As the smile spread across Kilpatrick’s face, he thought it was about time something good happened to him for a change.
Three
“When he went down… man, I couldn’t even believe it,” Reed said, trailing me as I paced the yard the next morning. “I mean, mind-blown. Ker-boom!” He reached his scrawny hands to his temple and splayed his fingers, mimicking a blast.
“These things happen,” I said. “Don’t count on someone saving your ass next time you get harassed.”
He fell silent, and I winced as I neared the fence that separated us from the outside world. My ribs were sore, and my torso reflected a calico pattern of green-gray bruises. I leaned against a building and surveyed the enclosure. Other kids huddled in clusters, their breath forming vapor clouds in the crisp autumn morning.
Reed mirrored my pose against the wall: one leg propped under me, arms crossed. Ever since I'd arrived, he’d been fascinated with me and a constant shadow. Most days, he was the only human being who talked to me. Annoyed at first, I’d grown used to his lingering presence. He was all right, despite being a year younger. A scrawny thing, he was at least ten pounds underweight. The splotchy birthmark on his cheek didn’t help him blend in.
It bugged me when the older kids picked on him. After witnessing bullies trip, shove, and punch him, I had to stand up when Marc pantsed him in the yard. The last straw. Now those kids would think twice about messing with Reed. Marc hadn’t shown his face since the fight. It figured. Bullies were usually cowards deep down.
After a few minutes, Reed said, “How did you learn to fight so well?”
I shrugged. “The streets.”
“You’re from New York, right?”
I nodded. “Hell’s Kitchen.”
His eyes widened. “Whoa. Sounds rough.”
“It was.” I pushed off from the wall, breathing through the sharp pain it caused me and trod along my normal circuit—the outskirts of the yard where I could avoid the others.
“You wanna talk about it?” He trailed just behind me, then jogged to catch up to my side.
I sighed. I didn’t discuss my old life with the administrators or social workers, and other kids had never asked me since I avoided everyone. Here was my first opportunity to confide my past. “I used to run with a tough crowd. We were all young. We didn’t have parents, so we looked after each other.”
“Was it a gang?”
“You could call it that. We broke the law sometimes—when we had to. When we needed to eat or help those who got sick.” I kicked the dirt with my boot. “That’s how I got busted and wound up here. They caught me trying to steal medicine from the pharmacy for a sick girl.”
“Where did you live?” He raised his eyebrows. “On the streets?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I smiled. “We found an old abandoned post office. Our home base. A girl—she was a few years older than me—Joanie, she taught me self-defense.”
Out of breath, Reed struggled to match my gait. “Can you teach me all the moves, too?”
I mulled it over. The kid could use a few self-preservation tactics. Who knew how long I’d be around to stick up for him? My track record for staying in one place wasn’t good. “Reed, I’m not sure how long I’ll be in this center. They usually transfer me after a few weeks. Now that I beat up one of the biggest kids here, they’re probably drawing up the paperwork to kick me out.”
He lowered his chin. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Exactly.” I glanced at him and saw his slumped shoulders.
“I’ll miss you, Ida. You’re my only friend here.” He paused. “You’re my only friend ever.”
I halted in mid-step. “Jesus. Ok, first lesson. You ready?”
He faced me, a gleam in his eyes. “Ready.”
“Lesson number one: stand tall and stick up for yourself. Never let your enemy see your fear.”
“But I’ve never—”
“You have to take some punches. Show the bullies that you’re tough.” I crossed my arms.
“I’ve taken my share of punches already.”
“So if you’re going to get hit anyway, you might as well go down fighting, Reed.”
He wrinkled his forehead. “But what if they hurt me worse than if I stayed quiet?”
“That’s a loser outlook. You’re going to fight back and show them you’re not just an easy target.” I opened my arms. “Look at me. Aim for the weak spots on a person: throat, eyes, and crotch. Behind the knees are tender, too.”
He nodded and studied me.
“Mirror me. See how I stand?” I spread my feet wider and bent my knees in a slight curve. “See how this makes me ready to spring like a coil? I’m harder to push down and I can run away if I need to.”
Reed cautiously bent his knees and widened his stance. He bobbed up and down. “I see what you mean.” A grin spread across his face.
“Good. Now, raise your arms in front of you and make two fists,” I said, stepping closer.
“Okay.” He pressed his lips together as he thrust his small fists up before his chest.
“Go ahead and punch me.” I glanced around to make sure nobody in the yard was watching us.
“Uh, you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s ok. Do it.”
Reed pumped his lean arm forward, jabbing at my shoulder.
“Not bad. Now go for the throat. Turn your fist like this when you hit.”
He obeyed and threw his fist at my throat. I blocked it. “Good!” His eyes lit up with a newfound confidence.
A shrill, static crackling pierced our concentration. The loudspeaker blared: “Attention, attention. Ida Sarek, report to Mr. Kilpatrick’s office
