“Well, I don’t know that I have to go that far,” he said, uncrossing his arms, and coming toward the mats. He rolled up his sleeves, and I heard a few laughs behind me. I was totally in trouble now. “Why not try fighting someone who is a challenge?”
I felt a wave of doubt wash through me. The last person that I wanted to fight was my dad, a guy who took down drug dealers on a daily basis. I sighed like I was bored. “I don’t want to hurt you, old man.”
His smirk grew a bit more, and I nearly stopped. I nearly backed down and admitted that there was no way I could actually try and take down my dad. My pride always got the better of me though. I was the star of this class, and there was no way I was admitting defeat. “Defense position,” he ordered, nodding at me.
I rolled my eyes, but raised my arms, fists clenched. He was standing there, not even in position. I knew I had to act quickly, catch him off guard before he could take me down in one swipe. I stepped closer. He studied me, his eyes intent on mine. I threw a left punch, and he dodged it effortlessly. My right hook was coming up not even a split second later, aimed for his throat. He reached almost lazily for my fist and twisted my arm around. His hand grabbed my leg, and I flipped, landing with a hard “oomph” on my back, seeing stars.
“YOU KNOW, YOU DIDN’T HAVE to flip me,” I said.
Dad laughed, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He stopped in front of a street vendor, handing over a wrinkly five-dollar bill. “Want one?” he said, pointing to the admittedly tempting hot dogs spinning in the case. I shook my head. “Someone had to teach you a lesson in humility.”
“I have plenty of humility,” I grumbled, shifting the strap of my bag so it fit more comfortably on my shoulder.
“No, you really don’t,” he said, taking an enthusiastic bite out of the hot dog that was just handed to him. “Your real weakness is your pride. You’re good, so you think nobody can beat you.”
“Well, I’m obviously wrong about that,” I said, wincing at my sore back.
He laughed again. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I would put you in a men’s class. Maybe going up against those who are much stronger than you would make you better and less cocky and flashy.”
I scowled. He was mostly right about that. “I am good.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you are,” he said, looking down at me appraisingly. He wrapped his arm tightly around my neck. “Come on, let’s go get pizza.” He finished the last couple bites of his hot dog. “I’m starving.”
“IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE DRAPING! How do you even consider that draping? They’re vines. It’s supposed to look effortless!” Madison stomped her foot down, her small face red with exhaustion and frustration. I knew a meltdown was probably coming soon.
Brody, high atop a ladder, paused for a moment in the middle of his work and looked at Madison. “Babe, this is not effortless.”
“Well, it should be,” she said, not meeting his eyes but consulting her clipboard instead. “Zoey, have we heard from the DJ?”
“Hmm?” I said, vaguely. I was sitting on one of the black iron benches that lined the open courtyard in the middle of the square buildings that were St. Joseph’s Prep. A book was open in my lap, American Gods by Neil Gaiman, one of my absolute favorites.
“Get your head out of the book for like an hour, can you, please?” Madison begged. She had pulled her slick black hair in a perfect bun, and had no less than three or four pens stuck in the bun. She was still wearing her workout clothes from cheer practice. “The DJ, Zoey, the DJ?”
“Last I heard, he’d be here at 6 p.m., to be ready in time for doors opening at 7 p.m.,” I said. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “Does anyone have a pen?” My eyebrow rose in response, and she immediately reached for her bun. She smiled sheepishly, and then her eyes went wide. “Ash, no, seriously? What are you doing?”
I turned and glanced over my shoulder. Ash had been put in charge of draping the Christmas lights that Madison had purchased, a task that I had thought was way too optimistic for him. True to form, none of the lights were put up, and instead were wrapped around his body, lighting him up like a Christmas tree. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my book.
“Please, will you go help him?” Madison said, her hands over her eyes. “I can’t handle this. I’m a wreck.”
“Maddie, it’s going to be great, just like every single dance turns out great,” I said, irritated at being interrupted again. I was only present at the setup for the dance under duress. Madison had signed me up herself, of course. She did that for most of her committees.