TWO HOURS later, Della inspects what I’ve done. She makes me clip around the herb garden again, but that’s all. “Excellent,” she says. “I’ll get your money.”

She gives me three crisp, new ten-dollar bills. “Phone me or drop by in four or five days, and we’ll set the date for the next mowing,” she says. “Thank you, Brick.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, suave as Mr. Semple.

At four o’clock I take the ATV to town, deposit my thirty dollars in the bank, and go to the dojo for my second lesson.

How many times today have I broken The Law According to Floyd?

8.1 [kiai]

DOCKER’S WAITING for me. “Neat haircut,” he says. “We’ll warm up and go through last week’s moves.”

Soon as I make a fist, he’s onto me, unfolding my palm. “What’s this? A for-real ATV accident?”

“Fell. Running.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Brick. Anything said in this room stays here.”

For once, I was telling the truth. Although not the whole truth. Talking fast, I tell him how I caught Igor.

“Good for you,” he says, then fetches two elasticized bandages that he slips over the Band-Aids on my hands.

“Front stance,” he says, all business. “Zenkutsu-dachi.”

After we go over the downward block and the rising block, he shows me the outside block that I’ve been practicing on my own. I catch on fast. He’s pleased, I can tell.

Next is the back stance, which is tricky, and the knife-hand block, shuto-uke. I like shuto-uke because it’s another block that protects the solar plexus. By the time we’re done, I’m sweating. He’s not finished, though.

“We’ll do a series of stepping punches,” he says. “Kiai on the third punch.”

Kiai is a loud martial shout that helps with breathing, scares the heck out of your opponents, and focuses power. The first time, a feeble croak comes out of my mouth. Three more punches, and I try again. Another sick-crow sound. Once more, same result.

I keep trying. I do. But there’s a band around my throat and AQ’s hitting the roof. Docker says quietly, “It wouldn’t hurt to let it all out.”

Anxiety flips into rage—I want to hit him so bad I can taste it. He says, unsmiling, “Lotta anger in you. This might be the safest place for you to get rid of it. Go ahead, Brick. I can look after myself.”

But the moment has passed. “I can’t stay much longer,” I mumble. “I have to pick Cassie up at Rolf’s.”

“Try kiai at home,” he says, as if nothing happened. “You’re doing fine—making real progress.”