by Trisha Telep
Through the window, Ava recognized a karate dojo. Parents sat in folding chairs as their children, clad in oversized uniforms with bright colored belts, kicked in unison. A young man with a black belt wove between them, correcting postures or giving praise. His shoulder-length hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a tattoo on his neck. The two black marks resembled Chinese calligraphy.
Ava lingered by the window, observing the lesson. I’m not procrastinating. I’m learning. That shuffle-kick is very similar to fencing footwork.
The teacher paired the children, and they practiced kicking into a pad. Ava caught the teacher’s attention, and he scowled at her. She jerked away as if she’d been slapped and continued on to the Academy.
The Academy’s elaborate stone entrance was marred with graffiti. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of urine and pressed the buzzer.
“Name?” The intercom squawked.
“Ava Vaughn.”
The ornate door clicked open. The depressed inner-city exterior hid a modern fencing studio. Amazed, Ava stared. In the wide open space, students in white fencing gear sparred on long thin red strips. Others practiced lunges and attacks in front of mirrors. The ring of metal, the hum of voices, and the mechanical chug of fitness equipment filled the air.
An instructor carrying a clipboard approached. “Ms. Vaughn?”
She nodded.
He eyed her, clearly not impressed. “Change and warm up. Then we’ll evaluate you.”
Before he could shoo her away, she said, “But Bossemi—”
“Invited you, I know. Doesn’t mean you’ll train with him. You have to impress us first.” He poked his pencil toward the locker rooms in the back.
As Ava changed clothes, she thought about the Three Rivers Regional Competition. She had fought well and won all her bouts, gaining the notice of Sandro Bossemi, a three-time Olympic champion from Italy.
Fencers from around the world re-located just to train at the Accadamia della Spada, which translated to the Academy of the Sword. Admittance to the school was by invitation only. Ava dreamed about being asked to train here.
However, reality proved to be another matter. Even though she had out-fenced all her opponents at the competition, the students at the Academy countered her efforts to spar them with ease. She couldn’t even claim her youth as an excuse. A few fourteen-and fifteen-year-olds trained here, making her feel old at seventeen. After her first night of practice, Ava doubted she would be asked back.
A moment of panic engulfed her. What will I do? She steadied her hyperactive heart. I’ll train even harder and Bossemi will invite me again.
When she lost her last bout, Mr. Clipboard joined her. He had been evaluating her all evening. She braced for the dismissal.
“Tomorrow you’ll work with Signore Salvatori,” he said. He flipped a paper. “We’ll arrange a practice time with your tutor. I’ll need contact information.”
It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. “I go to James Edward High.”
“Oh.” Scanning the page, he marked it. “Then you can have Salvatori’s seven to ten p.m. slot. Do you speak Italian?”
“No, but I’m fluent in French.” Since fencing bouts were officiated in French, she had been determined to learn it.
“Salvatori only teaches in Italian so you may want to learn a few words for your lessons each evening.”
“Each?” Ava tried to keep up with the information.
“If we are to teach you anything, you’re to be here every night, and from two to five on Saturday. You have Sunday off; Sandro Bossemi is a devout Catholic.”
Dazed, Ava walked to the locker room. Conflicting emotions warred in her. She was thrilled to not be dismissed, but daunted by the training schedule.
By the time she changed, the room was empty. She would have loved to leave her heavy gear bag here, but she had school practice tomorrow afternoon. Guess I’ll be doing my homework on the bus. When she calculated her travel time, she realized she would also be eating her dinner on the bus. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a side order of diesel fumes. Wonderful.
Pulling out her cell phone, she called her mother.
“Donny’s 24-Hour Diner, can I help you?”
“I’d like an extra large banana split to go please,” Ava said.
Mom laughed. “Ava, sweetie! How was practice?”
“Like a Pirates of the Caribbean movie, Mom. I pillaged and burned.”
“Showing off on the first night isn’t a good way to make friends.” Her mother kept her tone light, but Ava knew the little dig was aimed directly at her.
For Ava, fencing had always come first. She didn’t have time for friends she didn’t need. Her mother disagreed.
Ava drew in a calming breath. “How soon can you pick me up?”
Silence. Her mother worked full-time and attended college classes at night, but to pay for Ava’s training at the Academy, she scaled back her course load to one class so she could take another job as the night manager of Donny’s.
You don’t reach the Olympics without sacrifice.
“You can come during your dinner break,” Ava prompted.
“Ava, I can’t. I only get thirty minutes to eat. Can you get a ride? It could be a good ice breaker for making a friend.”
Her fingers tightened on the phone. Her mother just wouldn’t quit. Perhaps if she had an imaginary friend her mother would get off her back.
“I already made a friend,” Ava said.
“Already?” Doubt laced her mom’s voice.
“Yeah. Her name’s Tammy, she lives in Copperstown. Her parents own the Copper Tea Kettle.”
“Oh! The place with all those fancy teas?”
“Yeah. They’re big tea drinkers. Look, Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ll get a ride with her. Bye.” Ava closed her phone, and checked the time. Ten minutes until the next bus.
She left the locker room and almost ran into a group of fencing coaches, including Mr. Clipboard talking with the karate instructor. They all jumped back when they spotted her, and conversation ceased.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you,” she said into the silence. No response. As she passed them, her back burned with their stares.
That was creepy. If the Karate Dude doesn’t want people to watch through his window, he should buy curtains.
When she reached the bus stop, she dropped her heavy bag on the sidewalk in relief.
“You lied to your mother,” a man said behind her.
She spun. The Karate Dude stood five feet away, peering at her with loathing. “Tammy isn’t one of the Academy students.”
Anger flared. “You perv. You shouldn’t be hanging around the girls’ locker room.”
“And you shouldn’t have come here alone.” His intent gaze pierced her body like the point of a sword. “Your kind is always overconfident,” he said.
“My kind? Fencers?” Fear brushed her stomach. Perhaps this was one of those situations her mother warned her about.
“You can quit with the charade. I know what you are.”
And he was a dangerous wacko. Should she scream or call the police? He put his hand in the pocket of his black leather jacket. Ava grabbed her phone, searching the street for help. No one.
The Karate Dude yanked out a bottle. In one fluid motion, he flipped the lid off and flung the contents into her face.
She yelped and swiped at her cheeks. Acid? Wiping her eyes in panic, she steeled herself for the pain. Nothing. A few drops of the liquid dripped into her mouth. Water?
Karate Dude’s satisfied smirk faded.
“What the hell was that for?” she demanded. Ava dried her face on the sleeve of her coat, and smoothed her—now wet—blonde hair from her eyes.
“You’re not … I thought …” He sputtered and seemed shocked. “But you’re so pale …”
Ava spotted the bus. “Stay away from me, you sicko freak, or the next time I’ll call the police.”
The bus squealed to
a stop and the door hissed open. She grabbed her bag, sprinted up the steps, and dropped into the seat behind the driver. Glaring at the freak, she didn’t relax until the doors shut and the bus drove away.
Ava dreaded returning to the Academy. All because of that Karate Freak. But it wouldn’t stop her from going. Oh no. She loved fencing, and hoped to join gold medalist Mariel Zagunis in the record books. Mariel was a goddess! She was the first American woman in a century to win fencing gold with a saber. A century! Ava dreamed of doing the same with the foil.
She had competed with all three weapons, but a foil’s bout with its feints, ducks and sudden attacks appealed to Ava more than the épée or saber. The sport fed her competitive streak, while the rhythm and cadence of the moves made her feel elegant and graceful. She even enjoyed researching the long history of the sport, which surprised her mother since anything not involving a foil in her hand tended to be done under protest and as quickly as possible.
Holding her cell phone—with 911 already dialed—in one hand, and her bag in the other, Ava stepped from the bus. With her thumb ready to push the send button, she scanned the street. A few parents hustled their kids to karate class, and two Academy students walked toward school.
Ava sprinted to catch up with the fencers. She trailed behind them despite their annoyed looks. When she spotted the Karate Freak teaching his class, she remembered to breathe. Once inside the Academy, she should be safe.
Mr. Clipboard seemed surprised to see her. Ava debated. Should she ask him about last night or not? He had been in the group talking to Karate Freak. He tapped his watch when she approached. She didn’t have time. I’ll ask him later.
By the time the session ended, Ava no longer cared about the Karate Freak. All she wanted to do was crawl inside a locker and hide. Salvatori hadn’t spoken any of the Italian words she learned. Eventually, he stopped talking and used gestures for most of the session, adjusting her stance by touch.
He corrected everything she had learned from Coach Phillips. When she thought she had mastered a move, he proved her wrong. Frustrated and humiliated, Ava felt like a beginner again. Coach Phillips treated her like a professional, while Salvatori acted like he worked with an amateur. Perhaps she should ask for another coach.
At the end of the lesson, Salvatori dismissed her with a curt wave. Exhausted, she aimed for the locker room and stopped.
Karate Freak leaned against a side wall, watching her. No one seemed bothered by his presence, and Ava didn’t have the energy to care. She changed in a hurry, wanting to leave before the Academy emptied.
Once again she armed herself with her pre-dialed phone. She was halfway to the door before Karate Freak caught up to her. At least this time a few people milled nearby.
“Go away,” she said, brandishing the phone.
“Look, Ava, I’m sorry about last night,” he said.
He knew her name. She stepped back. Wait a minute. Did he just apologize? According to her mother, the male species was incapable of apologizing.
“I thought you were someone else.” He pulled his hair away from his face, attempting to look sincere.
If he wasn’t a freak, he’d be hot—grayish blue eyes, hawk nose and a slight Asian cut to his features. But he overdid the whole karate warrior look with his tight black T-shirt and black jeans. Maybe she should call him the Ninja Freak. Either way, his explanation was lame. She remained unconvinced.
“I know it sounds weird. We’ve been having trouble with … another school. And I thought you were one of them, spying on us.”
“So you threw water on me? That’s weak. Get lost.” She walked around him. But he trailed her.
“It’s a long story, and you wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
“Fine. Whatever. Apology accepted, now go away.” She pushed through the door, hoping to leave him behind.
He kept pace with her. “At least let me make it up to you. How about a free lesson?”
“On how to be a jerk? No, thanks.”
Unfazed, he gestured toward the school. “No. Isshinryu karate. You know, martial arts? All fencers should cross-train. Karate is great for improving your reflexes and footwork.”
“No.” She didn’t trust him.
“If this is about last—”
“Look, I don’t even know you, and frankly, I don’t have any interest.” She continued to the bus stop.
He walked with her. “I can rectify one of those.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jarett White, owner of the White Hawks Isshinryu Club.”
Owner? He didn’t look old enough, but she shook his warm hand. He held hers a moment past awkward.
“Your hand is ice cold.” He studied her face as if that was a bad thing.
She pulled away. “It’s November.”
“How about a free session on self defense? It could help you around here.”
“I really don’t have time.” Except Sunday, but that was her day to get everything else done. And her “to do” list spanned pages.
He considered. “Yeah. I guess Salvatori has you on the novice training schedule. That’s brutal.”
Despite her irritation, she was intrigued. “How do you know?”
“I trained with Sal for two years before Sandro took me on.” His gaze grew distant. “Sandro helped me qualify for the Junior Olympic Fencing Championships.”
Impressive. He must have been recruited by the best universities. “Where did you go to college?”
“I’m taking business classes at the community college.”
She gaped at him in pure astonishment. With a fencing scholarship, he could have gone anywhere.
Jarett noticed. “I earned my black belt at age twelve, and I enjoy teaching karate. Plus I’m my own boss. How many twenty-year-olds can say that?”
Weak excuses. Ava felt sorry for him. Teaching a bunch of snot-nosed kids instead of competing at the Cadet level. He must have burnt out. Before she could remark, the familiar roar of the bus signaled its approach.
“You really shouldn’t be taking the bus this late,” Jarett said. “Besides lying to your mother about getting a ride home, there’s dangerous people downtown.”
She hefted her bag. “I didn’t lie to my mother.” The bus’s door opened, revealing the smiling red-haired driver. “Jarett, meet my friend Tammy.” Ava gestured to the bus driver.
He gave her a wry grin. “Let me guess, her parents own the Copper Tea Kettle.”
“Yep. And the most dangerous person I met so far … is you.” She stepped onto the bus.
Jarett saluted her with an imaginary sword. “Touché.”
Much to Ava’s annoyance, Jarett insisted on walking her to the bus stop every night. He’d talk about karate and fencing, but he always kept watch, scanning the area as if expecting an ambush.
After a few nights she actually looked forward to his company. And he agreed with her about Mariel being a goddess.
“She was added to the 2004 Olympic team as a replacement, then goes on to win the gold. How sweet is that?” He stabbed a hand in the air.
“Pretty sweet. To be at the Olympics has to be …” Ava searched for the word, but couldn’t find the perfect one.
“Awesome.”
She thought about Jarett’s many talents. “Does your community college have a fencing program?”
“No. But I went to Penn State University for a year. Their coaches are excellent.”
“Why didn’t you stay?” The question just popped from her mouth. She wished she could erase it as his smile faded.
“I needed to be home. Some things are more important than fencing.”
Ava found that hard to believe. Nothing was more important than fencing. Nothing.
Jarett was extra jumpy. He spooked at any noise, and stared at everyone who walked by them as they waited for the bus. There were more people out tonight than Ava had seen before. Friday night.
When he glanced around for the fourth time in a minute, she asked, “Why do you do that?”
“Habit. You should always know who is around you so you’re not surprised.”
“Sounds paranoid.”
“Consider the first night I met you. You were completely oblivious to the fact I was right behind you all the way to the bus stop. I could have grabbed your bag and been gone before you even reacted.”
“I have fast reflexes,” she said.
“Consider how much faster you’d be if you knew a few seconds sooner?”
She conceded the point. All too soon, the bus arrived. Ava mounted the steps with reluctance. She almost laughed out loud. Five days ago, she ran up these steps to get away from Jarett. Now she didn’t want to leave. The door hissed shut behind her. Tammy gave her a distracted hello as Ava sat in her usual seat.
“Full bus tonight,” she said to Tammy.
“Yeah. All the college kids from the burbs are headed downtown.” She tilted her head to look into the big mirror above her and checked out the passengers.
Ava looked back. Groups of friends hung together, laughing and talking loudly. A few high school kids tried to look cool in front of the college kids. One kid sat alone, staring out the window. He wore a black hoodie with a grinning skull on it. When the bus pulled away from the curb, he waved to someone outside.
Settling in for a long ride, she pulled out her history book to study. It remained unopened in her lap. She was distracted by thoughts of Jarett and by Tammy glancing in her mirror every few seconds. Ava finally asked her why.
“There’s a punk in a black hoodie. I think he’s on drugs so I’m keeping an eye on him,” Tammy said.
As Tammy slowed for the next stop, Ava turned around. The punk stared at her. Pale skin clung to his skeletal face. He grinned, displaying crooked teeth and black gums. Yikes.
“Got a runner,” Tammy said with delight. Her hand hovered over the door switch. As soon as a runner reached the point that they might actually catch the bus, Tammy would shut the door and pull away.
“You’re evil,” Ava said.
“Everyone needs a hobby. He’s getting closer … Wait for it … Wait for it … Ah, hell.” She slumped back in her seat. “It’s your friend.”