The Faarian Chronicles: Exile (2 page)

“Eek! They’re coming over!” She grabbed my arm to emphasize
the importance of her next words. “Just act natural. And please, could you
try
to keep from punching Russ?” I rolled my
eyes at her.

“Hey, Andi!” several of them yelled in greeting, giving that
cocky little head jerk thing that boys do.

“Hey!” Andi replied. “You guys have met my best friend
Sunny, right?” Andi put her arm around me.

“Uh, hey,” I repeated with what I’m sure was a pained smile.
I sooo wasn’t good at this. The social stuff was Andi’s forte, not mine.

The group milled around a bit and I discretely checked out
Russ’s handsome cousin: tall, typical baggy guy clothes, and a knit hat - Rocky
the flying squirrel. It was a bit odd, since it was a winter hat and a very
mild spring day, but whatever. I watched him elbow Russ, but Russ simply looked
confused. When it became obvious that no amount of pointed looks was going to
get him an introduction, the new guy turned to us.

“I’m John, Russ’s cousin,” he said with a melodic, almost
whistling accent. He extended his hand to shake awkwardly, as if it were an
alien concept.

“Uh, hi,” I groaned internally. No, not the accent!
Although, I had to admit it sounded good coming from him. I looked from John to
Russ. Annoying, brown-haired, accent-free Russ. All his family weirdness
clicked into place. They were immigrants. Gah, so obvious now that I thought
about it.

“Ahhh,” Andi said under her breath, figuring it out too.
“So, where are you from?”

“Turkey,” John answered, not missing a beat.

“Uh huh.” She smirked at me and I elbowed her to stop,
giving her a look.

“Hey, Sunny,” one of the other guys broke in on our
nonverbal conversation. “So, you’re the home-schooled one, right?”

“Yeah, Sunny's too good to go to school with the rest of us,
aren’t ya Sun?” Russ jumped in, punching me in the arm with a smirk.

“Actually, I’m a gymnast,” I explained to John and the other
guys with a tight smile. “I spend most of my time at the gymnastics academy
down the road.” A fact Russ knew very well. He was just trying to embarrass me.
“But my dad makes me take karate, too. Russ and I have class together.” I
didn’t mention that Sensei Qian was also my private instructor.

“Yeah, but you’re there every day aren’t you?" Russ
asked. "And you’ve got a private session with her afterwards. I saw you
sparring one day with wooden poles after everyone else was gone, like the girl
version of Jackie Chan vs. Jet Li. It was awesome! Why don’t you do that all
the time?” he asked, looking puzzled.

Great Russ, thanks. Thanks a lot. This was why I was always
putting off belt tests. I was a gymnast, not karate girl! Yeah Russ, this was
what my nonexistent social life needed.

“Wait a sec.” One of his friends rounded on him. “Your
Sensei is a woman?” he asked with a smirk.

“Well, yeah,” Russ started defensively, glancing at me. I
raised my eyebrows and waited for the next inane thing he was going to say. I
wasn’t disappointed. “But I swear they need to run a chromosome test on her.
She’s like no woman you've ever met. She’s a man, baby!” he said, imitating
that horrible Austin Powers movie.

He caught me glaring at him and tried to hit me in the arm
again. This time I was annoyed enough to catch his sloppy punch and twist it
behind his back before shoving him away. He laughed and turned back, like he
thought I was flirting with him. Arg! I’d have to twist harder next time.

“Maybe we need to get your chromosomes checked too, huh,
Sun?” he said, making squishing motions towards my chest. I swatted his hands
away, fighting the temptation to kick him in the head or somewhere lower. I
felt a flash of anger that meant I was about to appear even less normal than I
already did. I turned and walked a few steps away, pretending interest in an
advertising poster and taking a moment to calm down.

When angry, my eyes shift color from green to orangey gold.
Dad teased me that it was a very pretty wheat-fields-in-August color – as long
as you didn’t look at the rest of my scowling face. Whatever, Dad.

I usually only had to watch out when I was competing. The
gymnastics judges with their silly tenths off for this or that could really get
me going. In martial arts, I’d had more than one opponent accuse me of trying
to distract her with a trick. Like I
wanted
my eyes to change. Puh-leeze.

But that had been years ago. I’d developed ways of dealing
with it, like never looking at my scores and deliberately tanking a match if I
was starting to get too competitive. Apparently dealing with Russ was worse
than the idiot judges.

“Hey dumb bat, tough chicks rock, or haven’t you heard?”
Andi demanded. I turned back to find her glaring at him with fists on her hips,
and shot her a wry smile, intending to ignore Russ. He and the guys just
laughed and John watched us all curiously.

“So what’s your next event, anyway? Are you gonna come up
against me this time?” Russ asked, puffing out his chest and making muscle
arms.

“I spar girls, Russ,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“'Cuz you know I’ve been beating you in practice for a while
now,” he smirked. I gaped in disbelief at his clearly delusional interpretation
of our sparring matches. He moved into what I supposed was meant to be cat
stance and threw a jumping roundhouse kick in my direction while yelling
“WHAAA!” like in some bad Kung Fu movie. I dodged easily, but ran smack into
John.

“Whoa.” He caught and steadied me, though I didn’t need it.
Russ flew through the space where I’d been standing to fall into a knee-high
planter. I covered my laugh and realized John was chuckling softly beside me,
one hand still on my waist. It was nice that I had to look up to see his eyes
as they twinkled at me under that silly squirrel hat.

At 5’9” now, I wasn't exactly short. It was the reason I
hadn’t made the elite gymnastics rankings earlier. No matter how much I loved
it, everyone said my body was better suited to being a fighter than an artist,
particularly compared to those 4’10” girls. My coaches were all astonished that
I’d lasted this long without major injury. 'Knees of a Clydesdale,' one of them
said. I missed the days when I was their golden child.

“So,” I said, standing so close to John that I could smell
his (thankfully light) cologne or whatever it was. I took a deep breath and
felt my eyelids go kinda heavy on me as I enjoyed the smell, like soap and rain
and sunshine all at once. I blinked and blushed to find him looking at me with
a slight smile on his handsome face, as if he knew what I was thinking.

“So?” he asked, dropping his hand with a hint of a smirk. Oh
God, what was I thinking? Come on Sunny, say something intelligent.

“Sunny!” Sensei’s voice shattered the moment. “Your sparring
division is coming up soon.” She looked in disapproval at the cluster of teens
and spotted Russ. “Ruston, shouldn’t you be getting ready also?”

"Gotta go," I said with a little smile at John. I
needed to center myself.

I found an empty conference room on the other side of the expo
center and kicked off my flips. I walked the length of the room on my hands,
looking for debris. Thankfully it was clear. The commercial carpet was scratchy
and had no spring like a gymnastics floor, but it'd have to do.

I ran and back-flipped into my latest routine, pushing my
body until I couldn't think anymore about boys and competitors, points and palm
strikes. There was only me and the rhythm of my feet and hands on the rough
carpet, pushing myself faster and higher for the dismount. I had to fight with
every fiber I had to land (ugly) the double twisting layout on the conference
room floor. But when I was done, I felt like me again.

My first two matches were fine, but not enough competition
to lose out and go home already. My third match was a brown belt I’d never seen
before. She was aggressive and fast. She gave a jumping backfist and scored off
a head hit. I felt my temper rise. It was one thing to tank a match when I knew
I could beat my opponent at any time, but I hadn’t even seen that hit coming!

I fought back and soon we were tied, four to four. The next
point would win the match, but I’d seen enough. She was left-legged. If I
darted to her right and back in I could score while she was trying to get in
position. The judge yelled at us to get behind the floor marks. I shifted my
weight onto the balls of my feet, and put my hands up. Over to the side, I
heard Dad cheering. The judge dropped his hand in permission for us to start
again.

“Now Sunny, now!” yelled Sensei from the sidelines. My peripheral
vision said that she was holding up her phone, videotaping for my mother.

I saw the opening. One move and I could take the point, the
match. Instead, I waited. She didn’t and when her reverse punch came, it hurt.
I smiled grimly at the camera. I was not my mother's trained monkey.

Chapter 2: The Custody Agreement

I woke early the next morning to a wailing alarm and nothing
but starlight coming in through my window. Time for practice.

I staggered out of bed to the dresser for a leotard and
warm-ups. Meowman gave me a sharp “Mrrah!” of annoyance at being disturbed and
leapt onto the sill to watch as I whirled around the dark room getting ready.
His head tipped with curiosity when I came to an abrupt halt and my shoulders
sank.

I slammed the dresser drawer with too much force, knocking
the chest into the wall with a bang. This was no ordinary day with practice and
home school and chores. This was D-day. Departure day.

I looked around my room, seeing what was left to be done.
Dad promised he would leave it like this. My U.S. Olympic Gymnastics Team
poster was still on the wall, my closet still half-full of clothes I couldn’t
wear where I was going. Stuffed animals, books, everything was the way it had
always been, the way I liked it.

It’s not like you’re not
prepared,
I reminded myself.
Toughen up!
Goodbyes had been said, excuses given. It was just that I’d finally reached the
horizon that had been looming for years and I still had no idea what lay beyond
it.

I grudgingly got ready: warm-ups yes, leotard no (I supposed
I wouldn’t be too upset to leave those ugly things behind) and wandered over to
my second story window to see if anything was going on yet.

The familiar view of snow-capped mountains and glistening
pines glowed in the moonlight, and I took a few moments to embed the scene in
my brain before looking down to the yard below. Dad and Sensei were already
preparing the large barn for our “visitors”, who could really go visit
elsewhere for all I cared.

They led sleepy, blanket-covered horses into the paddock. I
heard the distinctive banging and scraping that signaled they were dismantling
the stalls in the barn, stacking equipment against the walls, and sweeping the
interior clean.

Somehow, I’d always missed this early morning dance when I
was running out the door to practice, but not this time. Today I was part of
the shipment.

Part of me wanted to spend some time with Dad before I had
to go, but the rest didn’t want anything to do with
helping
to send me away. Maybe I was in denial.
I didn’t even really know where I would
be
the next day.

I was eleven when Dad had finally told me about his
agreement with my mother. It was a beautifully cold Saturday in January, a
perfect day for skiing in the Colorado Mountains, and he’d been dodging my
questions about my mother – again. I finally cornered him on a chair lift.

“Dad, why don’t you ever talk about Mom?” I asked while
casually pretending to search in my pockets for lip stuff. All I had were a few
crumpled photos and a drawer full of birthday cards to prove she’d even
existed.

“What are you talking about? Sure I do, sometimes. What do
you want to know?”

“Well, what was she like?”

His pause was so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer,
and then he said simply, “Vaeda is the strongest woman I’ve ever known. You
remind me very much of her.”

“I do?” I asked in a small voice. “You never said that. You
just said I got my hair from her.”

My father looked over with a sad look in his eyes. “You do,”
he said softly. “It’s not just your hair or your eyes, which are so much like
hers, but your laugh makes me turn around sometimes, expecting to see her.”

It was about the most I’d ever heard him talk about my
mother. After all this time, he still missed her, even… loved her. I swallowed
to try and relieve the sudden tightness in my throat.

“Now why all the sudden interest, huh?” he asked in a forced
upbeat kind of way. “Say, what do you want for lunch?”

My interest wasn’t sudden; I’d been asking about her for
what seemed like years. I shrugged off his attempt to change the subject.

“Dad, why doesn’t she ever come home?”

He groaned and looked up as if hoping the end of the
chairlift was soon, but it was nowhere in sight. “It’s complicated, Sunny.” I could
tell he hoped I would give up, but he wasn’t getting out of it that easily.

I pulled out the big guns and gave him… the puppy eyes.
“Come on Dad. Please?” He gave a heavy sigh and I found myself holding my
breath.

“Okay. She…” He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “You
have to understand, I don’t know a lot about your mother’s home er… town. But,
I know that it’s a very different, very troubled place, Sunny. Dangerous
sometimes.

“She came here to go to college. You know that’s how we met.
We got married and she planned to stay after you were born. But then her
parents died, in a kind of… local war. It killed a lot of her family by the
time it was over.”

“Oh. That’s sad.”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed softly before continuing. “Her
family looked to her to take over and run the family farm. They needed her, so
that’s what she did. It’s a big responsibility.” He turned to me and took my
gloved hand in his. “Can you understand that, Sunny?”

I nodded slowly. It went along with what little he’d told me
before. “But, why can’t she even come visit?”

“I guess, well, I guess because they really need her there,”
he repeated. Even when I was eleven, that answer seemed like a cop-out.

 “Hey, it’s okay.” He squeezed my hand. “You’ll always
have me.” I tried to give him a smile, but it fell flat. He took a big breath
and squared his shoulders. “You know the language you’re learning from your
Professor Obot, right? What’s he call it again?”

“Faarian. But you called it Turkish,” I added.

“I did?” he asked, looking surprised that I remembered.

“Yeah, you said people around here call it Turkish, so if
anyone ever asks, that’s what I should say.”

 “Oh, right. That’s right.” He smiled brightly. I
almost didn’t notice him turning his head away and coughing, “Crap,” under his
breath.

“Anyway, the reason you’re learning… Turkish… is so that
when you’re older, maybe you’ll be able to go… visit her,” he explained
awkwardly. “At some point. Exciting, huh?”

“Really?” I was suddenly dying to go there and nervous all
at once.

“Really. I didn’t tell you before now because I didn’t want
to get your hopes up. It still might not happen. It might not ever be safe
enough for you to go there. I need you to understand that, okay?” He watched my
reaction closely.

“So, that’s why I have to take martial arts all the time, so
I can go visit?”

“Yes, but hopefully it’s getting less dangerous, because
otherwise I won’t let you go.”

“But, Dad!” I started.

“No buts, Sunny,” he said firmly. “And actually....” After
avoiding the topic for so long, he seemed suddenly anxious to get it over with.
“Your mother and I have an agreement you and I need to talk about. A custody
agreement.”

“Custody agreement?” Uh-oh. One of Andi’s friends from
school had one of those and she was never around.

“Yes.” He drew himself up into serious mode. “As much as I
love you, Sunny, you and your mother deserve the chance to get to know each
other. I can’t be greedy. And you deserve to experience her culture first-hand.
So, when it’s safe, you’ll be going to live with her for a few years.”

“But – but I thought you said visit!” Suddenly this didn’t
sound so good.

“I was trying to ease you into the idea.”

“But Dad! Gymnastics!” This couldn’t be happening. I
couldn’t train halfway around the world!

“Munchkin, I know gymnastics is important to you, but this
is important too. This is why I never encouraged you to get too serious with
gymnastics, remember?”

“Yeah, but the Olympics!” I wasn’t listening to him. This
was my dream we were talking about here! “If I want a shot, I have to ramp up
my training now!”

“Honey, if you were going to the Olympics, you’d already be
training full time,” he said softly.

“But you wouldn’t let me!” My voice took on a high-pitched
threadiness as tears threatened to fall. “Coach wanted me to, but you always
say no! You made me take martial arts, and organic farming, and all that stuff
from that boring old Robot.”

“Professor Obot,” he corrected gently. “Plus, we’ve talked
about this before – I’m six foot and your mother is five ten. You’ll never stay
short enough for gymnastics.”

“But why does it have to be in my teens?” I ignored his
stupid argument – I was
not
going to get tall. I sniffed, wiping my cheeks
on my sleeve. And, if I didn’t make it to the Olympics, well then I had a
backup plan: go to high school with Andi, be a cheerleader, have a boyfriend,
and be
normal.

“Why not twenty?” I demanded. By twenty, I’d be a gymnastics
has-been anyway, and out of high school, and that was as far as I could see
ahead anyway. I didn’t have any plans for my twenties. I could go then, no
problem.

He squeezed his eyes shut before answering. “Because in your
mother’s culture, age thirteen begins the rite of passage when a girl becomes a
warrior.”