Bare feet, bow to the old guy, then Docker shows me how to do the ready stance, make a fist, and snap out a punch. Front stance, stepping punch, and downward block come next, all of which have fancy Japanese names and all of which have to be done just so. Then he shows me the rising block. My brain’s on overload, I’ll never dare use any of this against Floyd, and every time Docker touches me—adjusting my arm, my fist, or my posture—all I want to do is run for the door. Which I might be able to do marginally faster than last week.

At the end of the session, he says, “We’ll meet again on Monday. Practice, Brick, that’s the key. Every day if you can. I’ll loan you a book with photos of everything we’ve done so far. And I want you to read up on the philosophy behind karate.” He looks me right in the eye. “Self-defense. Respect your opponent.”

I’d agree to anything right now.

After we bow our way out the door, he gives me the book and drops us off at the end of his driveway. As we walk home, I say to Cassie, “Going to Docker’s gym, that’s our secret. If Floyd finds out, you won’t be able to play with the store again.”

“Rover paid $100 for Cheerios.”

I hide the book and the weights in my closet, cook supper for me and Cassie, and we eat at the dining-room table. Floyd doesn’t come home until I’m loading the dishwasher. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV. Ultimate Fighting.

*

FRIDAY, FLOYD leaves for work early, which means I can run before it gets too warm. I don’t want him to know I’ve taken up running. The less he knows about me, the better.

Although Docker and I didn’t seem to do much at the dojo, muscles I didn’t know I owned are letting me know I do own them. Cassie’s having a hissy fit as I lace my old sneakers.

“I want to go to Marigold’s to play with Caramel.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Because Tully thinks I’m pond scum. “I’m going for my run, then after breakfast we’ll drive to the library. Or the beach. You like the beach.”

“Can we take Caramel to the beach?”

“We’ll go shopping later on. I’ll buy you a present.”

Opal has already left money in the jar for new sneakers, even though I leaned on her about Floyd and about babysitting as well. I’ll never figure her out.

The whine escalates. “Caramel! I want Caramel.”

“Shut up, Cassie! Opal’s upstairs if you need anything and I’ll be back in half an hour.”