On Wednesday, Madison was sitting in the front seat of the car again so I climbed into the back. It felt strange being there alone. Kind of like I was in a taxi or something. I had to bite the inside of my cheek not to say, “To taekwondo. And step on it!”
Cookie called me sweetheart and asked me how my week went. But then she took a sip from her coffee and said, “Great,” even though I hadn’t answered her yet.
“Hey,” Madison said in my direction as way of a greeting. She went back to reading whatever was in her lap.
I watched out the window and counted seven drivers talking on their cell phones before I got bored. I started wondering what Madison was reading that was so interesting.
I scootched over and gently tugged on my shoulder strap to get some wiggle room. Then I stretched my neck just a bit.
Madison caught me looking. “Studying for my belt test,” she said as she held up her student handbook. “I’m going for my green belt next. If I pass, then I can move up to the intermediate class and go to the dojang that Master Kim’s dad owns.”
Cookie let out a huge sigh. And I noticed Madison’s happy expression faded a bit.
I felt bad for her. “I could quiz you if you want,” I blurted out.
Madison passed the folder over the seat and gave me a half smile.
I went through her test requirements a few times and quizzed her on old stuff as well. I couldn’t believe how many Korean words and definitions she had to know. Madison had to know four forms, too.
“What are the five tenets of taekwondo?” I asked her.
She began counting them off on her fingers. “Courtesy. Integrity. Perseverance. Self-control, and indomitable spirit.”
I gave her a thumbs-up.
Madison grinned.
Cookie sighed loudly again.
Madison’s grin fell. “That’s good. Thanks,” she told me and then twisted in her seat so she was facing forward.
We were almost to the community center. I suddenly realized that I hadn’t given back the handbook. Cool beans! As quietly as I could, I flipped back to the page where my test requirements were listed:
Break a board using push kick. All right. Got it.
Counting to ten. Knew that one.
Kicho il bo. I knew that, too.
Wrist escape. Cripes. That needed work.
And all those names of techniques and commands in Korean? Ahnjoe, koomahn, ap chagi, yursit—the list went on and on. I forgot what half of them meant. I tried not to panic.
The definition of taekwondo. Yikes! I read as quickly as I could. “Taekwondo . . . Korean art . . . hand and foot—”
“We’re here!” Cookie sang out.
My head snapped up. Madison was looking at me like she was confused about something. I shut the handbook and gave it back to her.
“Madison,” Cookie said. “Don’t forget. Your father is expecting you later tonight so no dillydallying after class.”
Something about the way Cookie said the word father made me realize Madison’s parents were divorced. And it made me feel sorry for her all over again.