THE NOTE
On Friday I came downstairs and found a Sticky Note taped to the TV remote control. Dad puts notes for me and Sam there because he says then he’s sure we’ll see them. Which is true. Unless, of course, Bear decides to steal the remote. That’s Sam’s fault because he likes to eat while watching TV so there’s always chip grease or peanut butter smeared on the remote. Bear was my fault. I was the one who begged for a puppy when our neighbor’s dog had a litter. Her name was also my fault. With all that white fur, she reminded me of a miniature polar bear.
This is what Dad’s note said:
Dear Thing One & Thing Two:
Mom is at work. She’s got a full shift and won’t be home until dinnertime. I have classes until about four. I need you guys to pitch in:
• Wipe down the kitchen counter and load the dishwasher.
• Vacuum the whole house.
• Mow the lawn. (Sam, this means front and back!)
• Start the laundry.
I rolled my eyes at Bear who just cocked her head. Great. Cleaning was so not what I wanted to do.
I carried the note into the kitchen to save for Sam. Someone had left a box of store-brand oatmeal on the counter. I put it away in the pantry, and then stood on a cooler to get the box of Peanut Butter Crunch. It was behind the flour on the top shelf, one of the few things Mom hadn’t gone generic with yet. I didn’t know why she bothered to hide it. It wasn’t like Sam, Dad, and I didn’t know it was there.
My pill and a cup of water were on the table, next to an empty bowl. I was trying a new brand of medicine. When Dad lost his job, we changed insurance companies who said we had to. It didn’t seem to be working quite as well, but it was hard to tell. There was no real routine now because it was summer, and a routine helped.
I slouched into a chair, took my medicine, and ate the cereal right out of the box with my hand.
After breakfast I headed back to the living room and channel-surfed until I found a show about the world’s most deadly insects. I watched it while I went through my student handbook for taekwondo.
The handbook wasn’t really a book. It was one of those folders with three prongs. The first page was a diagram of how to properly tie our belts. The second page was a letter of introduction from Master Kim. It said we’d get an application and a list of the test requirements one belt at a time. Then after a test, we’d get another application and more papers to add to the folder. The third page listed my yellow-belt requirements, and the last page was the test application.
To get my yellow belt, I had to be able to block a punch and do a wrist escape, do a form called kicho il bo, and break a board with a push kick. I also had to be able to do the basic motions, which included kicks, punches, blocks, and stances, and to say them in Korean and count to ten in Korean, too. (I read through the numbers: hana, dool, set, net, dasut, yasut, ilgop, yuldol, ahop, yul.) And on top of all that, I had to know the definition of taekwondo.
This seemed like a lot to know all at once.
I shut the handbook, tossed it on the end table, and went back to channel-surfing.
Sam woke from the dead and came downstairs around ten-thirty. He was complaining about a missing shirt, and I hoped he wasn’t going to stay an Oscar all day. (Oscar is what Mom called us when we were little and being grouchy.)
“Did you remember to take your medicine?” Sam asked before he grabbed the orange juice out of the fridge and drank it straight out of the carton.
“Yes,” I grumbled. “Don’t I always?”
“Not always,” he said in an annoying way.
Just for that, I was glad I had finished off the Peanut Butter Crunch.
INSULT TO INJURY
Sam and I divvied up the chores. Well, we sort of divvied things up. It was more like Sam told me I was stuck with the kitchen and vacuuming.
“I’ll do the laundry since we all know what happened last time you did it,” Sam said.
If he wasn’t a foot taller, I would have shoved him. It wasn’t my fault a new red kitchen towel got mixed in with the whites. The stupid thing was already in the washing machine when I loaded the clothes.
I wiped down the counters and started unloading the dishwasher, but then I noticed it was time for The Price Is Right to come on so I took a break. A contestant who looked just like my preschool teacher won $10,000 playing Plinko. I wondered what I would do with that much money. I’d probably save it to put it toward opening The Tasty Pastry someday. Tony and I learned during our project that running a business was expensive.
When I was done watching the show, I found Sam on the computer. He had his e-mail account open, and his feet were keeping beat to the music coming from the computer. His driver’s license study guide was lying open on the desk. And he was texting someone on his phone, his thumbs flying. (I got one of those pay-as-you-go phones for my birthday last year. But I lost it before I could get the hang of texting.)
Just looking at Sam made my brain jumpy. And that was even with my medicine. I took a deep breath and counted to sixteen like Mom taught me. Sixteen is four times four. And four is my all-time favorite number. It’s the first even one with nice, straight lines. That’s true whether you make it with an open or closed top.
Sam caught me looking at him. “What?” he said. The word came out like a giant sigh.
I glanced at the computer. I wanted to check my e-mail but didn’t want to tell him that. I was afraid he’d say something mean, like, Why? You never have e-mail. You need friends to get e-mail.
“You better mow, or Dad’ll be mad,” I said.
Sam heaved another giant sigh like it was my fault Dad said he had to mow the front and backyards. “I’ll do it after lunch.”
“Then fix lunch,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
“Make your own cold hot-dog sandwich,” he said, not even looking up from his phone.
His comment jabbed at my heart. Sam knew how much I liked the way he cut the two hot dogs into eight equal pieces. He even made my sandwich for me each day before school. I stood there, not knowing what to say next.
Sam stopped texting and looked up at me. “Fine,” he said, putting his phone into his pocket. “I’ll fix your sandwich.”
“Thanks.”
Sam unfolded himself from the chair and headed for the kitchen. “You’re weird,” he said as he walked past me.
People at school called me weird all the time, but I liked the way Sam said it. It was like he secretly thought I was cool.
BLANK
I sat down at the computer and logged on.
Nope. It’d been eleven days since Tony hung up on me for the second time. And there were still no e-mails. Or phone calls.
Nothing.
KICHO IL BO, CHA-CHA-CHA
On Saturday I was determined to ignore Madison completely. Thankfully she was in the front row, and I was in the third, so it was easy. I tried to pretend she was just some girl I knew from school. I was like, “Madison who? Oh yeah. I think we had art together one time. I can’t remember.”
I sat down and closed my eyes for meditation. The hum of the overhead florescent lights filled my head. I used to hate this part about taekwondo, but now I loved it. I know it sounds weird, but I imagined a cool white fog surrounding me. It made me feel peaceful, and I liked having the chance to think about what came next. Class always started the same way: We bowed; did meditation, warm-ups, and stretches; and then we ran through our basic motions before working on our skill for the day. It was predictable. And predictable was good.
When there were about twenty minutes of class left, Master Kim announced we’d be working on our forms.
“In the ancient days of martial arts, Masters created poomsae, or forms, as a way for students to practice their techniques. Today we carry on that tradition. Forms are a series of blocks, kicks, and punches set in a pattern. They are the foundation of taekwondo. Your form will be one of your requirements at your belt test in August.”
The yellow, gold
, and orange belts stood at the front of the room to practice with the teenage helpers. Even though I was trying to ignore her, my eyes were drawn to Madison. Her forms were so graceful and strong. She reminded me of a tiger. And you could tell that the other kids were peeking at her when they got stuck. They were gonna be sorry if they thought they could count on her to help them, though.
Master Kim came to the back of the room to work with the white belts. There were eight of us and somehow I ended up in the front row, smack in front of Master Kim. I was used to being in the back and kind of hidden. I’d forgotten how stern Master Kim looked up close. And with his hands behind his back, his feet planted under his shoulders, and his back straight, he looked like a soldier. I quickly forgot all about Madison.
“At each new belt level, you will have a form to learn,” Master Kim explained. “The first form you’ll be learning is kicho il bo. Say it. Kicho il bo.”
I recited the name with the rest of the white belts. Then I kept reciting it inside my head. Ki-cho il bo. Ki-cho il bo.
It was fun to say, like a magic spell.
I focused as hard as I could on listening to Master Kim explain the first few steps. But by the time I figured out one move, he was already on the next one. Plus, I was supposed to be moving along some invisible line on the carpet. How was I possibly going to remember everything?
Master Kim stopped the group after a few more moves. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go through what we know so far one more time.”
Instead of returning to the ready position, my feet stayed planted. I felt dread rolling up my back. I couldn’t even remember what I was supposed to do first.
But then Master Kim put his hand up and told us to rest for a moment. He went to the front of the room and grabbed three long ropes. “This might make it easier,” he said, laying the rope down on the floor.
“Every poomsae is made up of lines. Kicho il bo’s pattern looks like a capital letter I. See?”
On the ground was a giant capital I made out of ropes.
Master Kim did the form slowly.
Lower block, step, punch. Turn. Lower block, step, punch. With each movement, I could hear the faint snap of his dobok. I watched his feet. It really was the letter I. I could see it!
Then Master Kim took us through the form a few times.
I kept forgetting to kihap when I was supposed to, but other than that, I got it. One, two, kicho il bo. One, two, kicho il bo.
It was kind of like a dance. A dance my arms and legs could do.
STUPID TONY AND HIS STUPID CHEF’S HAT
After we were dismissed, I went to the bathroom to change while Dad went to get the car. I couldn’t get my itchy dobok off quick enough. Dad had been wrong; it hadn’t softened up that much in the laundry.
I shoved my uniform into the bag, slipped on my flip-flops, and headed out the front doors.
And there he was, standing by the curb.
Tony.
He was spinning a chef’s hat around his finger in the air. The kind of chef’s hat I wanted. The chef’s hat I would have gotten if Mom and Dad didn’t think I was a quitter and had let me sign up for Cakes with Caroline.
Tony gave me a nod. “Hey, Eliza. What’s up?”
“Hi.” I tried to sound casual, even though my heart was pounding in my ears.
“So. Um. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Taking a class,” I said. I couldn’t stop staring at the spinning chef’s hat. I wanted to do two things at the same time: 1) Ask him if I could try it on; and 2) grab it out of his hand so he’d stop spinning it.
“Cool,” Tony said. “I’m just hanging out. My mom’s running late.”
All kinds of thoughts began bumping around my brain, and every single one was trying to be the first in line: We could give you a ride. I’m sorry. I’m still mad at you. Is the cake class fun? Wait. Don’t tell me. What would you say if you I told you I’m taking taekwondo? Can I try on your chef’s hat? Have you found a new partner to open a bakery with someday?
But none of this is what I said.
“What’s new?”
“Well, I’m going to try out for the basketball team in the fall,” Tony told me.
This was news to me. I wondered if anything else had changed. “What about The Tasty Pastry?” I asked.
Tony looked confused. Then he asked, “What about it?”
“Aren’t we still going to do it?” I tried my best to keep my voice calm, but it sounded squeaky.
Tony shrugged, and then his eyes searched the parking lot. His mom still wasn’t there. “Okay,” he finally said.
Okay what? Okay he heard me? Or okay we were still going to open our own shop someday?
Dad pulled up and honked. I stared at Tony, hoping I’d find a clue about what he meant, but his face was blank as a new notebook.
Dad honked again.
“I gotta go,” I said.
“Right,” Tony said. “See ya.”
As I walked by him, I gave a little wave but kept my eyes at the ground.
“Wasn’t that Tony?” Dad asked when I got into the car. “Does he need a ride?”
“No,” I said.
Tony doesn’t need anything, I thought miserably. Including me. I turned the vent toward my face so the cool air could keep the hot tears in my eyes from spilling. When I did, I bumped a Sticky Note off the dashboard.
“What’s this one for?” I asked Dad, reattaching the note. I was desperate to change the subject.
“Oh. That,” Dad answered. “Gotta get the car in. Brakes are squealing.”
“You’re like the king of Sticky Notes, huh?”
“Do monkeys have tails?” Dad teased.
“I can never remember,” I said, forcing a smile. “Do they?”
This is an old family joke. Mom told me that when I was a toddler, Dad would hold me up in the air and pretend to look for my monkey tail because I liked to climb so much. Sam, who was six then, would laugh his head off. Dad stopped doing it when I got bigger.
Things change.
NOT AGAIN
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 r
elieved 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.
“One moment please,” he said.
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.
WAYS MADISON ANNOYED ME
1. When I got stuck counting, she jumped in and told me how to say six in Korean without even asking if I wanted help.
2. One of her back kicks hit my finger.
3. When it was my turn, she held the paddle too high, and I kept missing.
Eliza Bing Is (NOT) a Big, Fat Quitter Page 4