Kyle Finds Her Way

by Susie Salom

  I slide my eyes to English Boy. He’s looking straight at Coach. I don’t have a clue where the house of his power is, much less how to neutralize it. Before today, I didn’t even know I had a house of my power.

  “Exploring the house of your partner’s power helps you develop deep awareness,” Coach says, “almost like a sixth sense to help you see your partner’s move before they even make it. But perhaps more importantly, it helps you to avoid exhausting your own.”

  “Exhausting your own what?” Doublefart asks.

  “Your own power. Jin.” Coach lifts a finger. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

  He tosses his clipboard on a mat as he and an assistant stand in front of each other. They reach out their hands to meet in the center. English Boy’s eyes find mine and I crack the knuckle on my thumb.

  “Chill out, Fedora,” he says under his breath. “I know just as much about this pushing hands thing as you do.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know anything.”

  “Well, don’t get all mardy mustard, sport.” He smiles. “We’re even.”

  I blink at the gap in his two front teeth. It’s like three miles wide. I imagine myself sticking a finger through it but then wonder if, by the end of class, he’ll be able to enter the house of my power and know I thought about doing that.

  “There are two ways to raise your arm in preparation for engagement,” Coach is saying as he and his assistant touch wrists. “You can use straight-line force or circular power. In tui shou, we will be learning how to use and master circular power with both the arms and legs.”

  “Pay attention, Fedora,” English Boy says.

  “You pay attention,” I whisper back.

  “I knew you were gonna say that.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did so. I used my sixth sense, is all. ’Coz I pay attention.”

  Coach and his assistant stop and stand still with their arms behind their backs.

  “Now, I’d like to see you try it,” he says. “I’ll be going around to each pair to make sure you’re getting it right.”

  Oh, great holy mackerel of the order of Saint Tuna Fish. Getting what right? What are we doing? How am I supposed to figure out my opponent’s next move if I don’t even know my first one?

  “Right,” English Boy says. “Constantini?”

  I nod. “Kyle.”

  “I’m Reed.”

  He puts out his hand and I go to shake it but he curves his arm away in a circle and smiles with his gappy teeth. “Circular power.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head.

  “C’mon, now,” Reed says. “I’m only joking. Let’s get this straight so we don’t have to do it loads. He’ll only give us more attention if we’re not getting the hang of it, so just watch.”

  He nods at the two kids Coach is helping. I take a quick breath. It’s Marcy Diamond and Doublefart Nevarez. Doublefart will cream her! He’s twice her size! Practically.

  Reed and I watch as Coach guides Doublefart’s wrist to gently make circles against Marcy’s. Their hands look like kissing fish, swimming through the ocean between them. It’s kind of beautiful. In a way. Who knew a kid like Doublefart could move so smooth?

  Reed looks at me again.

  “Right.” He lifts his wrist. I glance one more time at Doublefart and Marcy then touch my wrist to Reed’s.

  “You’re a happy fish,” I tell my hand quietly.

  “What?” Reed laughs.

  English Boy is laughing at me.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Just push hands, already.”

  I concentrate on swishy tail moves as I make circles in the air with my wrist against his. His wrist slides down but, somehow, mine follows it.

  My sixth sense! Some part of me knew his wrist was going to slip before it did. Girl Houdini: the Comeback Years!

  “How’d you do that?” he asks.

  “How do you think?” I grin. “Circular power.”

  “Please!” Marcy Diamond’s sweet, yawny voice cuts through me and Reed’s rhythm.

  Doublefart has something in his hand. He’s lifting it above Marcy’s head.

  One of her snails!

  “Mr. Nevarez.”

  Coach Yeung is acting way too calm. Doublefart ignores him and does this devil laugh at Marcy, who looks like she might cry. Then he puts her electric snail behind his International House of Fartcakes like he’s getting ready to use his one and only skill on it.

  I can’t believe my eyes. Is no one going to do something about this? I’m sure as schneck not gonna let some dung buster get away with torturing Marcy. I drop wrists with Reed and march straight over to Doublefart.

  “Give it back to her, you blue baboon’s butthole!”

  Doublefart’s eyes ooze in my direction. “What did you call me?”

  “You heard me.” I get up in his face. Well, in his neck anyway. “Now, give it back.”

  “You’re dead meat, Wonder Woman.”

  “You leave Marcy Diamond alone,” I growl.

  I can sense Coach standing there, just out of the corner of my eye.

  “Think you’re Mrs. Tough Man,” Doublefart tells me, “when you’re nothing but a skinny baby. You oughta go to the special school for all the losers and wimpazoid little babies!”

  Doublefart tosses something hard on the ground. I look to see if it’s Marcy’s electric snail and something inside me snaps like a cherry bomb about to go nuclear.

  “Fedora!” Reed yells.

  But it’s too late. My knuckles have a brain of their own and they’re already connecting with Jabba the Gut. For one second, I wonder if it’ll be like Marshmallow Man—that my punch’ll disappear into the rolls of skin blobbing around under Doublefart’s uniform shirt and Coach will have to break into the house of his power just to get my hand back alive! Instead, my fist just bounces out and Doublefart smirks as the sound of a hundred breaths being sucked in fills the gym.

  Coach’s hand falls heavy on my shoulder as I slowly turn my head to look at him.

  “Miss Constantini.”

  And that is how I get my personal invitation to meet the principal on my first day at Georgia O’Keeffe.

  Doublefart’s real first name is Inocente.

  As Reed would say, right.

  Principal Bracamontes is curved and watchy, like a human question mark. He sits behind his desk half looking out the window, half listening to Ino—he says everybody calls him that—squeezing out his side of the story.

  That’s another thing. Turns out you’re not allowed to call people butthole at Georgia O’Keeffe. Even if it does belong to a blue baboon.

  “So, why did you”—Principal Brac looks at me—“feel the need to call Ino a name and”—he flips a paper on his desk to read it then looks back up—“punch him in the stomach?”

  How can I get my principal to understand that Marcy makes me feel like Meowsie does? There’s people in this world who are always taking it on the chin. (That’s a saying my dad taught me: taking it on the chin. It means getting served a crapberry tartlet and then not having any choice but to chow. He says he does it all the time at work.) To me, it seems like a lot of the times the people who take it on the chin don’t deserve it. So, who’s going to stand up for them? Who’s gonna tell the people who give it on the chin to knock it off ?

  “Miss Constantini?” Principal Brac says.

  “Kyle,” I say. “My name is Kyle and—” I take a breath but then stop. I was gonna say I’m sorry I punched Ino in the gut but that wouldn’t be the truth. I’da punched him more times if Reed hadn’t pulled my arm back.

  Principal Brac raises his eyebrows at me. “And?”

  “And I think people shouldn’t pick on people who are smaller than they are,” I say.

  “Well, what about people who are bigger than they are?”

  “That was different.” I lift a hand. “I didn’t take something of Ino’s to torture him. I just was telling him to give Marcy’s snai—hearing aid back.”

&nb
sp; Principal Brac looks at Ino. “Why did you take Miss Diamond’s hearing aid?”

  Ino does this slurpy sniff.

  Principal Brac takes a breath and then stands. He’s skinnyish. Like a runner. Guess you have to keep in pretty good shape to stay ahead of the game as honcho of a sparkly new middle school.

  “Inocente, Marcy has come to us from a special educational setting. She’s been almost entirely deaf since she was five years old.”

  Five years old! Wow. I wonder why?

  “She is a brave, dedicated student and she was chosen from her school to try out a new technology that will help her attend a regular middle school. Like ours. Can you understand how she must feel?”

  Ino just sniffs some more. Ever heard of Kleenex, Monster Mash? It’s this new invention.

  “Miss Constantini—”

  I straighten in my seat. “You can call me Kyle.”

  Principal Brac walks around to the front of his desk and sits on the edge of it, crossing his arms.

  “Coach Yeung has been instructed how to handle these situations at a teachers’ meeting. He doesn’t require assistance from another student.”

  I stare at him and try not to blink.

  “We’re not all here to take justice into our own hands, Kyle,” he says. “Do you understand what I mean by that?”

  I blink. I couldn’t help it. Eyes get pretty dry when you’re in a principal’s office.

  “I’m sorry for losing my temper,” I say. “But I also think Ino should apologize to Marcy.”

  Principal Brac taps his lips with a finger and looks at Ino.

  “Inocente?”

  “Sorry to Marcy,” he mumbles.

  “Not here,” I tell him. “To her face.”

  Ino shoots muck out of his eyes. It’s pignifying. I’ve never seen such a slimy stare in all my life and times.

  “All right, Inocente,” Principal Brac says. “You’ll be on lunch duty for two weeks in the cafeteria. During recess, you can help the crew pick up the lunchroom.”

  “Aw, man! That’s cheap!”

  Principal Brac ignores him.

  “And, Kyle?”

  I look at him and gulp.

  “I’d like you to pay a visit to Mrs. Arceneau after lunch.”

  “My homeroom teacher?”

  He nods. “She’s volunteered to coach our NAVS team this year. The event is in October and our team will compete against other middle schools in the city. The first meeting for interested students is today.”

  “Wait, I only have to do lunch cleanup for two weeks and she has to join a club until October?” Ino says.

  Principal Brac looks at him.

  “Gravy.” Ino grins.

  I take a second to think it over. Cleanup duty is the grossest thing on this planet and in this world. There’ve even been kids who puke and stuff. I don’t know what NAVS thingie is but it’s gotta be better than getting captain of the barf patrol.

  “Now, you can both take these”—Principal Brac signs two slips and tears them out of a tablet to give one to each of us—“and go straight to your third-period class.”

  Ino grabs his paper and peels out. I stand to take mine and look at it before lifting my eyes to my principal again.

  “How come I didn’t get lunch duty?”

  Principal Brac rises from the desk and claps my shoulder.

  “I’ll be interested to see how you help your teammates tackle this year’s challenge.”

  “Challenge?”

  “NAVS presents the same problem to each participating school, and the team that comes up with the most creative solution wins. I hope you’ll find the puzzle sparks your imagination.” Then his whole face starts to change, like it’s getting ready to smile. “Actually, I hope it engages your crusading spirit.”

  Soon as I leave the office, I go to the library to look up the capital of Montana and the word crusading.

  Chris Dixey lives somewhere near the city of Helena now. And I have a spirit that is vigorous in defending causes and ideas.

  Everything is so, so different this year.

  After lunch, I find my way back to 6B homeroom by myself—progress!—and knock on Mrs. A.’s open door.

  “Kyle, come in,” she says.

  Brooke! I didn’t know she was a NAVSter! I wave at her as she slides her backpack off the top of the desk she’s sitting in and gives me a quick nod. I wonder why she didn’t tell me about this at lunch. Well, I guess it’s fair since I wasn’t too nuts about mentioning anything to her or Sheroo about my super chunkface adventures during gym.

  Mrs. A. is sitting at the front, close to the windows, and Reed and another boy I don’t recognize are in two desks next to Brooke.

  “Welcome to this year’s first NAVS meeting,” Mrs. A. tells me. “I’m happy you’ve decided to join us.”

  I lick my lips then bite the bottom one. Wonder if ol’ Brach Ness Monster bothered to tell her why I’m here. Then again, what difference does it make, really? The point is I’ve brought my crusading spirit to help the team win.

  I take a seat between Brooke and Reed.

  “Well, well, well,” he says under his breath, “if it isn’t the fighting Fedora.”

  I refuse to look at him. Thinks he’s so clever with his gap in his teeth and his circular power.

  “Come on in, Donna. We’re just getting started.”

  Every neck turns toward Donna Donahue slouching in the open door. Her pants are saggy and black and her tee has two baby holes in the shoulder and says, TRY ME.

  Brooke cuts her eyes in my direction and raises one eyebrow a little. I’ve always wanted to learn how to raise just one eyebrow a little. Whenever I try, my nostrils flare out and I end up looking like I’m hatching a plot to overthrow the emperor.

  “How many of you are already familiar with NAVS?” Mrs. A. asks.

  Donna flops into the desk behind Brooke as the boy I don’t recognize raises his arm with a super straight hand. He’s like a polite robot with very neatly parted hair.

  “NAVS,” he starts, “was my best part of last year. I’ve been competing with my old school since I was in second grade. Our team won two of the years and we had a pizza party with Panama Pete’s all to ourselves before going to Regionals. Well, one year it was Panama Pete’s. The other year I can’t remember right now but I will in a minute. Sometimes I can’t remember something right away but then all of a sudden it comes to me.”

  “Thank you, Cameron,” Mrs. A. tells him. A little bit like, shut up already, Cameron—but in a nice, Patron-Saint-of-Listeners sort of way.

  “My pleasure.” Cameron nods. “What’s this year’s problem?”

  Mrs. A. straightens a stack of papers against a desk then hands them out. I take one and read it to myself.

  One of you begins in the center of a maze and cannot hear or see. It is the job of his or her teammates to guide this member from the center to the exit of the maze without touching him or her directly. Points will be deducted if the disadvantaged member touches the walls of the maze. Up to four team members can be on the floor at one time. You may not use anything that requires electricity or batteries. The maze will be the same for all teams and must be navigated in under twelve minutes. The judges will take creative costuming into consideration, but the most important criteria are innovative communication and teamwork. So, good luck! And may the most insightful and cooperative problem solvers win.

  I stare at the page after I finish reading. You can’t use sound. You can’t use anything that needs electricity, and the person you’re getting out of the maze can’t see.

  What in fire-roasted pig bottoms does this have to do with having a crusading spirit??

  “I’ll be the guy who can’t hear or see,” Cameron says.

  Reed looks at him, then back at the paper in his hand. Donna tosses her paper onto the desk next to her and raises a boot over her own desk.

  “Donna,” Mrs. A. says.

  Donna huffs and lets her foot slap to the fl
oor.

  “Where is the maze?” Reed asks.

  “The mazes will be set up in an arena,” Mrs. A. says, “on the ground level at the Civic Center.”

  The Civic Center. Huh. The sunken stage in the middle of that huge arena is pretty plush. I remember it from when I was eight and my parents took all of us to hear special guests of the symphony orchestra. These super-little kids, even littler than me, were playing violins like they were thirty years old. Afterward, the audience gave them a standing ovation. Must be nice to get those kinda props when you’re not even in high school.

  “You don’t have to use every team member on the floor,” Mrs. A. goes on. “It just depends on your solution. Only one of you will be blindfolded and wearing earplugs. The rest of you will be responsible for piloting your teammate from the center of the maze to the exit.”

  “Without using sight or sound,” Donna says.

  Mrs. A. nods. “And without directly touching him or her.”

  “This’ll be a cinch.” Donna lets out a bored breath. “The hard part will be explaining it to all you nerd bombs.”

  Well, excuse us for living, your maj.

  “Right,” Reed says. “And why, exactly, are you so sure this will be a cinch?”

  Donna leans over her desk and looks straight at him. “Echolocation.”

  “You mean like bats?” Brooke asks.

  Ooh, bats! I wonder if we could get stickers?

  “I mean, like, dolphins,” Donna tells Brooke. She shakes her head a little when she says ‘like.’ As if Brooke was a dorf pellet from the planet Butt Nog. Which she’s not.

  “You know, Donzie,” I start, “I think you’re going to have to be a little nicer to everybody. We are a team, after all. Even dolphins need another dolphin to bounce their sounds off of. ”

  “Guys,” Cameron says, “we can’t use sound.”

  “Donna, why don’t you tell us a bit about how echolocation is different in dolphins than in bats?” Mrs. A. says.

  I really hope we can get stickers. I have a collection of funny stickers of bats. My favorite is an old video game one with puffy fangs and a cape that says, COUNT PACULA.

  “Bats use air to carry sound waves,” Donna says, “but dolphins use water. Plus, their brains are different. In some ways, more advanced than human brains.” She rolls her eyes. “Which isn’t saying much.”