to move, my lungs to breathe, but my body wouldn’t listen.

Weasel drew closer.

Realizing that our chance to run had passed, I hugged the toaster against my body and closed my eyes. The soft thud of the mugger’s footsteps tied themselves to the beating of my heart until they were a single pulse that locked my jaw tighter with each beat. Quentin pulled me against him so close it seemed I could smell his fear, a bitter scent that lay just below his Polo cologne.

The footsteps were in front of us, yet there was no pause in his stride. Would he run right past us? Or was he going to attack us, too?

Curled around each other, we waited to find out.

A second passed.

Followed by another.

When nothing happened, I cracked open an eye and found Weasel lying on the sidewalk next to me, his face a combination of bewilderment and fury. The purse he had stolen lay neatly on top of the toaster box in my arms. Before I could move, he scrambled to his feet and ran empty-handed out into the parking lot.

I remained frozen, too confused to move. What had happened in the few seconds while I had my eyes closed?

“Ri-Ri?”

I turned to Quentin, who now stood a good two feet away from me. The blood had drained from his face, leaving his skin the same color as his bleached hair. His mouth flapped with questions that wouldn’t form. He looked like a possessed nutcracker.

I heard a soft shuffle behind me and turned away from my best friend to find the elderly man helping the woman up off the sidewalk. As she brushed gravel from her sweater, I noticed that her wrist was purple and swollen.

I plucked the purse from the top of the toaster box and walked over to the couple on shaky legs. I held the purse out to her. “Here.” My voice was barely a whisper.

The woman’s eyes welled with tears as she grabbed on to the broken strap. “Oh, dear.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Please don’t think that I’m not grateful, but that was a foolish thing for you to do. What were you thinking, going after a man like that?”