Emerge by Tobie Easton Read Free Book Online Page B

her padded stomach. Maybe this won’t be so terrible.
    “As for the women, the occasional punch is fine, but I want you to focus on kicks. A woman’s strength is in her lower body, and I want you to get used to taking advantage of it.”
    Kicks? As in balancing on one leg while the other is up in the air trying to hit a moving target? I’m shark bait.
    The shark in question forms us into a curving line so we can watch each other’s fights while we wait. I catch Clay’s eye from where he stands at the end of the line, and I must look nervous because he shoots me a “Don’t sweat it” smile before turning his attention back to the coach. At least Melusine’s not in this class; seeing her land what I imagine would be a series of perfect roundhouse kicks would make me crazy jealous.
    Kelsey goes first. She punches the coach twice in the torso then stands back to try a kick. It’s not very high, but it hits the coach against her upper leg pad with a solid thwack !
    “Nice job,” I say as she comes to stand next to me.
    “Thanks. It’s not so bad. You’ll do fine.”
    I doubt it. My lower half tends to work as a unit, since naturally it’s one tail and not two legs. That’s why walking and running were hard to learn at first. One leg kicking by itself sounds like a face-plant waiting to happen.
    One by one, the other students go. While I wait, I practice by discreetly raising one foot a few inches in the air and making a baby kick. The next few girls are the class glamazons, and they make it look easy. One girl, Genevieve, lands a kick so high it strikes the coach’s upper arm. Why can’t I move like that?
    My turn. I move forward, trying not to look anxious. My first step onto the squishy mat almost throws me off balance, but I manage to hold my ground. Coach Crane stares at me with hard eyes and beckons me forward without a word. She plants her feet one at a time, reminding me of a sumo wrestler. I throw a punch aimed at her torso, imitating Kelsey, but Coach Crane blocks it before I get close. I try again, aiming for her left side, but she snaps her arm out, blocking me again. “Come on, Nautilus, you need to make contact. Use your legs.”
    I grit my teeth and lift my right leg. At the last moment, I chicken out, and kick so low I only manage to tap the side of my foot against her shin.
    “You have to do better than that.”
    I take a step forward, lift my leg, and swing it forcefully back. In that glorious instant, I can visualize it hitting her in an impressive kick to the waist that bows her entire body and finally shuts her up. Instead, my leg misses her, and the momentum behind my kick swings me around so hard I fall onto my butt.
    Clay sees the whole thing.
    Coach Crane doesn’t offer me a hand up. She just calls, “Next!” while I’m left to struggle to my feet on the too-soft mat before the next student can step on me. Why does physical education have to be a graduation requirement?
    Face hot, I move to the sidelines while the glamazons giggle. Genevieve, the crowned princess of high kicks, walks over, her BFF Jaclyn in tow.
    “Friendly advice? Work on those moves or you’ll never get a boyfriend,” Genevieve says.
    “Maybe you can take one of those stripper pole classes. Loosen up a little,” Jaclyn suggests.
    My face gets even hotter. “Thanks … I’ll keep that in mind.”
    Oh, no. Clay’s heading straight toward us. As if this could get any more humiliating.
    Jaclyn gives a flirty wave. “Hey, Clay.”
    He doesn’t say anything. Just stands next to me and stares at them.
    They exchange a look, half-confused, half-nervous. The moment drags, and Clay stares.
    “Later, Lia,” Genevieve says as they hurry away.
    Now that Clay’s close to me, the muffled notes of a guitar riff fill the air between us. He must have earbuds hidden under the hoodie he’s wearing with his gym uniform. I want to thank him for stepping in. But all that comes out is, “How can you listen to that so