Page 40

TOMMY

“Hands up, buddy.” I stand on my knees and hold the kick pads for a ridiculously clumsy Franklin Page.

It’s cruel, in a way, that Alana would devastate me with her words and still allow her son to come to the gym.

It’s a vicious taunting, allowing me to spend time with him one-on-one, learning his quirks even when he hardly speaks, and looking into his eyes, even when he struggles to make eye contact.

The fact he’s still here, taking part in the classes I insist on coaching, and partnering with me when we run drills is, in a sick, warped way, probably a compliment.

Instead of tearing him out of my life and hiding away at her mother’s home— out of sight, out of mind —she trusts me not to hurt him, despite the pain she and I share and in spite of the shitty father figure I had growing up.

It’s not like I’m working with much here.

Still, it’s been two weeks since she destroyed my heart— again —but she plays nice at the end of each class, neither rushing her son out the door nor does she linger once he’s done.

She doesn’t scowl or sneer or say a damn word other than hello and goodbye .

She doesn’t growl when I walk a little closer than I probably need to.

And when I stare, she doesn’t even seem to get pissy about it.

She’s perfectly neutral .

And I fuckin’ hate it.

“You need your left foot forward,” I coach, tapping Franky’s left knee and dragging it my way when he attempts to move the right.

I meet his eyes and smile. Because his cheeks warm and the thought that such a smart little boy would mistake left for right probably makes him feel silly.

He’s not silly. He’s just not athletically gifted.

“Then you put your left fist here.” I grab his wrist and place it where I want it. “That’s for hitting. Use your shoulder for blocking. Bring your right fist up, too, but it’ll go second.”

“Why do you always pick me when we need a partner?” He ruins my placements, dropping his guard and pushing his glasses up his nose. “Every single time.”

“Because we have an odd number of students. Here.” I draw his fists up again. “You need a left jab, then a right hook. Can you show me that?”

“Chris is partnering with Molly.” He neither jabs nor hooks. “If you don’t partner with me, and he doesn’t partner with Molly, then we have an even number again.”

“Well… do you want to partner with Molly?”

Together, we peer across and watch the little shit dive over my brother and trap his neck in a choke. She’s too small to do any damage. But fuck, she’s got the right enthusiasm. She’ll get him someday.

Franky’s lips flatten into straight lines. “No, but?—”

“Exactly. So put your hands up and show me the combo I asked for.”

“Did you ever meet Mas Oyama?”

“Did I…” Stunned, I lower my hands. “What?”

“Mas Oyama. He was the founder of Kyokushin Karate.” He looks me up and down with an unimpressed sweep of his eyes. “It’s a full-contact style of karate. As a full-contact fighter, I would expect you to know that.”

“I know who Mas Oyama is! How do you know who that is?”

“I read a book about it.” He strikes out with a left jab, grazing my jaw and grinning. I’ve been bamboozled. My hands weren’t up . “Did you meet him?”

“No. Did you?”

He straightens his legs and searches my eyes. Like fuck, Tom. Are you really that stupid ? “He died before I was born. Of course I didn’t meet him.”

“Oh, well…” I grab his wrists and reset him again. “Just checking. Left-left-right, let’s go. ”

“In Japanese, did you know Kyokushin means the ultimate truth?”

“Mmhm.” I pull his hand forward and make him perform the movements before I’m forced to admit I might be a shit teacher. “Read that in your book, too?”

“Uh-huh. You do MMA when you compete for money, but Chris told me you learned Kyokushin Karate. That it’s your favorite style.”

“Sure is.” Left-left-right . “It’s the best style. Mas Oyama was a legend.” Left-left-right . “Can you try a left, right upper hook, right middle hook?”

“Do you know what ironic means?”

I sit back on my haunches and try, so fucking hard, to understand. “What?”

“According to Merriam-Webster, ironic means?—”

“I know what ironic means!” Jesus . The kid thinks I have meatballs for brains.

Which, now that I think about it, is probably why his mother dumped me and married a dude who went to college.

“Are you gonna quiz me every single day we’re in here?

Or can I have a day off soon where I don’t feel like an idiot? ”

“Oh. So you do know.” Damn, Tom, I underestimated you. My bad . “So, since we both know what irony means, I guess I want to know why Kyokushin means the ultimate truth, but you and my mom keep lying to me every time I ask a question.”

“What?” I cast my eyes to the right, to the rest of our class who work independently of us, then to the left, where Alana sits by the wall with a paperback novel folded over at the spine, her eyes glued to the page and not on us. Then I bring my focus back to Franklin. “What do you mean?”

“When my mom cries, and I ask her what’s wrong, but she says nothing . That’s a lie.”

She cries?

“When I ask about you partnering up with me in class, and you say we have odd numbers when we don’t. That’s a lie.”

“Well—”

“When I ask Grandma Bitsy if she’s sick, but she says she’s not and that I don’t have to worry, that’s a lie. And when I ask Chris why my mom is so mad at you, and he says he doesn’t know and that I shouldn’t worry about it, that’s a lie, too.”

Fuck.

“When I ask Eliza why she’s mad at my mom, and she says she’s not—but she totally is—that’s a lie.”

“Franky… ”

“When everyone in Plainview says how proud they are of your gym since you’re famous and all that, but your gym is founded on Kyokushin—which is the ultimate truth—it’s ironic.

Because everyone is always talking about someone else, and most of the time, the things they say aren’t even the truth.

They think I’m not listening because I’m a kid.

But I am. Everything here is a lie. Plainview is a lie. ”

Can’t argue there, buddy. This place is a fuckin’ shithole.

“Anyway…” He throws his combo, smacking me in the jaw and following it with an awkward hook to my ribs.

“Mrs. Middler says she doesn’t want to sell the bookstore, but then Caroline says she does.

And Grandma Bitsy says Oliver and Eliza’s sister isn’t a real doctor, but I looked her up on the internet, and she totally is. Not all doctors work in a hospital.”

“No.” I draw a deep breath, filling my lungs. “Not all doctors work in the hospital.”

“And I heard that Oliver ran down the street with no pants one time. But when I asked Caroline, she laughed and said she didn’t think that was true. That was a lie.”

“Yeah.” I choke out a bubbling laugh. “He really did that. And Caroline was there, so she definitely knows it’s true. She was probably just trying to retain Ollie’s modesty or something.”

“Everyone in this town lies,” he grits out. “Every single person. And since I don’t lie, I thought maybe Chris wouldn’t because we’re kinda the same sometimes.”

“The same?”

“Yeah, like, we’re both autistic. Though Mom says he isn’t diagnosed, so I shouldn’t say so out loud.”

Curious, I cast my eyes around and stop on my brother.

“Chris doesn’t like to wear shoes, and I don’t like to wear shoes.

He likes to read, and I like to read. He has fun facts, and I have fun facts.

He likes math, and I like math. And my mom says he’s a really good chess player, too.

I’m the best chess player I know. Mom says I remind her of Chris a lot, and we even have the same color hair.

And we both like olives, but we hate cheese. Neither of us has ACHOO Syndrome.”

My heart thunders with a deep, dark ache as I slowly bring my eyes back around. “I’m sorry… ACHOO Syndrome?”

“Yeah. We don’t sneeze when we look at the sun.”

“You don’t? ”

“Nope! And neither does Chris. I asked him, and then we tested it the other day.”

“Oh, well…” Can’t say I’ve ever noticed. “Alright.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m weird, and no one will want to be my friend when I start at my new school after the summer.

And it’s not like I even want to hang out with other people.

Kids my age climb trees or ride skateboards or whatever.

I don’t enjoy doing those things. My mom said I’m not weird at all, that my personality is my personality, and my real friends will come along eventually, and until then, she’ll be my friend. ”

She was that for me and Chris, too. Our friend, even when we had no others. Our safety, when no one else wanted to be near us.

“Moms are supposed to say those things,” he insists.

“That’s her job. And I know she gets sad when I’m sad, so I stopped talking about all of this ages ago.

But then I met Chris, and I thought maybe that’s what my life would be like when I’m a grown-up.

He has friends, and he likes his job, but he’s also quiet and still reads and doesn’t wear shoes if he doesn’t have to.

I thought it was nice to meet a grown-up autistic person, even if I didn’t tell him he’s autistic. ”

“Er… right.”

“But then he told a lie. Which means he’s not like me at all.

” He exhales a long sigh. “He’s just like everyone else here.

A liar . So now I think I’m weird again.

And even if I don’t like people, it makes me sad that I’ll be the only kid at my new school with no friends.

Sitting alone is no fun when it wasn’t your choice in the first place. ”

“No…” Which is probably why he wants to be paired with Molly again. Or someone else. Anyone else. For the love of God, the boy just wants to make a friend before summer is over.

I push up to my knees again, but I twist and wait for my brother to tap under Molly’s assault.

“Chris.” I lift my chin in summons when his eyes come up.

But before he arrives, I bring my focus back to Franky.

“I’m sorry I lied to you. And Chris will be, too.

If he told a lie, it was because he was trying to do the right thing.

And since we’re on the topic, I bet your mom is the same.

He,” I point Chris’s way, “and her,” I point to Alana, “they were my best friends for a really long time. They’re still the best people I know.

Sometimes adults feel like they have to tell a lie because it’s our job to protect kids from grown-up truths.

And I know that’s frustrating to you because you’re only nine, but your brain makes you feel a hell of a lot older. ”

“Hey.” Chris stops on my right, towering over us until he moves into a crouch. “What’s up?”

“We’re gonna pair Franky and Molly together.

And then Franky and Sean. Then Franky and Mike, since Mike is nine, too.

” I meet my brother’s eyes. “The summer will be over soon, and he needs to know who his peers are so he’s not so lonely when school starts.

Molly?” I wave her across. “I’ll keep close,” I whisper for Franky, “in case she tries to kill you.”

His eyes widen in terror.

“She’ll be on her best behavior, I promise. If you make Molly Jenkins tap before the school year begins, you’ll be the king of the cage.”

“King of the school .” Chris chuckles. “We don’t call it a cage anymore.

Principal Fowler specifically asked us to stop because it was creating a negative connotation in students’ minds .

” He shuffles aside and gives Molly room to plop into our space.

“You got this, Page. You inherited some of the toughest DNA known to man.”

“You’re gonna roll with him,” I tell Molly. But then I point two fingers at my eyes, then I do the same in her direction. “I’m watching you, girly pop. And I’m ready to throw down if you try to turn this into WWE.”

“You’re being silly.” She moves to her knees, knowing already what Franky doesn’t.

That that’s where we initiate a round on the mats.

Then she offers her hand and waits for him to tap it to get them started.

“Fun fact,” she teases, taunting him with a grin.

“I’m probably going to get you in an arm bar.

So keep your chicken wings tight, and don’t give me your back.

Follow those rules, and you’re gonna be just fine. ”

“I changed my mind.” Franky’s panicked eyes swing back to me. “I’d rather sit alone.”

“Too late.” But I set my hand on his shoulder and gently coax him down to his knees. “I’m gonna be right here helping you. Molly’s ego is already too big, so I’m gonna tell you exactly what to do and how to humble her. We’ll tap this little turd out soon. I promise.”

“Little turd?” She dives on the poor boy and slams him to his back, taking mount and hooking her feet around his. She could whale on his face. Fists. Elbows. She could grab his arm and throw herself to the side, trapping him in an arm bar in less time than he takes to blink.

But she doesn’t.

Because damn, she’s a good kid. “You need to bridge now.” Softly, oddly sweet, she reaches back and pokes his hip. “I’m sitting up here, queen of my castle, where I could mess you up. So put your feet on the mats and shove up to knock me forward. ”

Worried, Franklin’s gaze swings my way. So I nod. She’s right, buddy .

“If I’m sitting up here, balanced, then my hands are free to hit you. But if you buck me forward and I have to use my arms to balance…”

“Then you have no weapons to hit me with.”

Franklin Page may not be a natural-born fighter. But he’s a thinker. A planner. He understands theory, and it’s clear Molly already knows that about him.

She flops forward, despite his lack of bucking, and places one hand on the mat beside his face. Then she grabs his wrist and shows him how to loop her arm. “Now you can lock me in. If you trap my arms and keep me off balance, I’m completely stuck. Then you’re in charge and can flip us over.”