In the end, Nell was nearly late for her self-defense class at the dojang. She had to rush through getting changed — nearly everyone was already out on the mats, stretching — and was still in the process of tying her hair back as she left the changing room, just as they were called to line up.
“Where’ve you been, Whelan?” someone whispered from the row behind her. “You’re usually the first one here.” Fortunately, good discipline didn’t allow for talking during bow-in, so Nell could justifiably ignore the question.
The class was not a particularly successful one for her. Because she hadn’t stretched, she felt tight and unprepared, and while doing shoulder rolls at one of the warm-up stations she pulled something in her lower back — nothing major, but it was enough to give her stabbing twinges of discomfort as she kept on with the class. She took an accidental elbow to the jaw as they practiced countering chokes, hard enough that it would probably develop into a pretty bruise. Just what I need for job interviews. But some training sessions went that way; there would always be low points to go with the high points.
“Where’s Master Simran, sir?” she asked Mr. Kahn during the short break between self-defense and the next class. Usually, the dojang owner was around, in and out of the office, even if he wasn’t teaching.
“He and Mr. Price have gone to an instructors conference in Hawai‘i, remember?” Mr. Kahn said. “So I’m in charge ’til they get back next week — Acting Chief Instructor, that’s me!”
Crap. Once he’d mentioned it, she remembered some discussion of the conference in their instructors’ meeting at the beginning of the month. She hadn’t paid attention to the dates since it didn’t directly affect her. “Right. Well, I’m available if you need any classes covered. I was going to ask Master Simran about picking up some extra hours.”
“I think we’re good, but I’ll keep that in mind.” Mr. Kahn finger-combed his hair into place and gave his belt a tug to tighten the knot. “We’d better get this class started. Could you line them up, Miss Whalen?”
“Yes, sir.”
As Mr. Kahn led the warm-up, Nell glanced at the class planner, noticing that she’d been given the intermediate color belt group in the children’s class and then the junior color belts in the teen class. It’s just as well I wasn’t given any senior belts tonight, she told herself. Her back ached, and it wouldn’t have been fun to demonstrate hook kicks or jump round kicks like that. But powering through discomfort was a point of pride with her.
During the break between classes, she snuck an extra-strength ibuprofen caplet from the little first aid kit in her bag, making sure none of the other instructors saw. She’d been late, she hadn’t stretched, and a pulled muscle was a natural consequence, but being teased for it by Riley Kahn or any of the others would not make her day any better, and concern or advice would be much worse.
The next class was often not an easy one, with teens who could bring a lot of energy to the dojang and didn’t always channel it in productive ways. It was best to keep them busy.
Halfway through the class, she glanced over at the door, and there was Eamonn — a bit early to pick her up. Early is good. Did he want to watch her teaching, then, or was he just impatient to see her? Either of those things could be positive if she let herself feel optimistic. She saw Mr. Kahn notice and nod a greeting in Eamonn’s direction, or maybe it was a nod of approval.
She could feel a smile spreading across her face, and quickly turned it on her students. “You’ve been working super hard this cycle, and I see most of you have got all three stripes on your belts, so we’re going to break some boards today!”
The immediate “yes, ma’am” response, disciplined and enthusiastic, was gratifying. Today she could show Eamonn the admirable, socially acceptable side of martial arts — working with young people, inspiring them to find their confidence and personal victories. Board breaks were an excellent way to do that.
After she’d checked their technique on a target to make sure they were doing their front kicks correctly and safely, she explained the rotation — bow to the instructor and ask permission, break the board, then take a turn holding it with her for the next student. She could have asked for a couple of students from the senior belt group to come over and hold the board, but it was good training for the juniors to learn how to hold as well as break. The intermediate group was sparring, and some of her students’ eyes were focused there instead of on her and the boards, so she called them to attention and reminded them that it didn’t matter what the other groups were up to; even a white belt should be demonstrating black belt focus and self-control. She herself would not look over to see what the sparring group was up to, even if they did sound rambunctious and the thumps of hard contact suggested they were a bit out of control. Not my group. Not my place to interfere.
She took a solid stance and coached the young woman holding the board with her on how to get into position and lock up. She prompted the first breaker, who’d forgotten what to say when requesting permission to break. The impact of the unsuccessful kick against the board made her back protest, but she kept her encouraging-instructor expression at full glow. “Don’t worry, we’ll just reset the board — say ‘second attempt, ma’am’ — and you’ll have it this time if you use your hips.” This time he was successful, so he came to hold the board with her for the next student.
As they locked up for the next student’s kick, there was a shout
