We were a block from home, on our way to taekwondo, when Dad slowed down and signaled to turn into a random driveway.
“Shoot! I forgot my textbook,” he said. “Gotta turn around.”
“No!” I freaked out. “I’ll be late.”
Dad laughed and kept going. “Far be it from me to go against a girl sporting a dobok,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m just a white belt, Dad.”
“Yeah, but someday you could be a black belt,” he said. “Then I’ll really have to watch out.”
Me? A black belt? I tried to imagine myself looking like Master Kim or the teenage-girl black belt who sometimes helped out in class. The idea was interesting and all, but I wasn’t going to be around long enough to do that. I just had to get through the summer so I could prove that I wasn’t a quitter. I’m gonna be a cake-maker not a board-breaker, I thought. And then smiled a little at my own cleverness.
At the community center, I took my spot in the back row. I saw Madison was near the front of the room. She glanced at me for a half second and then looked away and started talking to the girl next to her.
Master Kim strolled to the front and a tall orange belt started class. “Class, charyut!”
We all stood at attention.
“Sabumnim kyoonyae,” the orange belt said.
The week before, one of the teenagers told me that sabumnim meant “master.”
I bent at the waist like everyone else and mumbled, “Annyeon hashimnikka.” It seemed like an awful lot of syllables for just “hello,” but I liked the way it bounced around in my mouth. It was like a super ball inside a closed shower—not that I’m going to say how I know what a super ball thrown inside a shower does.
After we practiced doing front stances and blocks, Master Kim told us to pair up and make a line.
I turned to another white belt named Rosa. “Partners?” I asked.
I was relieved when she nodded.
I stood on the higher-rank side. Even though I was a white belt, too, I was older. In fact, I’d lost most of my baby teeth. But I only kept track because losing them meant I had to get stupid braces at the end of July.
I wondered if braces were going to hurt as much as Sam said they would. I hoped I didn’t have to wear rubber bands like that girl in my class. She had bands on the sides and in the front. She could barely open her mouth! And she had to reach her fingers in and take the rubber bands out every time she wanted to eat something. She’d leave them on the lunch table. It was gross.
Stop!
I took a breath and blinked. I was changing channels in my brain again. I hit the GO BACK button like I learned in Jitter Lunch Bunch.
Master Kim was emptying the equipment bag. “Come get a kicking paddle,” he said.
After Master Kim showed us how to do back kicks again, we were supposed to practice them. Ten on each side.
Back kicks were tricky. They had about a hundred steps. First, you had to pivot on your front foot, look over your shoulder, and then pull the other leg up tight against your body before snapping it straight back. Plus, you had to remember to pull your toes back and hit the target with your heel. It was a lot to think about. And it made me super dizzy.
Just as Rosa and I were about to start, Master Kim came over.
My partner and I stopped.
“Eliza, switch places,” he said, pointing down the line. “You and Madison are a better size match.”
Mustard stains! I felt like ants just showed up to the picnic.