White Crane by Sandy Fussell Read Free Book Online Page B

pudding.
    Uma’s nose twitches as he bends to sniff my hand. Scooping the remainder out of my pocket, I offer it to him. His tongue is rough and tickles my palm while he slurps down my leftover dessert. A warm, sticky muzzle rubs against my neck. Uma’s weakness is the same as mine — honey pudding!
    “He likes honey pudding!” I call, leading my new friend back to the others.
    Kyoko doesn’t look convinced.
    “Go on. You try.” I scrape the remaining sticky mess from my pocket and smear it on her hand.
    Uma licks his lips as Kyoko climbs into the saddle. She reaches around to offer her hand. He slurps happily.
    “Let’s go, boy.” Kyoko nudges gently with her knee.
    Uma is on our side now and is happy to let Kyoko ride him to the cherry tree and back. As long as we’ve got enough pudding.
    “At least now we won’t fall off our horse at the Games. One less thing for the other teams to laugh at,” says Mikko.
    I try not to think about the Games, but it must be hardest for Mikko. Once he was a mighty Dragon, a winner. Now he is one of us.
    “Do you miss the Dragon Ryu?” I ask him.
    “Never.” Mikko shakes his head.
    “It must have felt good to win sometimes.” Kyoko sounds wistful.
    Mikko shakes his head even harder. “When a Dragon makes a mistake, the Master strikes him hard across the head with his fist. When a Cockroach gets it wrong, Sensei cares. He says, ‘More practice!’”
    “More practice!” Sensei yells from his sleep.
    Suddenly it feels good to be a loser Cockroach. It feels safe.
    Uma bares his teeth. A big toothy grin speckled with pudding. Drab and cockroach brown like our kimonos, he’s one of us, too. Sensei says brown is good. A samurai must earn attention from his skill with weapons and words, not the bright colors he wears.
    “Students who want people to notice what they are wearing should wear nothing. Everyone looks then,” Sensei told us.
    Still, I wish I had a magnificent red and gold silk cloak like the Dragon Master. Sensei has a long dark brown cotton cloak, stained with cherry juice and torn at the corner Taji accidentally stood on. I don’t want one like that.

    After horseback riding, it’s lunch. Even eating backward, lunch is still in the middle. We rush through it and stuff our faces with plums.
    The afternoon lesson is archery. I’m good at it, because I am the White Crane, expert at standing still. Even on one leg. Archery is about balance.
    A samurai bow is taller than a man and my bow is a head taller than me. Sensei helps us carve our bows from the
ryu
trees. We make bamboo arrows and tie a feather to the end. When I nock my arrow and send it flying skyward in an arc, the White Crane opens its wings and flies with it.
    In the old days, when Ki-Yaga was a hero, samurai archers rode horses. I want to be a hero this afternoon, but Uma is nowhere to be seen. A handful of pudding loyalty doesn’t last all day.
    Our practice area is a large clearing in the middle of the forest, behind the classroom where Sensei is meditating. The hardest thing about archery is ignoring the rustling noises. It’s especially hard for me because I have a vivid imagination.
    There really is a monster out there. Black Tusk, the most fearsome wild pig in Japan, lives in our forest. None of us have ever seen him, but Sensei has.
    “What should we do if we see the boar?” Yoshi asked.
    “Run. Run fast to the tallest cherry tree,” Sensei said.
    Behind me, the undergrowth crackles and rustles.
    “Face this way.” Mikko points Taji in the direction of the target. Taji places an arrow in the bow, pulls the string back, and lets the bamboo fly.
Twang. Phlock!
It pierces the outermost edge, but Taji can’t see it almost missed, and we always say the same thing.
    “Well done,” Yoshi calls. Kyoko claps.
    The snuffling sounds are loud and close. His bow and arrows forgotten, Taji is listening hard.
    Black Tusk charges from the undergrowth.
    “Eeeeee!” Kyoko’s high-pitched shriek