Living with Jackie Chan Page 3

  “Uh, yeah. Hi.”

  “Jacob, that’s Samurai Sam!” Larry yells over to us.

  Must he?

  “Sam,” Jacob says, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you!” His gi droops off his bony shoulders.

  A little kid with long hair — I mean really long hair, past his shoulders — comes running over to me and bows. What?

  “I’m Drake,” he says.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “You’re supposed to bow back.”

  “Oh.” I bow to him awkwardly. This is going to be a long week.

  Once everyone arrives, Larry lines us up according to rank. Jacob stands at the front, facing us, since the black belts get special treatment. In the front row, two guys who look about in their twenties have brown belts. Next row, a woman, maybe in her thirties, with a purple belt. Next row, two girls who look like high-school age have green belts. Next row, Drake and some other young kids with blue belts. Then me. Larry insists I earned my yellow belt, but I honestly don’t even remember. He runs over to his bag and pulls out a faded and ratty-looking belt. “A loan,” he says, handing it to me. “Remember how to tie it?”

  “Not exactly,” I say. And then, in front of everyone, he steps behind me and wraps his arms around my waist and freakin’ ties the belt on me, talking me through the steps as he goes. Then, since this isn’t humiliating enough, the door opens and in walks Stella in a crisp white gi with a white belt cinched around her waist.

  Perfect.

  She smiles at me. “Hi, Sam,” she says. She looks me up and down and bites her lip as if she’s stifling a laugh. Yeah. I look like a moron. I have some awesome bedhead, and I have a yellow belt tied around the waist of my sweatpants.

  Shoot. Me. Now.

  I’m about to tell her my name isn’t actually Sam, but Larry bounds over to her in his puppy-dog style.

  “Stellaaaaaa!” he cries, like he’s dying. I can tell he’s imitating his favorite scene from Rocky, one of the only non–Jackie Chan movies Larry has ever forced me to watch. Of course, Rocky is a professional boxer, so there’s still plenty of fighting involved. I’m pretty sure Rocky cries Adriannnnn in the movie, though, not Stella. But that’s Larry for you.

  “I’m so glad you came,” he says excitedly. “This is gonna be great!”

  He sets her up in the row behind me with two little kids and one old lady in the back. I am officially the biggest loser on the planet.

  Larry gives a welcome speech and has us all do about a million stretches. Finally, he tells us to kneel in our places with our hands flat on our thighs, feet tucked under us.

  “Kara,” he says to one of the green belts. “What is a true karate man?”

  Kara clears her throat. “What is a true karate man?” she asks. The rest of the class repeats the question. “A true karate man is one with a godlike capacity to think and feel for others, irrespective of their rank or position.”

  She pauses every few words and waits for us to repeat her. She goes on about what a karate man does and what makes him true. I vaguely remember this part because I remember thinking, as a little kid, that I wanted to be a true karate man. Like Larry. When Kara says a phrase about how a true karate man lifts those who have fallen, I remember thinking it sounded like Superman. Only real. I remember thinking I could be Superman.

  “Excellent,” Larry says when she finishes. “Now, since so many of you are new to my class today, I wanted to go over what Kara said a bit more. ‘A true karate man is one with a godlike capacity to think and feel for others, irrespective of their rank or position.’ Anyone want to tell me what this means?”

  Drake raises his hand. “It means a true karate man always acts good no matter what. Even if someone acts like a jerk or something, a true karate man still does the right thing instead of beating him up.”

  “Good,” says Larry. He goes on to give some examples. As he talks in his calm, confident way, I realize he kind of does seem a little godlike, with everyone listening to him, smiling like he is giving them the greatest wisdom they’ve ever heard.

  “The other thing you all need to learn are the basic precepts of karate.” Larry walks over to his duffel bag and hands out a list to all the white belts. And me. “Most of you know these, but for the new people, you should read these over and think about how you can apply them to your daily lives.”

  I read the first entry and feel totally lost. “Karate-do begins with courtesy and ends with rei.” I have no idea what do is. Or rei. Those of us with papers put them on the floor against the wall, then find our places again.

  “OK. Now we’re going to start at the beginning and review the first kata to make sure everyone has a clear understanding of the moves and sequence. Then we’ll break into groups to practice. Jacob, why don’t you demonstrate.”

  Jacob steps forward and bows to Larry. He moves so slowly, I’m afraid he’s going to keel over and die right here. But then he begins to move in this amazingly fluid motion. I can’t believe it. The guy just hobbled forward like the senior citizen he is, and suddenly he’s punching air like he’s Jackie Chan.

  Larry looks all serious as he watches. “Excellent!” he says. “Who’s next?” He goes row by row and has everyone demonstrate the first kata. As he gets closer to my row, I can feel myself breaking out in a sweat. I can’t remember any of this.

  “Sam the man? You’re up!”

  Why? Why does he have to call me that?

  “I don’t really remember this stuff,” I say.

  “Let’s start with the first step. Remember Precept Five when you’re learning the katas: ‘Spirit first, technique second.’” He stands next to me and has me imitate his stance. Then, move by move, we go through the positions, and it slowly comes back to me. I remember this feeling as I pivot on my feet and thrust my fist out. Pretty soon, I’m getting it.

  “Great job!” Larry says. “I told you you’d remember. He ruffles my hair. God. “OK, let’s match up with partners so you can start practicing.”

  Larry matches me with Stella, naturally. He winks in this obvious way, like, I’m so going to fix you up. I roll my eyes, grateful Stella didn’t see him.

  Since I’m still mostly clueless, Larry tells Drake to join us, too.

  “‘Sam the man’?” Stella asks, smirking, while Larry continues grouping people.

  I shake my head. “Larry,” I say. “He can’t help it.”

  She laughs. “But he means well.”

  Right.

  Drake takes us through each step. Slowly, I begin to remember the rhythm of the movements. Every time I punch the air, my arms feel a little stronger. I remember the power I felt when I first learned how to strike out. Like I could go home and beat up anyone who tried to mess with me. I realize that did not make me a true karate man. Or Superman. But I didn’t really care. I was a mad kid.

  “See?” Larry says in my ear. “You’re a natural.”

  “Kee-yai!” Stella shouts as she finishes the kata. I remember that, too. I remember how good it felt to shout it. But I can’t bring myself to go there. Yet.

  We spend the rest of the day practicing the first kata over and over again. When we break for lunch, Larry tosses a paper bag at me. I didn’t even realize he’d made me lunch. I sit alone in one corner and watch the rest of the campers chat together. Stella and Kara are busy huddled in conversation. I overhear Kara tell Stella she goes to Union, the other high school in the city. Larry is too busy walking from group to group to chat to notice I’m by myself, which is good, because he’s the kind of guy who would pull me up and drag me over to some other poor loser sitting alone and make me eat with him.

  After practice, people crowd around Larry to ask him questions. Everyone seems hyped about class. Larry drags a big cardboard box to the middle of the room, and I help him hand out gis to all the newbies. When we’re done, there’s one left, and he says it’s for me.

  “You’re gonna be a great partner,” he tells me. He is glowing. He actually looks like he mi
ght cry.

  Please. No.

  “Thanks,” I say, and rush out to the hallway to wait for him to finish up.

  The hall smells like a swimming pool and sweat. I lean against the wall and let my arms hang down. They feel like rubber and ache like hell. I guess Larry was right. I’m totally out of shape.

  “Hey, Sam.”

  It’s Stella. She comes over and leans against the wall next to me. I can smell her deodorant, but it’s not nasty like Larry’s. Obviously.

  “Hey.”

  “You were pretty good in there.” She smiles at me. When she smiles, it’s not just her mouth, it’s her whole face. Her brown eyes sparkle and — no. No. I’m not going there.

  “You, too,” I tell her, and force myself to look away.

  “Thanks. I think this is going to be fun after all.”

  Yeah.

  “So, what’s it like living with Larry, anyway?” she asks. “It must be — interesting.”

  “Entertaining,” I say.

  She nods. “Are you staying with him for any special reason?”

  I shrug. “I’m interested in architecture, and Roosevelt has a great tech program. I thought coming here might help improve my chances of getting into a college program.”

  “Wow, that’s dedication. I would hate to leave all my friends senior year.”

  Yeah. It sucks.

  “I guess,” I say. “So, no babysitting today?” I ask to change the subject.

  “No, thank God. That baby wears me out.”

  “He does cry a lot.”

  “I can’t imagine having a kid. They’re cute and all, but, holy crap, they’re demanding.”

  “Yeah,” I say quietly.

  She gives me a funny look. “I mean, I love him — don’t get me wrong.”

  “No worries.”

  “You’re a strange guy, aren’t you, Sam?”

  “Um, about that.” I’m about to try again to tell her my name isn’t actually Sam, but she looks at her watch and swears.

  “I gotta bolt. My boyfriend’s picking me up outside, and he gets cranky when I’m late.”

  “Oh.” I know I should feel relieved that she’s seeing someone. I’m the last person who should be starting a relationship. So why do I suddenly feel so . . . disappointed?

  “See you tomorrow!” she yells over her shoulder as she runs down the hall.

  “See ya,” I call after her.

  I lean my head back on the cool cinder-block wall and close my eyes, concentrating on the pain in my arms. I think about the lies I’ve already let Stella believe. I think about how it will be like this with everyone I meet. About how I’m not the same person I was back at home. I’m Sam. The new guy. The stranger. I can be whoever I want, really.

  The problem is, I have no idea who it is I want to be.

  “That was great, wasn’t it?” Larry asks when he finally comes out to the hall to get me. “Man, I love watching all these people discover karate. It changed my life, and I know it’ll change theirs, too. Isn’t that awesome?”

  I wonder if Larry ever gets sad or pissed off. He seems so goddamned happy all the time.

  “Awesome,” I say.

  “Hey, I have a great idea. Let’s go home and shower and invite Arielle over for dinner. We’ll get her favorite takeout! She’s dying to meet you.”

  As he starts jumping around in his puppy-dog way, I realize who Larry reminds me of: my friend Dave back home. His excited panting is equally annoying.

  “OK,” I say. Because, like Dave, if you don’t at least act like you agree to do whatever it is he’s excited about, he gets this pathetic, sad-dog look. And that’s even worse.

  Thinking about Dave makes me realize how much I miss him and Caleb. For as long as I can remember, I’ve seen or talked to those two every day. Even though we act like we drive each other nuts, we’re best friends. And not having them around to drive me crazy is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

  At home, I take a long shower, then check my phone for messages.

  Caleb: where r u? call!

  Dave: [More stupid jokes not worth mentioning.]

  My mom: we miss u. pls call 2 tell us urok.

  She wants me to tell them I rock? Nice texting, Mom. I know she means she wants to know if I’m OK. But I’m pretty sure the fact that I’m here means she knows I’m not. Whatever.

  I call her cell and get her voice mail. Figures. She’s really dying to hear from me. I hang up without leaving a message.

  I send Caleb a quick text to tell him I’ve been busy, then Dave a quick “LOL” so he thinks I actually read his jokes. Then I join Larry in the living room, where he’s setting the coffee table for dinner. He doesn’t have a dining-room table, and he says it’s unromantic to eat dinner in the kitchen. I point out that it’s also unromantic to invite me to a dinner that’s supposed to be romantic, but he just laughs.

  “Are you kidding me? Taking you in has earned me major points. She thinks I’m the most sensitive guy in the world now.” He fake-punches my shoulder.

  So funny.

  “That’s not why I took you in, of course. You know that, right? It’s just a perk. A bonus. I’d do anything for you, Sammy. You know that, right?”

  Calm down, Larry. God.

  “Right?” he asks again. He seems dangerously close to getting the sad-puppy look, so I humor him.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Of course. Thanks, Lar.”

  He steps back to admire the coffee table. He’s put cloth place mats under the plates and everything. They don’t match, but they still look nice.

  When the buzzer from downstairs rings, Larry races over to the button on the wall and presses it. “Hey, beautiful, come on up!”

  Larry is all class.

  For some reason, my hands feel sweaty. I quickly wipe them on my jeans in case I have to shake hands with Arielle or something.

  Larry runs out to the hall to greet her. When they come back in, they’re holding hands. Arielle is taller than Larry. Larry looks at me and kind of nods his head in her direction, like, Told you she was hot. And yes. She is. Extremely. But he really needs to stop doing that before she notices.

  “Hey, Josh,” she says, holding out her hand. Thank God I wiped mine off. We shake. Her hand is strong and bony. She’s also incredibly tan.

  “It’s so great to meet you. Larry has been talking about you all summer. He’s been dying to have you come stay with him.”

  Well, I’d say that’s probably laying it on kind of thick, but who cares?

  Larry beams.

  Arielle checks out the coffee table. “Nice spread, Larry! You did this for me?”

  He smiles. “What would you like to drink? White? Red? Beer?”

  “I’d love a glass of red.”

  “Pinot OK?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Just like you.”

  Oh. My. God. Could he possibly be more embarrassing?

  “I’ll take a beer,” I say.

  Larry laughs.

  “What?” I ask.

  “This isn’t Chez My Big Brother, little man. I know your dad gives you drinks, but I’m not your dad.”

  Wait. Did he really just call me “little man”? He did. If Caleb and Dave were here, they would be rolling on the floor dying of laughter.

  Larry heads to the kitchen, and Arielle goes over to the stereo to check out Larry’s CD collection.

  “So, what kind of music are you into?” she asks.

  Nothing that’s on any of the CDs that Larry probably bought ten years ago, that’s for sure. Who even keeps CDs anymore?

  I think of my dad and his guitar and all the lame ’90s cover tunes he plays with his pals at dive bars every weekend. Normally, I hate that stuff. But for some reason, I wouldn’t mind hearing it right now. I wouldn’t mind just listening to my dad strumming his guitar in the living room when he doesn’t think anyone’s home.

  “No preferences,” I say.

  She chooses Bob Marley.

&
nbsp; Larry comes back with two glasses of wine and some milk for me in a wineglass. God. He may as well’ve come out with a freakin’ Shirley Temple.

  “So,” he says, motioning for Arielle to sit down. “What are you in the mood for? Chinese? Thai? Mexican? Italian?”

  “Why don’t we let Josh decide?” she says.

  “Oh, um, whatever’s fine with me.” I sit down on the chair opposite the couch.

  “I’ll grab some menus and we can narrow it down,” Larry says. He dashes off to the kitchen again.

  Arielle smiles at me. “Larry says you’re staying to do your last year of school at Roosevelt.”

  I nod.

  “That’s cool.” She studies my face, like I’m supposed to say more. Does she know more? Would Larry tell her? I just sit there, not knowing what to say.

  Awkward, awkward silence.

  “And you’re taking karate with him?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Larry’s such a great teacher. Did you know that’s how we met? We both teach at the Y.”

  Larry comes back with an enormous stack of menus and some crackers on a plate with a hunk of cheese. “I picked these up at the farmers’ market,” he says.

  We all riffle through the menus and finally decide on Thai. Larry makes the order while Arielle and I try out the cheese. It smells like a goat and I almost throw up. Arielle makes a face, too. We both laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Larry asks when he comes back to join us.

  “Nothing,” we say at the same time.

  Bonded. Nice.

  “Food will be here in a half hour,” Larry tells us. He grabs a cracker and puts an enormous chunk of cheese on it. He starts to chew, then makes a face like he’s going to hurl. “Berightback,” he says with his mouth full, and races to the kitchen. He comes back with a piece of white cheese. “Cheddar,” he says. “Always reliable.”

  We all crack up.

  “So, Josh,” Arielle says after we finish dinner. “Tell me more about school. Larry says you want to be an architect? Or do some sort of landscape design? Have you decided which colleges you want to apply to?”

  Larry beams at me as if he’s my proud dad.