Words With Fiends by Ali Brandon Read Free Book Online Page A

me.” Then, at Darla’s stern look, he sighed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, I won’t do it.”
    â€œGood, because Hamlet would be pretty ticked off if he thought you were two-timing him—and with a dog, no less.” She added a smile, “Besides, you know Master Tomlinson would never give up Roma without a fight. He might be older than James, but you’d last about two seconds with him in a ring!”
    But even the prospect of losing a theoretical battle to his sensei wasn’t enough to dampen Robert’s enthusiasm. He’d been smitten by the tiny gray and white Italian greyhound—not a miniature whippet, as Darla had first assumed—the first night he and Darla had shown up for class. Darla had always preferred large dogs, the sort one could trip over with no resulting injury to said beast; still, she had to admit that Roma was a cute little thing. Like her larger greyhound cousins, she appeared to be all legs and whip-thin tail, her sleek fur softer even than Hamlet’s. Her delicate ears usually were folded back into neat rosettes against her narrow head, but they could fly up at a moment’s notice when something caught her attention, making her look like a goofy, long-nosed fruit bat.
    Just as Hamlet ruled the roost at Pettistone’s Fine Books, Roma was the mascot of the martial arts studio. And to all the students’ delight, her owner had taught her dojo etiquette. That meant that she made a doggie bow when entering and leaving the mat area, and sat quietly at full length with her dainty paws crossed before her whenever the students assumed a kneeling position. But what never failed to make Darla laugh was the way Roma would give a little howling bark whenever the students uttered their kiais—a quick exhalation that sounded like a yell—while practicing their punches.
    By now, Master Tomlinson was dismissing his junior students, who promptly made beelines to where their parents waited.
    â€œGood job, everyone,” he called, sounding sincere despite the gravel in his voice that portended an incipient cold. “Don’t forget to turn in your tournament registrations. And remember to bow before you leave the mat.”
    The prompt caused several students who’d been remiss to rush back to make a quick obeisance. Roma the dog, meanwhile, lightly padded her way across the mat, high-stepping like a dressage horse. Once she reached the mat’s edge, she turned and gave what Darla knew in the dog training lingo was called a play bow. Then, with a happy if surprisingly deep bark for such a small dog, she waited for Robert to walk around the panel before bounding toward him, her whiplike tail creating a small breeze with its wagging.
    While Robert gently wrestled with Roma, the rest of the adult class filed in. As Darla joined her fellow students, she heard a vehement female voice from behind the windowed wall. “You can’t ban my son from the tournament! I pay good money for his lessons, and he’s gonna be there. That first-place trophy is his!”
    Darla covertly glanced over to see which parent was taking out her frustration on the sensei. She’d quickly learned that martial arts, like any other sport that catered to children, had more than its share of “karate moms.” These mothers—though a few fathers also fit that bill—spent class time on the sidelines alternately cheering on their kids and attempting to countermand the sensei’s instruction.
    To his credit, Master Tomlinson was not one to tolerate that sort of interference for any extended period, so it wasn’t as disruptive as it could have been. And, to be fair, those same involved parents were the first to volunteer to take tickets and run the food concession at the local events.
    Tonight, the mom currently venting was one whom Darla had seen most class nights.
    Of course, Grace Valentine was hard to miss.
    With her “mob