“Oh” is all I can manage to say. I guess, deep down, I thought she was texting me so she could finally kick Rika the Biter out of the dojo after all these years. But why was that my assumption? Sensei Mary has always defended me fiercely, has seen certain potential in me when no one else has.
“Who would get all petty about that anyway?” Eliza scoffs. “Oh, wait, I just listened to those words come outta my mouth and realized that Asians are masters of being petty, so of course we would. But I never thought any of that, Rika—I thought you were mad at me.”
“N-no, of course not,” I manage. I can’t actually think of what to say. My instinct is to now apologize for trying to apologize, which doesn’t exactly seem like the thing to do.
“Rika-chan.” Sensei Mary gives me another smile and squeezes my shoulder. “We were very worried about you. Please respond to our texts next time.”
“Yeah,” Eliza says, nodding emphatically. “I really don’t want to worry that you’ve fallen headfirst off a cliff or something. Or that you’re off having amazing adventures and have suddenly decided you don’t need your best friend anymore.” She throws Henry a pointed look, and he just gives her a genial smile. He’s been quiet this whole time, giving me space to do whatever it is I’m doing.
I turn back to Eliza and Sensei Mary, who are both smiling at me in a way that’s so open. It reminds me of the trust-fall drill Sensei Mary had us do when we were little, wherein your sparring partner stands behind you and you have to fall backward, hoping they’ll catch you. I’d stand there for at least a few full minutes, my body tensing up, unwilling to take the chance. No matter who was standing behind me, I was always worried I was about to land flat on my ass. How could I just know someone was going to catch me?
Eliza used to call out: “Don’t worry, Rika, I will catch you! Just let yourself fall!”
I could always hear that same open smile in her voice. It’s what gave me the courage to let my feet slip from under me, to experience that terrifying moment of being weightless in the air.
And Eliza did catch me. Every time.
Looking at them now, hearing what they’re saying . . .
I matter to them.
Maybe it’s weird that I never quite realized it before. Henry’s words float through my head: it’s like you think people are going to throw you away.
But seeing those smiles on their faces, I realize: they’ve both been trying like hell to hold on to me. They’re still going to catch me—every time.
“I . . . sorry,” I say, laughing a little—I can’t help but apologize for my apology, it seems. “Thank you for checking up on me, and I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your texts. I did not fall off a cliff.” I gesture to my clearly-not-falling body. “But the last few days have been a lot. And I promise to tell you everything later,” I say, as Eliza opens her mouth to protest. “But for now, I need your help with something.” I step a little to the side and make a sweeping gesture toward Henry. “This is Henry. And he needs to learn judo.”
“Honored to meet you, Sensei,” Henry says, giving a slight bow. It’s so dorky, I have to stifle a laugh.
“I think we can take care of that,” Sensei Mary says, her gaze narrowing as she sizes Henry up. “I have a beginning class for older teens and adults. It meets weekly—”
“We actually need something a little more, ah, immediate,” I say hastily. “Henry has an audition tomorrow where he’ll need to show off some martial arts moves. I thought you could teach him a couple basics? Like, right now?”
“Mmm, I can do that,” Sensei Mary says, still studying Henry very intently. “But he’ll need a sparring partner so I can instruct and correct his form.”
“Oh . . .” I turn to Eliza, who is still in her judogi.
“I, um, have to go!” she says brightly, giving me a shrewd look and an overly grand wave. “Sorry. But I’m sure someone here can spar with Henry.”
Before I can respond, she’s skipping off, still waving merrily at me.
“It’s all you, kiddo,” Sensei Mary says, gesturing to the mats.
“Oh, I’m . . . I’m not dressed right, I didn’t bring my kit,” I say, motioning to my hapless outfit. I’m wearing an old Katsu That T-shirt and basketball shorts again. Plus I haven’t done anything resembling judo in the last few days, so I’m not exactly at my best. My muscles feel cold and stiff, like they don’t even remember exactly what they’re supposed to do.
“There’s no one else,” Sensei Mary says, gesturing to the now-empty dojo. The five-year-olds have all been scooped up by their parents. “Come on, this is an informal-type lesson, take your shoes off and get on the mat—we’ll warm up.”
“I . . .” I gaze out at the mat, which suddenly seems weirdly intimidating, a vast expanse of soft blue foam.
“Rika.” Henry clasps my hand again. I try to quell my blush, but I can feel Sensei Mary’s eyes on us, taking in our every move. “Come on, help me—please. We can do a trade: you teach me how to spar, and I’ll teach you how to dance so you can be ready for the gala.”
“Oh, thank god,” Sensei Mary says, rolling her eyes skyward. “Someone needs to teach Rika-chan
