If you want to learn to swim, you have to throw yourself in the water.
—BRUCE LEE
My feet trudged up the concrete stairs I’d come down ninety minutes earlier. They were the same stairs, it was the same cold night, but I actually felt worse than I had before.
I felt even more alone. It was clear that Daniel liked me. And I liked him. I really did. His warm brown eyes made my knees go weak, as did the way his black hair fell over his eyes and the way his long fingers pushed it back.
I hadn’t said no because I was grounded. I figured that would be long over by the time of the dance. But if I had said yes to going with Daniel, I knew where it would lead. To me having my heart ripped out when we left Portland, as we inevitably would. To me becoming like my mom. Always desperate to fill the missing piece.
I reminded myself that I didn’t need a guy. I didn’t need friends. I didn’t need anyone. As soon as I was old enough, I was going to live on my own. I was going to be completely independent. Make my own money, my own choices, my own life.
And no matter where I was, that life would include kung fu. As soon as I walked into Tim’s house, I would apologize to him. If I had to, I would grovel. I wouldn’t even ask for my phone back. I’d promise to cook him steaks every night. Maybe offer to polish every inch of his stupid Camaro by hand after it was fixed. Whatever it took to keep coming back to class.
At the top of the steps, I rounded the corner of the building. I was so lost in thought that I only knew something was wrong when a rough hand grabbed my wrist from behind.
My first confused thought was that it was Daniel, seeing how well I remembered tonight’s lessons. Playing a joke on me.
But as I was jerked backward, I smelled cigarettes and motor oil. And I saw what I hadn’t registered at first: an old white van parked in the darkest corner of the lot. The lot that earlier had been empty.
I froze, all of tonight’s lessons fleeing from my head. What would Sifu do? Or Bruce Lee?
And then I remembered that rather than trying to pull away from my attacker, I should instead accelerate his motion by pushing toward him. Toward the thumb that was the weakest part of his grip. I let him spin me around and yank me back as I stepped closer. I felt my hat go sliding off as I circled my right arm up and back, breaking his grip. With a muffled grunt, he let go. My momentum carried me closer to him. I was already striking out with the heel of my left hand. His teeth clacked as I made contact with his jaw.
I turned and ran. As I did, I sucked in my breath to let out a scream. I was in a dark, deserted parking lot outside a dark, deserted building. The nearest people were at least a block away. Tucked inside their houses, warm and safe, the windows shut, the curtains closed. Still, I had to try.
But what came out of my mouth was a screech. Not a scream, not a piercing cry, not an alarm that split the night. It was both soft and high-pitched. It didn’t seem to go anyplace except maybe right above our heads, hanging with the fog of our breath.
A second later, I felt two tiny stings, one in my butt and one on my right thigh. My body went rigid as every muscle clenched. My head jerked up and back of its own volition. As I toppled over, my vision filled with white light. I felt the pain in my teeth, my eyeballs, my fingertips.
And then my head hit the ground, and I didn’t feel anything at all.