Still, he felt the eyes of Sensei Melissa and Sempai Tyler, her assistant instructor, on him more than the others. They were always watching the students. No doubt evaluating their short-comings. And Jaime knew he had plenty. In the dojo, that didn’t matter. He could spend his whole life working on being a better karate-ka without feeling like he was wasting his time.
* * * *
“What do you think, Tyler, wheat or chaff?” Sensei Melissa asked as her keen green eyes scanned the students. They watched while Randy led the class in a one-step sparring drill.
Tyler, a second-degree black belt and assistant instructor, was familiar with this conversation. He didn’t have to ask who Sensei was talking about. Instead, his eyes focused on the pair at the far end of the dojo. Sarah—a brown belt, one test away from her black belt—corrected the stance of the dojo’s newest student, Jaime. Tyler watched and tried to figure out how best to answer Sensei’s question.
In many respects, Jaime was like any other fumbling white belt. He struggled to learn in a few classes what would take a lifetime to master. Even though he looked like the last person who would want to join a martial arts school, he had so many qualities most new students lacked. His long brown bangs streaked with blonde highlights obscured his face every time he bowed, which was often. It wasn’t only his looks or extreme politeness that made Jaime standout. In his first three months at the dojo, he had attracted a lot of attention and not all of it positive.
“He hasn’t missed a class since he started.” Tyler picked his words carefully.
So few students who put on a white belt stuck around for more than a few weeks. Sensei Melissa had taught Tyler to parcel out knowledge in small increments. The students who stayed the longest learned the most. It took years of training just to get halfway decent at karate, and the hardest challenges always came from within. Most students were more eager to face an opponent in sparring than face their personal demons.
“His etiquette and protocol are impeccable.” Even as Tyler complimented Jaime, the white belt stumbled over his own feet.
Sensei Melissa nodded. “Five years in a traditional judo dojo will do that.”
That explained it. Etiquette and protocol were harder to teach than any kick or block, especially to the students who dreamed of fighting in the octagon. Jaime knew when to bow and even how deep—a rare skill among even the brown belt ranks. His Japanese terminology was better than most of the students who outranked him. All these qualities and his perseverance should have made Jaime the ideal student.
Tyler let the unspoken but hang in the air. He had seen Jaime cringe when Sensei Melissa called to switch partners. He had first noticed the problem two weeks ago. Since then, he’d been trying to figure out how to handle the situation without singling out Jaime and making things worse.
“He has trouble working with some of the students,” Tyler said finally as they watched the students working on their katas.
Sensei Melissa watched Jaime closely with a neutral expression that didn’t betray the concern Tyler knew she had for each one of her students. “Until he respects himself, he won’t be able to earn the respect of others.”
By the end of class, Tyler knew he had to help Jaime stand up for himself. It was the best way for Jaime to find his place in the dojo. His eagerness in class and attention to detail reflected his love of martial arts. But when it came to working with the guys in class, Jaime looked like he wanted to fall through the floor. That meek attitude only encouraged the other guys to be rough with him. Tyler was positive if Jaime could be helped out of his shell, Tyler would find a great martial artist.
Until Jaime faced the fears holding him back, he would never be able to progress in his training—and, worse, he could be a danger to himself or anyone he worked with. A halfhearted technique could be more dangerous than one given with full intent, especially when sparring. A grin spread across Tyler’s lips. Sparring was the answer. It was the quickest way to force Jaime to face his fears and start to build his confidence.
“Someone’s feeling froggy.” Randy walked up to Tyler, no doubt seeing the grin on his face. They’d trained too long together not to know when the other was itching for a match. “Should I get my sparring gear?”
It was a tempting offer. They had sparred every class leading up to Randy’s black belt grading. Both Tyler and Randy regularly left the dojo with cuts, bruises, and shit-eating smiles.
“Weren’t you supposed to go to the law school interview mixer with Sarah?”
An impatient Sarah stood by the door, trying to look fascinated by the dojo calendar.
“Yeah, she’s really excited about getting to the final round of interviews. Maybe I can get five minutes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tyler said. He wasn’t about to risk putting his best friend in the doghouse. “Besides, I was thinking of getting the new guy out on the mats.”
“That’s a great idea,” Randy said with an approving nod. “Being the new white belt is never easy.”
“It’s harder for some than others,” Tyler agreed. He remembered how often he thought about quitting before he found his stride.
“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” Randy said and wiggled his eyebrows.
“You still are.” Tyler delivered a quick shot to the arm that Randy deflected. The two exchanged a couple of punch and block combos before calling a truce.
“He isn’t completely without skill.” Randy motioned toward Jaime.
Tyler watched Jaime practicing his basic techniques in the mirrors. Each time he made a mistake he shook his head and started over. Even the tiniest of flaws a white belt would be expected to make caught his eye.
“I remember you having two left feet and nearly knocking yourself out with a
