Ninja Girl

by Cookie O'Gorman

  “You know,” I said, drawing their attention, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make Guys Night. My mom was hoping Snow and Mrs. Lee would come over for dinner. She’s making her famous pot roast tonight. She would’ve invited you herself, but since I was going to see you anyway…”

  Snow blinked. “You mean…come to your house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “To eat dinner with your family?”

  I nodded. “Mom and Dad will be there, plus Agent Evers and Smith. It’s not a big deal.”

  It was totally a big deal. I wanted her to come. More than that, I wanted to be her knight. I wanted to save her from mall hell, Min-Hee’s enthusiasm and those vicious girls. Snow hesitated. Probably trying to come up with some excuse. I couldn’t have that.

  “But if you have to go shopping,” I sighed, pulling out the big guns, “and spend hours trying on dress after dress, talking with Nara—”

  “No,” she said suddenly. I smiled. The panic I’d seen on her face was exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for. “Omma and I will be there. What time?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Should I bring anything?”

  “Just yourself,” I said.

  Snow tugged on her gi, looking uncomfortable. “Do we need to, like, dress up?”

  “Nah, our family dinners are usually pretty quiet, casual.” And boring, I thought. “Hey, maybe you could wear your CCDS uniform,” I suggested.

  The look she shot me wasn’t encouraging. But a guy could dream.

  * * *

  All that talk of clothes must’ve gotten to me. When I got home, first thing I did was go upstairs and change out of my sweats.

  “This look okay?” I asked, hair still damp from the shower.

  “Yeah,” Smith said. He’d been sitting on the chair next to my bed for the last thirty minutes, looking at me like I was crazy.

  I turned around. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “It doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard?”

  Smith dragged his hands down his face. “It’s just like the other ten shirts you tried on. Why are you getting all dressed up anyway? It’s not like she’s royalty.”

  And that answered that question. I threw the shirt off and pulled on another. I’d been told by girls I dated that the color brought out my eyes. Would Snow think that?

  “How about this one?”

  Smith threw up his hands. “Holy…Ash, when did you become such a chick?”

  I shrugged. He was right, but I couldn’t help it. Snow was coming to my house for the first time. My usual cool had gone right out the window. Nerves were eating at me. The more I looked at the green shirt, the more I thought it matched my eyes a little too well. In the mirror, they looked like two glowing green lanterns. Geez. I threw that one off, too, and went back to my first choice. You couldn’t go wrong with white, right?

  A knock at my door, and Mom poked her head in. “Almost time, Ash. They should be here any minute.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, smoothing my shirt. Was it too white?

  “You look fantastic, honey.”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  Her eyes were full of mischief. “Like a true Southern gentleman. Besides, you’re my boy,” she laughed. “Baby, with those genes, you’d look good in anything.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Smith said.

  Dad opened the door wider and whistled. “My God, who is that hot young man?”

  I groaned and pushed up my sleeves. Mom was one thing, but Dad? He was so embarrassing. If anyone was trying too hard it was him in his suit and tie. I’d have to talk to him before Snow and her mom got here.

  “I can’t wait to meet the girl who has my usually too-cool-for-school son so nervous.” He winked. “She won’t know what hit her.”

  “Dad, seriously,” I said. “Try not to say or do anything to embarrass me tonight. It’s bad enough you’re in politics. I love you, but you’re kind of a square.”

  Dad went cross-eyed, hunched his back and limped further into the room. “It won’t be easy,” he wheezed, Igor come to life, “but I’ll try my best, massster.”

  “Jesus,” I said, jumping away from him.

  “Just kidding around,” he said, straightening up. “I promise to be on my very best behavior.”

  I nodded, having just slipped on my second shoe, when the doorbell rang. We all stood frozen for a second.

  “Evers will get it,” Dad said after a beat.

  Like hell. I rushed down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the main hall, and saw Evers turn to face me, his hand on the doorknob. He raised a brow at my entrance.

  “I’ll get it,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “Alright, Mr. Stryker.”

  I rolled my shoulders. We’d had this conversation before, and it didn’t do any good. Still, I decided to try again. “Mr. Stryker is my father, Agent Evers. Can’t you just call me Ash?”

  He bowed his head, the military cut a perfect match to his rigid stance. “I’ll try, Mr. Stryker.”

  So much for that.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, hoping Snow wouldn’t see how wound-up I was. Cool, I thought. Just be cool. Snow’s just another girl. She probably won’t even notice your shirt. You may be into her, but she doesn’t even see you that way.

  Yet, I thought with a grin.

  Placing my hand on the door, I turned the knob and pulled back.

  “Hi, there,” I said, so excited to see Snow that I didn’t even realize anything was wrong. The horror on her face was what clued me in. Both she and her mother were staring down at our Welcome mat. “Are you okay? What—”

  I stopped short. My eyes followed theirs down to the dead rat on our doorstep. The thing could’ve been sleeping—if it wasn’t for the knife sticking out of its belly.

  CHAPTER 11: SNOW

  The dead rat kinda killed the mood. I’d been nervous on the way to the Strykers’, balancing a huge bowl of kimchi in my lap, pulling at my blouse and slacks. Was this what you wore to dinner with a potential United States Senator? Did kimchi go with everything, even pot roast, like my mom said? I didn’t know.

  Omma shot me a look. “Stop fidgeting, Snow-Soon. You look beautiful.”

  “Says you,” I murmured, running a hand through my hair. I’d taken the time to blow dry it nice and straight. Of course my mother would say that. But what would Ash think?

  The knowing look on her face was disturbing. “He’ll think so, too.”

  Stunned, I’d dropped my hands.

  Our old station wagon looked out of place in their driveway, I thought as we walked up the stone path. I couldn’t stop myself from smoothing my hair again. Ash’s house was surprisingly modest, two stories, large rose bushes surrounding the front, very homey. The bushes were why we didn’t see the rat until we got to the door.

  The porch light shined down like a spotlight. My fingers tightened around the bowl in my hands. The poor thing stared up at me, its furry brown body pinned with a mean-looking knife. There wasn’t even any blood. It was like the animal had been killed with one stroke, straight to the heart. Unable to move, I swallowed.

  Omma was the one who rang the doorbell. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the rat.

  The door opened. I heard Ash’s voice but couldn’t look away. He trailed off a second later, and in the shocked silence, I knew we were thinking the same thing: Who would do something like this?

  “Ash, honey, where are your manners? For goodness sake, I…”

  Mrs. Stryker gasped, and I looked up.

  “Who…what…?” she stuttered.

  “It was like this when we got here,” I said as Mr. Stryker walked up behind her. Agent Evers and Agent Smith followed. They all crowded in the doorway, staring down at the dark present left on the doorstep.

  “Did you see who did it?” This from Agent Smith.

  “No,” Omma said. “But I wouldn’t worry. Whoever it was only wanted
to scare you.”

  “Well, it worked,” Mrs. Stryker said. Turning to her husband, she frowned. “Do you see now, Wesley? They’re getting bolder. It’s not just threats anymore.”

  “Cheryl, calm down,” he soothed. “We don’t even know what it means.”

  Her eyes lit, voice sharp like a whip. “It’s a dead rat, Wes. I think we know damn well what it means.”

  Mr. Stryker winced.

  An alarm went off in the house, high and keening. Agent Evers and Smith both placed hands on their guns, moving to block Mr. and Mrs. Stryker. Omma took a step closer to me—and so did Ash. I looked at him in surprise.

  Shrugging, he said, “I thought I might need your protection. In case of an attack.”

  But if that was true, why was he in front of me?

  Great, I thought, nudging him back as the alarm blared on. The guy’s got a hero complex. Omma watched all this with laughing eyes. A cloud of black smoke filled the hallway, and Mrs. Stryker jumped into action.

  “My potroast!” she cried, disappearing down the hall and into what I assumed was the kitchen.

  “I’m thinking the potroast is R.I.P.,” Ash muttered. I couldn’t help but agree. We could hear Mrs. Stryker cursing from here.

  “Stand down,” Mr. Stryker said and put a hand on Agent Evers’s arm. “Henry, I’m going to need you to report this incident to the police while I make another call.”

  Agent Evers nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Mr. Stryker took out his cell phone and dialed. Covering the receiver, he smiled a smile that only political candidates could pull off at a time like this. The dead rat at his feet, his wife’s colorful curses—which, I had to admit, were impressive—didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest.

  “What kind of toppings do you ladies like?”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, we were eating Papa John’s. The kimchi sat untouched in the middle of the table. It was so…awkward. Everyone was tense. Bruce had always been able to adapt to any situation—but I doubt he’d ever eaten pizza off of Mrs. Stryker’s fine china. Police officers went in and out of the dining room, taking each of us to be questioned. Every time it happened, Mrs. Stryker glared daggers at her husband who pretended not to notice. Ash wasn’t even talking much. When the officers finally left, Mrs. Stryker threw down her napkin and sighed.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said, looking from Omma to me. “I really just wanted to thank you both for everything, make dinner for you. Now, it’s all ruined.”

  “It’s not ruined,” I said, holding up my slice of double cheese. “The pizza’s great.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t see anyone?” Agent Evers said. The cops had already asked, but I couldn’t fault him for double-checking. “Smith and I did a sweep less than an hour before.”

  Agent Smith piped up then. “Someone must’ve put the rat there close to when you guys arrived.”

  Mrs. Stryker shot him a dirty look. “Must we talk about this at the dinner table?”

  “Sorry, Mrs. C—but they should’ve seen something.”

  “No,” I said. “It was too dark.”

  “That’s convenient,” Smith muttered.

  “Smith.” Ash said his name like a warning, but I couldn’t believe it. Was he actually saying...

  “What?” he went on. “It is convenient. Minutes before they walk up, a dead rat mysteriously appears, and they claim they saw nothing? How’s that work?”

  He was. The idiot was actually accusing us. Face hot, I looked to Omma, who gave the slightest shake of her head. Her eyes were ice, but she stayed silent. I’d always been more vocal.

  “Jerk,” I muttered.

  “You know, Henry,” Mr. Stryker said, changing the subject and ending my stare down with Smith, “I don’t think I’ve seen a knife that primitive since our war days. What kind was it anyway?”

  “KA-BAR,” Agent Evers and Omma said together.

  Mr. Stryker looked impressed. “Well now, you seem to know your knives, Mrs. Lee.”

  Omma shrugged like it was nothing. She also knew her guns, her ammo, how to diffuse a live bomb and the exact spot to squeeze if you wanted to incapacitate a man in seconds. But I guess that wasn’t considered polite dinner conversation. Smith caught me eyeballing his neck and frowned.

  “Henry, here, was top of our class.” Agent Evers raised a brow as Mr. Stryker shoveled in another bite of Buffalo Chicken pizza. “He knows everything there is to know about combat and weaponry. Isn’t that right?”

  “I know enough,” the agent said.

  Ash’s dad was either determined to make this dinner as casual as possible—or the messiest eater ever. Another drop of sauce dripped onto his shirt, and Ash rolled his eyes.

  “Dad, for God’s sakes,” he said. “Swallow first, then talk.”

  I bit back a smile and met Ash’s eyes across the table. He grinned back.

  “Here, dear,” Mrs. Stryker said, thrusting a napkin under her husband’s chin.

  “Thanks, sweetheart.” Tucking the napkin in, he patted Evers on the back. “Henry’s too modest. He saved my ass a time or two back when we were reservists, took a bullet right to the chest. Those knives were a common sight back then.”

  “You took a bullet for him?” Omma asked, looking at Evers with new respect.

  “And I’d do it again,” he said. “He was my best friend.”

  “Still am,” Mr. Stryker grinned, bumping Evers’ head with his own. Except for the hair which was dark brown instead of dirty blond, right then, he looked just like his son.

  Ash groaned. “Alright, alright, we all know you guys have an ongoing bromance, but back to the mystery at hand. What’s in the bowl, Snow?”

  “It’s kimchi,” I said as he lifted the foil. “Mostly cabbage and vegetables, sea salt, chili pepper flakes. Omma and I made it.”

  “Ooh, yum, I’ve heard of that,” Mrs. Stryker smiled. “It’s very popular in Korea, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Kimchi goes with everything,” Omma said. “Like America’s macaroni and cheese.”

  “I like mac and cheese,” Mr. Stryker said, staring down.

  “Mmm,” Ash said and tried to sound enthusiastic. “Looks…good.”

  Agent Smith snorted. “It looks like some kind of jacked up lasagna is what it looks like.”

  He was right. The layers of cabbage and red coloring did make it look lasagna-ish. It was kind of embarrassing how everyone was just sitting there, staring at the bowl. Well, everyone except Mrs. Stryker, who looked like she wanted to smack Agent Smith upside the head. Ash was the first to reach for a spoon. Sending me a wink, he dipped into the bowl and took a good-size chunk of kimchi. I could’ve kissed him.

  Instead, I held my breath as he brought the bite to his mouth. What if he hates it? I thought, hit by a sudden stab of nerves. Not that I was trying to impress him or anything. But still. I tried to read his expression, but he was blank slate.

  “Well?” I said. He was taking too long, rolling the kimchi around in his mouth, chewing slowly. “How is it?”

  Ash swallowed, closed his eyes. Not a good sign.

  “Mom?” he said.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “I think I’m in love.”

  My first thought was: With who?

  Then he smiled, and I nearly fell off my chair. Seeing my face, his smile widened. “Kimchi is officially my new favorite food.”

  Oh.

  “Well, then.” Mr. Stryker leaned forward and took two spoonfuls. They were gone almost as soon as they hit the plate. “God, that’s good! Cheryl, you’ve got to try this.”

  Mrs. Stryker was already digging in. “It’s wonderful,” she agreed. “Mrs. Lee, would you mind sending me your recipe? My two boys would kill me if I let you leave without getting it. You did a great job, Snow.”

  Omma nodded and sent me a look that said, “See, Snow-Soon? Everyone loves kimchi.” I had to give it to her. The way Ash and his father were attacking the cabbage
mix was proof. No one could resist the sweet/spicy mix. The power of the kimchi was undeniable.

  Grabbing another helping, Mr. Stryker gestured to his agents. “Come on, guys. Better get some before it’s all gone.”

  Agent Evers took a small spoonful, but Smith crossed his arms.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “Doesn’t smell right. No offense.”

  Mrs. Stryker set down her fork. “God, Smith, what is your problem?”

  “My problem,” he grit out, “is that we’re all just sitting here, playing house and trading recipes when there’s a rat killer out there. The attack tonight was serious.”

  “Of course, it was. That’s why we called the police.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. C. But after what happened to Ash’s car, I thought you’d be more worried.”

  “That’s enough,” Ash snapped, and I knew he was mad because he thought Smith had just revealed his secret.

  “Car?” Mr. Stryker asked, looking serious all of a sudden. “I thought the Dodge was just in for repairs. Did something happen, son?”

  Smith looked pleased with himself. Ash looked like he wanted to punch him.

  “Someone keyed Ash’s car while he was at school,” Mrs. Stryker explained, putting a hand on her husband’s arm as he sputtered. “It’s alright, Wes. Everything’s fine besides a little body work. The slashes spelled, ‘Drop out now.’ Snow told me all about it.”

  “You did?” Ash asked.

  “Had to,” I said. “She needed to know.”

  Man was I glad I’d talked to her beforehand. The day after it happened, I’d asked my mom’s advice, and she’d agreed that full disclosure was the best thing. Agent Smith looked disappointed.

  “At school,” Mr. Stryker murmured and ran a hand through his hair, face pale. “I never knew it was that bad.”

  Ash’s mom smiled sadly. “That’s because I didn’t tell you. I don’t want you to give up your dream, Wes, but you need to take these threats seriously.”

  “Maybe I should just quit.”

  “Mr. Stryker.” Omma’s voice was firm. She waited until she had his full attention before she said, “These people are using your own fear against you. It doesn’t take that big of a knife to kill a rat. These are just scare tactics.”