“Oh,” Casey said. “I’ll be all right.”
She looked away to find the instructor studying her from across the room. She kept eye contact, and he moved, catlike, across the mat to stand in front of her.
“My friend,” Rosemary breathed. “Casey.”
He tipped his head in a bow. “Cole Damon.”
Casey bowed back. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Is this your first time?” He indicated her white belt.
“I have some experience, sir.”
“I see.” He waited for her to explain.
She didn’t.
“Welcome to our class,” he said. “Participate as you are able.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He bowed again and walked to the front of the class.
“Aaaah,” Rosemary sighed.
“Two lines,” Mr. Damon said.
Casey bowed to the mat before following Rosemary to the back row, where she took the far right hand corner, the spot for the lowest belt.
“Chung Jah,” the instructor said.
The class turned to the American flag and dropped to their knees.
“Kukki-Eh Dehe Kyong Ye,” he said.
They bowed to the flag.
“Wonki-Eh Dehe Kyong Ye.”
They bowed to the Association flag.
“Kwan Jang Nim Ke Kyong Ye,” a black belt said.
They turned and bowed to the instructor.
“Yu Dahn Jah Kyong Ye,” a colored belt said.
They bowed to the black belts.
“Sooriun Guht,” Damon said.
They began.
Casey worked through the jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, and squats on auto-pilot, her body taking over for her brain. She dropped, jumped, crunched, and stretched, and only when Damon instructed them to stop did she realize the other colored belts were watching her with something that resembled fear.
Damon, standing in front of the class, was not afraid. A smile tickled the side of his mouth. He sent them to do kicks by the wall, and Casey was glad to evade his eyes. Trying to put him out of her mind, she concentrated on the swing of her legs, and the force of her kicks.
After a few more strength-training exercises, Damon called for the extra mats. Casey, as the lowest belt there, helped Rosemary and the teenage boys pull the cushioning to the center of the room.
“Forward rolls,” Damon said.
They took turns at corners, rolling one after the other, until he changed instructions. They moved from front rolls to side rolls, from backward rolls to side falls. Damon stopped them. “Dives.”
He crouched down on the edge of the mat.
“Oh, lord,” Rosemary muttered. “I hate these. I always end up doing push-ups.”
This time was no exception, as her dive over Damon ended with her walloping him in the side. She moved over to the side for her consequence.
Damon peered up at Casey, from where he waited. She ran to him lightly, diving over him and rolling into a crouch without much effort.
“Another,” Damon said.
One of the black belts joined him on the floor, on the far side, and the line went through again, diving and rolling. Rosemary, after another failed attempt, joined the two on the floor.
“Now,” Damon said to Casey.
She dove and rolled.
“Another,” Damon said, adding another student to the line.
They dove.
“Another,” Damon said.
Five on the ground. Only Casey, a black belt, and one of the coloreds left to go.
The black belt dove, nicking his fellow black belt with a foot. He dropped for push-ups. The colored belt pretty much crushed the last in the line, and headed for the floor.
“Go,” Damon said.
Casey breathed in. Breathed out. Ran. Dove. Rolled into a squat.
Damon sat up, looking at Casey. “Man in the Middle.”
A black belt stepped into the center of the mat, while the rest took places around the edge. One of the other black belts went after the middle man with a kick. The middle man fended him off, taking him to his knees. Another attacked, ending up on his face. Rosemary stepped up, her fist out, and the black belt gently lowered her to the mat.
Damon nodded at Casey. She attacked from the side, a kick to the black belt’s ribs. He grabbed her leg, flipping and pinning her. She hopped up.
Each student took a turn defending against attackers. Finally, it was Casey’s turn. She stepped to the middle, arms loose at her sides, nerves tingling.
She heard the first one coming from the back, felt his arm coming around her throat. She positioned her hip under his waist, lifted, and flung him to the ground, circling around, ready for the next.
He came from the front, fist to her face. She fended off the punch, twisting his arm to take him down.
Another from the back, who ended up on his side.
From the front.
From the side.
Rosemary came at her, eyes sparkling, and Casey twisted her to the floor.
Finally, it was Damon’s turn.
He struck without warning, an open hand to her jaw. She parried his arm away, punched twice in his ribs, deflected his arm with her elbow and swung it backward, enclosing his wrist in her hand and twisting his arm. He dropped to his knees and she pulled him forward, spinning him to the ground, a knee on his shoulder, his hand twisted backward, his face in the mat.
He slapped the mat twice with his free hand.
She let go.
He stood, that same smile on his lips, and bowed slightly. Casey bowed back.
“Drink,” he said.
The others peeled off, toward the drinking fountain, but kept their attention on Casey and Damon, who stood eye to eye on the mat.
“You have studied before,” Damon said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You wear a white belt.”
“Out of respect for your dojang, sir.”
He nodded. “Where did you study?”
She hesitated. “At a reputable school, sir.”
“Yes. I see that.” He bowed again. “A drink.”
“Yes, sir.”
She hadn’t brought a water bottle, but found an old drinking fountain in the hallway.
“What was that?” Rosemary screeched in her ear.
Casey shrugged.
“You didn’t tell me you were a black belt.”
Casey stood up, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “It’s white today.”
