“Your wish is my command, dahling,” she deadpanned.
My nerves stopped jittering as soon as I got out of the car, which was a major relief. I hadn’t been to the dojo since I’d gotten out of the hospital. Every time I’d decided to go, I’d felt like puking and canceled at the last minute. But now? After what had happened yesterday, I felt like I had to come, despite the continued temptation to vomit. It was either that or be paralyzed with fear for the rest of my life.
The thwack of bodies hitting the mats was clearly audible outside the doors; sensei had probably propped them open in a vain attempt to make the thick air circulate through the building. I slipped inside, stepped out of my shoes, and bowed to the kamidana shrine on the wall.
About fifteen students milled around, shrugging on gi tops, stretching on the mats, and throwing each other around for fun. A couple of black belts came through the back door with armfuls of bamboo practice swords, and I saw Sensei’s distinctive bristle-cut hairstyle among them. I sidestepped a white belt warming up on the floor and headed in that direction.
“Sensei?” I called out.
The acoustics in the dojo left something to be desired; everything echoed underneath the high ceilings. My voice got lost in the commotion, and he went back outside without seeing me.
One of the black belts intercepted me.
“Welcome to Black Sands Dojo! Can I help you?” she said, flashing a gap-toothed smile. Her hair was longer now and pulled back into a messy ponytail, but I would have recognized those teeth anywhere.
“Darcy, it’s me. Casey.”
The smile flickered and then pasted itself back on with fervor. Darcy fastened her eyes to my face, deliberately looking anywhere but at my bald head. I was beginning to regret shaving it. Even the leper ’fro would have been better than this.
“Casey! I didn’t recognize you!” She gave me a one-armed hug that took me completely by surprise and nearly resulted in a face full of sword. We’d been training buddies for a couple of years, but we’d never hung out too much outside of the dojo because she went to Saint Joe’s and I went to Mackinaw Central. But inside the dojo, we’d been pretty inseparable, which is what happens when you start training about the same time and you’re both tiny junior high girls.
“It’s so good to see you!” she said, her voice high and breathless. “Are you coming back to training?”
“I was thinking about it,” I said. “Congrats on the black belt, by the way.”
“Thanks! I had to work pretty hard, but you know how that is. You should come to the white belt class first thing on Saturdays. That would be a great way to get back into things! Today we’re doing gogyo again.” Darcy brushed a hair out of her face. “But next Saturday? I could give you a ride, if you want? I’m teaching the class, so I’ve got to be here early.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s cool. Listen, I’ve got to get the rest of the gear for today, but I’ll catch up with you after training, okay? Bye!”
She leaned over and gave me a quick smooch on the cheek like we were long-lost BFFs. We’d never had a huggy kind of friendship before; she’d always been the shy and reserved type. By the time I got over the shock, she was out the door.
Maybe that hadn’t really been Darcy. It might have been an alien clone.
I took a seat at the back of the dojo, telling myself I wasn’t wussing out; I was just respecting the rule about senior students not training without a gi. The students organized themselves into meticulous rows behind Sensei and bowed to the kamidana to officially begin the class. He began to lead them through the gogyo, a series of moves representing the five elements. I had always loved gogyo; it was amazing how each move felt different, like the elements were actually channeling through me. I liked the flash and arc of fire and the heaviness of my feet in earth, the buoyancy of air and the liquid way the moves rippled into one another in water.
Void was the most difficult element to master; everyone said so. But this time, something clicked as I watched Sensei punch, toss an imaginary metsubishi, and kick. I stood up without even realizing it and pictured the man from the alleyway, struck him with one hand, threw a metsubishi into his eyes to obscure his vision, shifted to kick. The moves blended together so it felt like I was striking from all directions at once. Being everywhere. Being void.
Once I started, I couldn’t stop. The familiar cadence of moves carried me out of myself; all conscious thought ceased. I forgot all the angsty emo crap for a while and just moved. When the hand fell on my shoulder, it was like coming back to earth.
“Yes!” Sensei said. “That’s exactly it.”
I stopped midkick and bowed to him hastily. “I’m very sorry, sir. I know I’m out of uniform. I’ll bring my gi next time.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’re not here.”
I looked down at myself, trying to figure out what he was talking about.
“You’re everywhere and nowhere, right?” He punched me lightly on the shoulder, the way he used to when he made a joke, regardless of how dumb it was. “You’re void, right?”
Now I couldn’t keep from smiling. “Something like that.”
The flash of humor on his face was gone so fast, I almost thought I’d imagined it. “It is good to have you back, Kunoichi,” he said, bowing deeply.
Tears sprang to my eyes, sudden and surprising. But I kept my voice steady and returned the bow. “It’s good to be back, Sensei.”
He straightened and winked, mercurial as always. “Now sit down, or I’ll have to bust your butt for breaking my rules.”
I plopped back onto the bench, and he returned to the other students, moving among them, making jokes, correcting with a light touch of the arm or a potato smack to the head. Then they moved into some basic sword strikes, and it was so hard to sit when my muscles itched to move, ached to quit surviving and start living again. Finally I’d found something that hadn’t changed. If I could recapture ninjutsu, I could get everything else back too. Screw that theoretical brain tumor and the horse it rode in on. I was probably all freaked out over nothing. Heck, maybe I’d gotten roofied. Sad but true, that thought was reassuring. Here was a rational explanation that didn’t involve my dying at the end, and it was totally feasible! That was why I’d hallucinated. No relapse. No metastases. No need to panic.
The wave of relief made me literally rock back in my seat; it hit me that hard. I was going to be okay, and I was going to train again. I didn’t have the stamina to pull off a ninety-minute class. Not yet, but I would.
After class was over, Darcy pounced before I could even stand up from my bench. She was practically squealing with excitement. I put my hands to my temples; I could feel the headache developing already.
“So are you allowed to go out?” she asked. “Because if you are, I could pick you up for the basics class on Saturday, and maybe we could go and get some coffee? Unless you don’t drink coffee? I can’t remember if you do or not. I love coffee. If I could drink it in my sleep, I totally would.”
“Of course I’m allowed. I went to the Halloween Bash on campus last night,” I said.
“Sweet! Did you dress up? I went as a ninja this year, which is so not creative, but it was all I had.”
“I wore my sister’s old roller derby uniform.”
“Ohmigod!” Darcy waved her hands in excitement, agitation, or some combination thereof. “Do you like derby? You’ve got to come to these tryouts with me in a couple weeks! Say you will; no one else wants to come, and I don’t want to go by myself.”
I reached out and grabbed her hands before she stuck a finger in my eye. “What tryouts?”
“You know the Apocalypsies, right? One of the junior derby teams? They’re looking for new skaters.” She squealed. “I’m so psyched!”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the derby type.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve changed since you were here last.” She tossed her hair. “So what do you say? I could rea
lly use a cheering section.”
“Sure, I’ll do it. But didn’t the season start already? My sister skated with the Hotsies before she went to Smithton, and I’m pretty sure they’d already started by this time last year.”
“Two of the Apocalypsies died in a car accident. Isn’t that the most horrible thing ever? Anyway, if they don’t fill their roster, they’ll have to forfeit the rest of their bouts.”
“That’s terrible.” I looked down at my legs. What I was about to say was stupid, but I had to do it. I had to ride the wave of my dojo triumph, if only to get my mind off the fact that I’d splatted on the pavement yesterday and then topped it off by getting beaten up. “I want to try out too.”
“B-but …,” Darcy started sputtering. “But you can’t do that. You didn’t go to skills camp. It’s a requirement.”
“Why?” I put my hands on my hips. “You want me to come to the tryout; I’ll come. But I’m skating. Skills camp is for people who don’t know the basics, but I used to practice with the Hotsies all the time. They would have taken me if I’d been old enough. I could probably still do all that stuff—T-stops, plow stops, booty blocking. You name it.”
“Well … okay. I mean, if it’s okay with them, it’s okay with me. Maybe we could each get a spot!” She almost visibly shook herself back into hyperactive peppiness. “I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go together. Isn’t that perfect? I can’t decide whether I’m excited or nervous! I’ve always wanted to be a rollergirl!”
A shiver ran down my back and out my toes. I wanted to try out, but the word “rollergirl” brought back that creepy feeling from yesterday. Even if it was totally irrational to be afraid now. It’s not like the crackhead from last night was following me; that was ridiculous.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s pretty sweet, all right.”
“Wheee!” Darcy clapped her hands and danced around in a circle. “I’m so excited!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
After my dojo visit, I dorked around at home until Saturday-night dinner. Rachel got to the dining room right after me.
“When are you going back to the dorms?” I asked as I sat down. My chair was wrapped with orange and black gauze. At our house, Halloween decorations went up in early September and stayed until Christmas. Sometimes later.
“Tomorrow morning,” she said. I couldn’t keep the disappointment off my face, and she winced. “I know. But I’ve got an exam in Abnormal Psych this week, and I’ve got to make it to the study group or I’ll fail.”
“Maybe I’ll come up sometime soon. I could take the train.”
“That would be awesome.”
Mom and Dad squeezed through the doorway, nearly upending the massive sheet cake they were supporting between them. It overflowed with green frosting; plastic ninjas competed for space with at least two boxes of candles. One of the ninjas had toppled headfirst into a candle flame, and his head was dripping.
“Happy recovery to you!” they sang. Rachel warbled along out of tune. “Happy recovery to you! Happy recovery, dear Casey! Happy recovery to you!”
They set the cake down on the table, nearly upsetting it into my lap. Then Dad said, “Blow out the candles, honey.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. Those poor ninjas.
Mom whipped out a knife and started cutting the cake into dinner-plate-sized slices. I got the first piece. It had a lot of ninjas on it, including the damaged one. A puddle of head goo encased his feet. Poor guy; I scooped him out reverentially and laid him to rest on my napkin.
“Uh, guys?” Rachel asked, taking her plate. “Isn’t it customary to have dinner first? You know, vegetables, meats, that kind of thing?”
“Reverse dinner. Duh,” I said.
My parents were big on themed meals. They did reverse dinners, where dessert was served first and appetizers last; alphabet meals, where every food item began with the same letter; and no-utensils nights, where they served things like chicken and noodles with no forks and lots of napkins. This kind of thing was one of the many reasons why I never invited anyone except Kyle over for dinner.
“Nope.” Mom laughed. “Good guess, though.”
“Just wait and see,” added Dad, forking a piece of red velvet cake approximately the size of a baseball into his mouth.
“Whatever.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “So how was the dojo thing, Sis?”
“I think it’s great that you’re getting out and about again, Casey,” boomed our father. “And only one day after your traumatic experience. I’m proud of your bravery, kiddo.”
I had to give my parents some credit; they were pretty chill. They had to be, with me as a daughter. I’d come home sprained, broken, or abraded more often than not. They’d clamped down pretty hard when I’d first gotten diagnosed, but I’d liked the fact that they’d been at the hospital every day. Mom would give me foot rubs, and Dad would debate with the doctors about experimental techniques he’d read about on the Internet. They were weird and embarrassing a lot of the time, but they’d known exactly what to do when I’d needed them. And, just as important, they’d known when to back off.
“There’s not much to tell,” I said, shrugging. “One of the girls invited me to try out for a roller derby team. Will one of you sign the release form? I called Dr. Rutherford’s office, and he said it was okay. I’m allowed to go back to the dojo too.”
Of course, when I’d spoken to my doctor, I’d failed to mention the hallucinations. And I might have downplayed the derby thing. In fact, I might have lied outright and told him I was going to be a mascot.
“How is Phil Rutherford these days?” Dad asked. “I keep leaving him messages about community theater tryouts, but he never shows. Pity, because the guy’s got a natural stage presence.”
“Not bad.” I took a deep breath. “He said Little Casey’s back on the floor. He thought I might want to know.”
Little Casey had been my children’s hospital fourth-floor neighbor for months. She’d had acute lymphoblastic leukemia; I’d had acute myelogenous leukemia. She’d been nine at diagnosis. I’d been just shy of sixteen. But the nurses had called us the Casey twins anyway. It was the only time I’ve ever been called big.
I hadn’t spoken to her since I’d been discharged. I missed her, but she was a reminder of all the things I really would have preferred to leave behind.
“You should call her,” Dad said. “Or go to visit. Take her some of this cake.”
“I’ll think about it,” I replied noncommittally, earning myself a disapproving look from everyone else at the table. They didn’t get it. And while Little Casey probably missed me as much as I missed her, I bet she understood the urge to leave and never look back. “So about that permission slip …”
“As long as Dr. Rutherford is okay with it,” Mom said. “I don’t want you to push too hard too fast. Especially after yesterday.”
“Anybody can get mugged, Mom. That has nothing to do with my overall health. Dr. Rutherford said it would be good for me to be more active. Get my strength up.” I kept my face straight. My parents had overactive BS detectors. It came with the theater-prof territory; they could spot a poor performance from a mile away. Either I was better at acting than I thought or they wanted to believe as much as I did that my health problems were over, because neither of them gave me a second look.
“Roller derby? Awesome! You’ll be the star of the team. There will be blood on the pavement!” Dad gestured with his fork like it was a sword. Not like swords and roller derby had anything to do with each other; he just took any excuse to pretend to sword fight. “But it shall not be yours! Not this day, or any other!”
“You need medication,” Rachel said.
Dad put the fork down. “I’ve been told that before.”
“I think the tryouts are a great idea, honey.” Mom sipped her wine. “You aren’t happy just sitting around the house. Just promise me you’ll be careful, yes?”
“Of course I will,” I said dutifully.
<
br /> “You’ll need a fully defined character, though, won’t you? Those derby girls always have great characters. I’ll help if you like.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I said it with a straight face, but no way was I going to take her up on it. I wasn’t letting them turn my derby audition into one of their theater productions. They’d make me into Ophelia on skates. And I was not down with being O-wheelie-a. Not one bit.
“You’ll need to explore her motivations,” she continued dreamily. “Her aspirations. Her fears …”
I finished the cake, but she snapped out of her reverie before I could move, swiping up the dishes and dashing back into the kitchen. Stereotypical Mom behavior, veering wildly between frenetic energy and complete crazeballs.
Moments later, she was back with parfait glasses full of some unidentifiable brown stuff.
“Oh God,” Rachel said. “What is that?”
“Mousse!” Mom exclaimed. “Casey loves sweets, and it’s her special celebration, so we have five courses of dessert tonight. Isn’t that just the coolest idea?”
My parents looked at me with identical expressions of excitement and glee, and I smiled despite my roiling stomach. It still wasn’t the same after all those months of chemo and hospital food. At the words “five courses of dessert,” it felt like my stomach tried to jump out of my body and run for safety.
But I did love dessert. I shoveled a big bite of mousse into my mouth.
“This is really amazing,” I said. “Did you make it?”
“Well, yes.” Mom blushed. “I’m not much of a cook, but I know how much you love chocolate, so I got the recipe from Cherise. You remember her, don’t you? She does the costumes for the theater. This is actually my third attempt; the first two were inedible.”
“Completely inedible,” Dad interjected, smiling fondly at her.
I couldn’t keep from smiling too. “Thanks, Mom.”
After the mousse course was over, she produced a big bowl brimming with apple crisp. It was heavenly. Or it would have been if I hadn’t had a pound of dessert in me already. But I was still determined to eat it.
Demon Derby Page 4