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

wife” wardrobe that leaned heavily toward tight leopard prints, short hemlines, and dominatrix boots, Grace stood out from the other, more conservative moms. In her mid-thirties, and with black hair that had been straightened into a submissive long bob, she’d also been Botoxed and enhanced to the point that she resembled a living Barbie doll. Even with the windowed panel serving as a barrier, her strident “New Yawk” accent was always noticeable as she offered nonstop correction and encouragement to her son, Chris, during the course of every class.
    But the other thing that distinguished her was the fact that she, too, was a student. A few other parents took beginner classes with their kids, but most never progressed beyond a couple of belt ranks. Grace, however, was working toward her black belt. From what Darla had heard, the woman mainly took private lessons with the sensei, apparently not wanting to mix with the other students. Every so often, however, she joined in the sparring class with her son. According to Robert, who’d seen her in action, the woman was a pretty competent fighter.
    Not surprisingly under her self-important tutelage, her high school freshman son Chris had an overdeveloped ego regarding his own skill on the mat. While the other students routinely went through a basic aerobic warm-up prior to class, Chris could never resist showing off. He tirelessly performed spinning and leaping kicks straight out of a Jackie Chan movie, his Bieber-inspired blond do swirling with equal vigor.
    Most of Robert and Darla’s class was male, though tonight there were two other women, both red belts. And the age span amongst students was large—the adult class was open to any student over fifteen years old. Darla always dreaded being partnered up with Chris during drills. This was partly because, though only a high school freshman, he was already several inches taller than her five feet four inches, with a reach to match, and partly because of his obnoxious attitude. He always seemed to conveniently “forget” the dojo rule against higher-ranking students making actual physical contact with the newbies. More than once, she’d come home from class with bruises because of him. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up with ten crooked toes just like Master Tomlinson, who, from the sorry look of his swollen feet, had obviously broken every single digit at least once.
    And Master Tomlinson had grown tired of the junior black belt’s attitude, too. A week ago, he’d warned the boy in front of the entire class that one more breach of dojo rules would leave him sitting on the sidelines at the next tournament. From the current argument Darla was overhearing, it seemed that Chris had not taken the warning seriously. He must have transgressed in some way, and Tomlinson had enforced his threat, banning Chris from participating in the event. Much to his mother’s vocal displeasure.
    Darla could hear the rumble of the sensei’s calm voice explaining the situation to Grace, but she could only make out a word or two . . .
self-control
and
opportunity
being among them. A wave of sympathy for the sensei swept her. Retail could be challenging enough, but at least it wasn’t usually personal. She didn’t envy Master Tomlinson’s ongoing balancing act between parents and students.
    Apparently, the sensei won this particular match. Darla saw Chris’s mom throw up her hands in disgusted surrender and flop into one of the hard plastic chairs, her bright red lips pressed into a hard line. Master Tomlinson, looking equally disgusted, reappeared around the divider and signaled to the two black belts lounging in the far corner.
    â€œHal, Hank, line them up and warm them up,” he ordered between coughs, waving in the direction of Darla and the rest. “I’m going to grab another lozenge, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    Trailed by Roma,