Living with Jackie Chan (8 page)

I know he’s just trying to be nice. But did he even think what would happen if someone saw that note? Stupid question, I know. Larry wouldn’t care, so he doesn’t think anyone else would. Because Larry lives in his own world. Or he did. Now I live in it, too.

What
is
a true karate man? What would Larry say?

It’s not just the words we say at the beginning of class. I know that. But what, then? What is the key to being Larry? To being so damn happy all the time?

I wish I knew.

Back home, Larry is waiting for me, bouncing around the living room with excitement.

“Well? How’d it go? Did you make any friends? Do you have lots of homework? Did you see Stella?”

“Relax, Larry. Don’t have a heart attack.”

“Telllll meeeeee.”
I swear he is practically panting.

“It was fine.”

“Fine? That’s your word for the first day of school? What about your teachers? Did you like them? What are your classes like? Did you have anyone to sit with at lunch?”

“About that,” I interrupt him. “No more notes in my lunch. What are you trying to do to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Guys get beat up for that stuff.”

“Nah, that’s old school.”

“Um. Really?”

“I just wanted to give you some advice. Let you know I was thinking of you.”

“No offense, but next time maybe you could just, you know, say it to me in private?”

“OK, Sammy. Sorry.” He gives me his kicked-puppy look.

“Never mind. It’s fine.” I can’t believe I am having this conversation. “I’m gonna go get some work done,” I say, even though I don’t have any yet.

“Great! I’ll throw a snack together and then we can head to practice later.”

Snack. I swear he really does think I’m still eight years old.

He grins at me. “Cheese and crackers?”

“OK, Lar. Thanks.”

I go to my room, shut the door, and breathe. Day One finished. One hundred seventy-nine to go.

Today was Dave and Caleb’s first day, too. Usually, the three of us go to school the first day together. We find our lockers and complain about who we got for homeroom. Then we meet up at lunch to bitch and moan some more and listen to Dave’s rundown on which girls got hotter over the summer and which ones didn’t. I know it sounds totally lame, but I wish I could have been there today. Only I know it would have been different this year. So I guess I didn’t miss anything after all.

I pull out my phone and check for messages.

Dave:
being a snr rocks! we own this place! wywh!!!


This is followed by a long list of girls who transformed over the summer. I don’t even recognize some of the names.

Caleb:
how was yr 1st day? call me!


Before I can text them back, my phone rings. It’s my mom.

Me: Hey, Mom. How are you?

Mom: Hi, honey! How are
you
? Did school go all right?

Me: Yeah, it was fine.

Mom: Just fine?

This again?

Yes. Fine. What else am I supposed to say? It’s school. Let’s just be glad it was fine and that I didn’t say it totally sucked.

Me:

Mom: Do you think you’re going to like it there? Is your schedule OK? Do you like your teachers?

Me: Yeah, Mom. It’s all good. No worries.

Mom: Are the kids nice?

Me: Yeah, sure. They seemed nice enough.

Mom: [
Heavy sigh.
]

Me: Try not to worry so much.

Mom: I’m sorry, honey. I can’t help it.

Sure, now.

Me: I’ll be fine.

Mom: Your dad really wants to talk to you. Hang on.

I get a horrible, awkward image of them standing in the living room together.

Dad: Hey, Joshy! How’d Day One go?

Me: It was good, Dad.

Dad: That’s great!

Me:

Dad: Uh, well, we just wanted to make sure things are all right there.

Me: Yeah, Dad. Things are all right.

Dad: You need anything? Money?

Me: I’m all set. Give Rosie a pat for me.

Dad: OK, then. We’ll talk again soon. You call if you need anything.

Me: Bye, then.

Dad: Bye, Joshy.

I wait for him to hang up before I turn my phone off. I don’t know why hearing him say my name like that makes the back of my throat ache, but it does. I swallow it away, and start to throw my karate stuff together.

“Knock, knock!” Larry calls from the other side of the door.

“Come in!” I call.

He opens the door and holds up a plate of cheese and crackers. “C’mon. Let’s carb up and go to the gym.”

I follow him back to the kitchen, and we devour the plate of food. Then we walk to practice.

Stella shows up shortly after we do and acts all friendly, as if she didn’t spend the day pretending she didn’t know me — or even see me, for that matter. I never would have pegged Stella for one of those people who care more about being popular than being a real friend. But I don’t even know if that’s it. Was she ignoring me for
Britt
’s benefit? Or her own?

When we line up and kneel to begin, Larry asks the question. But this time, he asks me.

“Josh, what is a true karate man?”

I clear my throat, already feeling my cheeks start to burn.

“What is a true karate man?” I ask.

The class repeats my question.

“A true karate man is one with a godlike capacity . . .”

“. . . to think and feel for others . . .”

“. . . irrespective of their rank or position . . .”

I look around me. Everyone else is staring straight ahead as they repeat my broken phrases. I continue to recite for Larry, who smiles proudly. As I say the words, I try to hold on to their meaning. I think about my life and how I’ve lived it so far. How I’ve let down everyone I know. My parents. My friends. And — everyone. And I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to make up for it. But with every phrase, I realize that I am just about the furthest thing from a true karate man as there can be.

“Hey, Josh! Hold up!”

Jason follows me down the hall after the last bell rings. He’s one of the only people I talk to at school. I made it pretty clear within the first week that I’m a loner, but Jason doesn’t seem to be the kind of guy who picks up on subtle (or not so subtle) hints.

I turn around.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I was just wondering if you were going to the library.”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Why?”

“Oh. Because I heard some people were meeting up to hang out, and I didn’t catch where. I thought you might know.” This is what I mean about him not noticing things like my social status.

“You mean there’s a party somewhere?” I ask.

“That’s what I overheard. To celebrate the start of winter break.”

“Right.” I briefly wonder if Stella will be at this party, but realize it wouldn’t matter. She still acts like I don’t exist beyond the walls of the Y. On the few occasions we pass in the halls here at school, she doesn’t even acknowledge me. Probably because she’s almost always physically attached to
Britt
and surrounded by their posse.

“Sorry. Haven’t heard anything,” I say.

Jason shrugs. Then he just stands there, like he’s waiting for me to invite him to hang out with me instead.

“So, I’ve gotta go study,” I tell him.

“Oh, sure,” Jason says quietly. He looks so bummed, I feel bad about not being able to help him out with the party. Why he doesn’t realize I am not and never will be his ticket to a social life is beyond me. He knows my routine. In fact, half the time he joins me. But I always have to ask. And he seems to always act surprised to be invited. As if we’re going to a football game and not the Losers Hall of Fame.

“You wanna come?” I ask.

“Me? Sure!” He rushes toward me. “Thanks. I didn’t really want to go to the party, anyway.”

Right.

We head to the library together, Jason talking a mile a minute about some engineering project he’s working on. I keep nodding and saying “Uh-huh” like I’m listening. But mostly I’m wondering about the party we aren’t going to. And if Stella is there, if she’ll wonder why I’m not. Or if she’ll even notice.

I spread my stuff out on our usual table. Jason sits across from me and does the same, so our papers get all mixed up. He looks over at me and smiles, like this is going to be so much fun, even though this is it. This is all we do. Basically, every school day is the same. I go to school, to the library, then home. I know I sound like the most boring person on the planet, but I am not normally a good student. I have to work at this stuff. Hard. I managed to bring my grades way up first quarter compared to last year, but now I have to keep them up. It’s the only way I’ll get out of here.

After about an hour, it’s clear Jason is bored out of his mind and not really into doing homework, so he tells me he needs to get home. He looks so damn disappointed that we didn’t have a good time, as if he truly believed this could have been a better alternative to the mystery party we weren’t cool enough to be invited to. As if I was his one shot at making a friend.

Crap.

“Hey,” I say before he goes. “Sorry I didn’t talk much. It’s just that I have this big project due when we come back from break, and I wanted to get a head start on it.”

He smiles a little. He reminds me of Dave and how easy he is to please just by paying a little attention to him. “That’s OK,” he says. “I get it. See ya over break?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

As he walks away, I wonder how desperate he must be to want to be friends with a jerk like me. But I kind of smile, too. Because as much as I don’t want to get attached to anyone here, not talking to anyone is pretty damn depressing.

This is my life so far with Larry in eight simple steps.

Step 1: Go to school.

Step 2: Go to library to do homework.

Step 3: Go to apartment to drop off school stuff and pick up karate stuff.

Step 4: Go to karate practice.

Step 5: Go back to apartment, scarf down something for dinner, and shower.

Step 6: Check phone for texts.

Step 7: Try to reply to texts but can’t think of anything to say.

Step 8: Pass out.

Repeat.

Six more months to go.

Later that night, I get out of the shower and grab an ice pack before heading to my room. Stella rarely comes to practice on Friday nights because that’s when
Britt
has games, and like a good girlfriend, she never misses one. Larry paired me up with the old black belt, Jacob, for sparring. He may be ancient, but he knows how to kick. He got my left shin, and it hurts like a mother. I press the cold against it while I sit on the bed. Clover comes over to sniff the ice pack, and I give her the usual scratch behind the ears. Then I check my messages.

Caleb:
senior yr sux. wywh