My Life as a Ninja
Page 5
“Or fart,” I say.
“Or burp,” Matt says.
“Or puke.” And just like that I’m regular old Derek again. I guess that’s the best thing a friend can do—get you back to feeling like yourself during those times when you don’t.
But I can’t stop picturing Sensei Takai’s face as he watched me make a mess in the grocery store. He didn’t HAVE to say anything—his stare was enough to let me know I was acting like a buffoon. Even though I goof around with Matt and my dad at the party, I feel a little disappointed in myself too. I know Matt’s bored with Sensei Takai’s methods but today’s disaster makes me feel I need to learn what our sensei has to teach even more.
My mom’s office manager concocted a story about a new printing system to get Mom out of the office while the rest of the staff sets up the party. Matt, Dad, and I help Charlie fill the waiting room with decorations—red balloons with paw prints and strings of dog bones. Nancy, the receptionist, places a dark-chocolate-and-vanilla cake on the table. It’s in the shape of a dalmatian and Matt and I have to control ourselves not to dig in before Mom arrives.
“Good job not spilling the beans,” Dad tells me as I hand him the roll of tape. “Mom’s really going to be surprised.”
“Of COURSE I didn’t tell her—you told me not to.”
Dad laughs. “That hasn’t stopped you before.” He doesn’t have to bring up Christmas two years ago, when he bought Mom a pendant she used to admire in the window of a jewelry store downtown. He didn’t have it in the house one day before I blurted out his secret, ruining the Christmas-morning moment he’d planned. Mom was happy to get the necklace a month early but Dad was annoyed.
While everyone quietly waits for Mom to show up, Matt pulls me aside and asks if I’ve talked to Carly. “She can’t find anyone to play John Adams.”
“The guy did a million things—like sign the Declaration of Independence,” I say. “But Carly wants him to sit at a desk reading letters! It’s stupid!” I lower my voice. “I haven’t talked to her—is she okay?”
“Besides scrambling to find a new actor, I guess so.”
This doesn’t answer my question and I can feel myself turning red. “If you feel so bad, why don’t YOU play John Adams? And why are you so worried about Carly all of a sudden?”
Matt shrugs. “I was the one who volunteered you and now she’s stuck, that’s all.”
I don’t tell Matt but I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’s been weird not talking to Carly these past couple of days but that still doesn’t mean I want to read stupid love letters onstage. I wish we could fast-forward past this and be friends again.
Nancy and Charlie shush the crowd when Mom’s car pulls into the driveway. Everybody hides behind filing cabinets and desks until Mom enters the office and we all yell, “Surprise!” For a moment, my always-has-something-to-say mom is speechless; she clasps her hands in front of her face and tears form in the corners of her eyes. She finally finds words and thanks everyone for remembering her birthday.
Her employees all brought joke presents—a poodle coffee mug and a singing goldfish pen—but Dad and I save our presents for later. He got her a set of books on the history of jazz and I got her a gift card so she could download music to go along with the book. Matt drew a hasty card, raided his own mom’s linen closet, and found an expensive bar of soap wrapped in floral paper with a bow. Mom puts her arm around Dad and seems moved by the whole event.
Charlie’s sitting on one of the chairs by the door, sketching. I plop down beside him to take a look at his work.
He points to different people in the room and the caricature he drew of each of them. The one of Nancy is the funniest, with her large glasses and space between her front teeth. Charlie’s drawings are so good, I’m embarrassed to show him my own. When he asks to see them, I tell him my notebook’s in the house, even though it’s inside my bag just a few feet away.
Nancy calls Charlie over so they can take a group photo. Mom beams, while Dad crams the staff into the picture. As everyone jokes around, I flip through more of Charlie’s caricatures; the one he did of Dad captures his smile perfectly. When I get to the illustration in the back of the book, I’m more surprised than my mother was an hour ago when she walked into the party.
The page is covered with a familiar Minotaur grinning up at me.
What to Do
I’ve learned enough in my brief time with Sensei Takai to know that jumping to conclusions is very un-ninja. There could be plenty of reasons Charlie has drawings of a Minotaur in his notebook but it’s coincidental that out of the billion things to draw, he chose the exact subject the vandal did. The sensible thing to do is to share my suspicions with Dad, but since when do I do the sensible thing?
Instead I let Matt in on my theory.
“A few days ago, you thought it was Umberto!” Matt says. “Charlie doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to sneak out in the middle of the night to vandalize buildings. He seems more of the stay-home-watch-TV-and-wish-I-had-a-girlfriend kind of guy.”
I agree but tell him that doesn’t explain the drawing in Charlie’s sketchpad. I suggest we follow him after the party.
“Hopefully we can get to the bottom of things without running into Mr. Demetri.”
I shudder just thinking about getting caught by our principal again.
My parents sit in the waiting room chairs talking to the partygoers who are still here. I COULD drag Dad away and tell him about Charlie’s drawing but asking to talk to him privately in front of five other people would definitely be awkward.
When I see Charlie tying a clip on the bottom of his pants, I hurry to find Matt.
“Charlie biked here! We CAN follow him!”
We say a quick good-bye to my parents and I tell them I’ll be back soon. Matt and I pretend to fix our bikes in the driveway but what we’re really doing is waiting for Charlie to jump on his. As soon as he does, Matt and I pedal behind him at a safe distance.
“Suppose he lives twenty miles away?” Matt whispers. “My mother will freak if I’m not home by dark.”
We make a deal that we won’t follow Charlie if he goes too far from either of our homes. As soon as we make the pact, Charlie pulls over and ties his bike to a rack in front of a coffee shop next to the high school. The sign on the red awning reads FROM THE GROUND UP.
Matt and I throw our bikes on the grass and watch Charlie from across the street.
“We’re totally being ninjas,” Matt says. “Finally.”
I gesture to the building behind us. “The high school was the second place in town that got vandalized. And it’s right across from where Charlie goes for coffee.”
“We don’t know if he comes here all the time,” Matt says.
“Yes, we do.” Through the window, we watch a waiter bring over a cup to Charlie’s table. “He didn’t have to order,” I say. “He’s a regular.”
Matt smiles, impressed by my ninja detective skills.
“How long do we sit here and watch one of your mom’s employees drink coffee?” Matt asks.
I shrug. “Until we find out if he’s the vandal.”
“More like until we get bored.”
Matt and I take turns on the stakeout—one of us watches Charlie while the other plays games on my phone. As I watch Charlie sketching in his notebook through the coffee shop window, I think about Carly. She’s put in so much work, it seems a shame for the whole production to go down the toilet because of me.
I nudge Matt when Charlie packs up his things. I expect him to hop on his bike but he doesn’t. He walks out of the coffee shop, stretches, and heads across the street—directly toward us.
Without a word, Matt and I duck behind a row of hedges.
“Do you think he saw us?” Matt whispers.
I shake my head, still watching Charlie approach. He passes by our hiding place and walks around the perimeter of the school.
“He’s going back to the scene of the crime!” I whisper.
“Admiring his handiwork,” I say.
“You and I stood here looking at the mural too and WE didn’t do it,” Matt says.
“That’s ’cuz we were trying to figure out who did,” I answer. “What’s Charlie’s excuse?”
“There’s no evidence—you’re letting your imagination run wild like you did with Umberto,” Matt says.
That’s another thing about best friends—they know just what to say to shut you up.
Espionage in the Woods
It’s only been three days since Carly and I had our fight but it feels like forever. With her telepathic parent powers, Mom knows something’s up. After avoiding her questions, I finally tell her what happened.
“A nice apology goes a long way,” Mom says.
For some reason this feels like girlfriend advice and I feel myself blush.
“The longer you go without fixing this,” Mom continues, “the harder it will be.”
I’m sure Mom knows what she’s talking about but it still seems weird taking her advice. Are Carly and I just supposed to pretend nothing happened?
As if she’s reading my mind—again!—Mom smiles across the kitchen table. “Carly’s a very special friend—you really don’t want to lose her.”
My face burns; I’ve got to get out of here. I pretend I have to go to the bathroom and race out of the room.
“Text her before she texts you!” Mom calls after me.
As uncomfortable as the discussion was, I AM worried about losing Carly as a friend. After lots of back and forth, I decide to take Mom’s advice and text her a quick “Hi.” She immediately texts back and asks how Frank and Bodi are doing in this heat. The sense of relief I feel is almost physical; who knew moms could be so right about things?
Now that the Carly situation is settled, the next subject to tackle is the Minotaur. After talking with Matt yesterday, I’ve given up on Umberto as the vandal—not one of my brightest ideas. I have absolutely no evidence on Charlie either, just a hunch. But if I DO tell my parents, Mom might be able to watch Charlie at work. I decide to stay quiet and keep my eyes and ears open when Charlie comes to work on Monday. In the meantime, I vow to improve my ninja ways. I sleep in my tie-dyed shinobi shozoku, even wearing my tabi boots in case I have to pounce on an enemy in the middle of the night. Instead of checking the time on my phone, I squint into the sun and try to guess what time it is. (Yesterday I was off by several hours; I definitely need more practice.)
But there’s one ninja skill I discovered I’m surprisingly GOOD at: my sense of direction. I beg Dad to take me to the woods to practice. On Sunday, he takes Matt, Carly, and me to some hiking trails in the Hollywood Hills. He’ll work in a nearby coffee shop with Felix while the three of us practice our survival skills. Technically we’re only half a mile from Dad, but we PRETEND we just have our wits to rely on.
It’s been a while since I ran through the woods with friends—usually my parents are the ones who drag me to the mountains for hikes. Today, Carly, Matt, and I climb trees, cross streams, and even blindfold ourselves to see if we can find our way back to home base. Several hikers look at us strangely as Carly and I spin Matt around, then take off into the woods. Matt counts to thirty and removes his blindfold. Both Carly and Matt eventually find their way back, but I bound up the hill in seconds flat like a guided missile that knows exactly where to go.
Of course REAL ninjas would forage for berries, nuts, and roots but we brought snacks from home. Instead of sitting on the ground, we climb an oak tree and hang out there.
Carly leans back against the branch, eating her granola bar. “I don’t know why we don’t come here more often—it’s so beautiful.”
Neither Matt nor I say anything but I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am. Carly is fearless. She was the first one up the tree and grabbed the highest branch. It’s such a weird combination to be a teacher’s-pet kind of kid while also being unafraid of pretty much anything. As I watch her tuck the granola wrapper neatly into her pocket instead of tossing it to the ground, I wish I knew more people like Carly; we may have our differences but she’s great and I’m glad things with us are back to normal.
Matt, of course, has to pretend he’s Frank and act like a monkey while he’s up here, tossing acorns on a few runners down below. (For the record, Frank doesn’t do that.)
After we climb down, we practice the moves we learned at the dojo to prepare for the upcoming competition we found out about yesterday. Matt brings up my toilet-paper fiasco with Sensei Takai and I’m embarrassed when he makes me give a detailed account. It’s not the kind of story Carly usually thinks is funny, so I’m surprised when she laughs hysterically, which makes me stretch it out for bigger laughs. I grab handfuls of leaves and dive onto the ground re-enacting the escapade. For kids who are here to practice being ninjas, we sure are acting like goofballs.
We head down the trail to meet up with Dad and his colleague. Felix shows us some sketches he’s done for the advertising campaign he and Dad are working on—a new energy drink. The characters are bold and angular and I wonder if I’ll ever be as good an artist as either him or Dad.
On the drive back, Carly talks about Ms. McCoddle getting married and her mom’s new truck but doesn’t mention she’s having a hard time finding a replacement for John Adams. Either Matt’s been exaggerating or Carly’s moved on. The traffic’s unusually light, so we get home quickly; by the time Carly’s ready to jump out of the car, I make a quick decision.
“If you haven’t found anyone yet, I’ll be John Adams. I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”
Matt raises his eyebrows and, for once, waits to see what happens before jumping in.
Carly shrugs and says okay, as if it doesn’t matter at all.
“I mean, I don’t HAVE to,” I say.
“Whatever you want,” she responds. “It’s up to you.”
Matt’s eyes shift from me to Carly like he’s watching a tennis match.
This time I’m the one who shrugs. “Whatever.”
Carly thanks my dad for the ride and runs up the walkway to her house.
“What just happened?” Matt asks. “Are you doing or NOT doing the play?”
I have no idea.
A Rash Decision
The next morning, I can tell something’s amiss before I open my eyes. My entire body feels as if it’s on fire.
I pull up the legs of my pajamas to find my calves covered in a bright red rash. My arms too.
“MOM!”
She comes in with her coffee, ready to hustle me off to school—until she sees me. She puts on the reading glasses that always dangle from the neckline of her shirt and examines my legs.
“Looks like somebody picked up poison oak in the woods.”
My mind flashes back to yesterday when I rolled around in the leaves. This is what I get for hamming it up in front of my friends.
Mom grabs my hand before it’s moved an inch. “No scratching!” She heads to the bathroom to get some supplies but whips around to catch me ready to scratch again. “I’m not kidding, Derek. Scratching only makes it worse and it could get infected.”
It’s like my hands have a mind of their own—all they want to do is scratch. Mom orders me into a hot bath, then later covers me with lotion and bandages. I feel like a two-year-old.
“How long will this last?” I ask.
“Usually five to ten days.”
“What?! There’s a competition at the dojo on Saturday! And I might be in a play!”
Mom’s not too sure what to make out of that one. “Then I suggest you get back in bed and don’t scratch.” She tucks her glasses into the top of her shirt and smiles. “How about if I make you some pumpkin pancakes before I head next door? I think the intelligent thing to do is stay home today.”
The good news is I don’t have to go to school. The bad ne
ws is there’s no way I’ll do well in the competition. As it is now, it hurts just to lie here, never mind kicking and punching.
“You keep saying being a ninja is more than fast moves,” Mom says. “Today you can practice inner ninja skills like discipline and restraint.”
“Sounds fun.”
She laughs and tells me she’ll be back up with breakfast in a few minutes. Dad must’ve left for work early because he would’ve been in here by now if he were home.
I text Matt and Carly to see if either of them stepped through the poison oak but they’re both fine and on their way to school. I can tell Carly feels bad; with a landscaper for a mom, she knows how painful poison oak can be.
Matt, of course, thinks it’s hilarious and begs me to text him pictures as the rash gets more repulsive.
“Once it blisters, you can pop them,” he says. “It’ll be more fun than Bubble Wrap.”
I know Mom would kill me if I did. When you grow up with a doctor for a mom, there are certain things you know you can and cannot do.
“Here you go.” Mom places the tray she only uses when one of us is sick at the foot of the bed.
Luckily the rash hasn’t affected my appetite; I devour all four pancakes in a matter of minutes.
I spend most of the day with Frank and Bodi watching martial arts videos online. Frank seems to like them as much as the Westerns we watch on TV. Bodi’s content just lying on the rug under the table while I try to use the remote without scratching.
Even with videos and food and music, it feels like an evil witch doctor placed me under an itching curse. Mom makes me cut my fingernails before she goes to the office to make sure I won’t rip open any blisters. She even goes a step further and bandages my hands, so it looks like I’m wearing mittens, even though the temperature outside is a balmy seventy-eight degrees.