“I’m sorry,” he said. His face was sad, the way it had been after the fight.
They took off their sneakers in the foyer—Sean explained it was their custom not to wear shoes in the house—then made peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. The kitchen was clean and functional—not showy like the one in the Lone house, but more comfortable, and somehow more real. Sean poured them each a glass of milk, and they sat at a table overlooking a small, green backyard bracketed by a tool shed and a swing set. While they ate, Livia asked Sean all about jiu-jitsu. What he had done to that bully Eric was wondrous to her, magical, and she felt she had to learn everything she could before it was somehow taken away as suddenly as it had appeared.
Sean seemed to enjoy sharing his knowledge. He told her about what it meant to establish your base, and achieve a dominant position, and take away your opponent’s options until the only option left for him was to submit.
“Could you have really broken his arm?” Livia asked, still amazed.
Sean nodded. “But I’m glad he didn’t make me.”
“Your father would have been mad?”
Sean laughed, and Livia saw a little red creep into his cheeks underneath the freckles. It was the first time she had heard him laugh, and she liked it—there was something shy about it, as though his own laughter had startled him and he wasn’t sure he should trust it.
“My father taught me to fight because of bullies. He hates them. If I broke Eric’s arm, my father would probably give me a medal.”
Livia decided she liked Sean’s father. “Then you won’t get in trouble for what happened today?”
Sean shook his head, but his expression turned sad again. “No. He’ll be proud of me.”
Livia didn’t understand his ambivalence. “But aren’t you proud, too?”
“I . . .” his voice trailed off, and then he continued. “I wish they’d just leave me alone.”
“But sometimes they won’t leave you alone. Sometimes you have to make them.”
She hadn’t meant to respond so fiercely. But was there anything more true than that?
She heard the front door open. Sean looked up and called out, “Hey, Dad.”
A baritone voice came from the foyer. “Hey, tiger. How was your day?”
“It was okay. I have a friend here.”
The voice called, “Oh?”
A moment later, a handsome black man strode into the kitchen. He was tall and broad shouldered, the sleeves of his button-down shirt snug around his biceps, with posture as straight as a telephone pole. Livia was surprised, and realized she had been expecting Sean’s father to be Asian, since Sean had told her jiu-jitsu originally came from Japan, and for the mother to be black. She was also surprised by the man’s size, because Sean was so small.
The man stopped and looked at Livia. His eyebrows went up and his face broke into what looked to her like a surprised smile. “Well, hello there,” he said.
“Dad,” Sean said, “this is Livia. Can we train her in jiu-jitsu?”
Sean’s father laughed. “Could you maybe finish introducing us first?”
Sean reddened. “Um, Livia, this is my dad.”
Livia stood, as Nanu had taught her. She wanted to make a good impression so Sean’s father would agree to be her teacher. What was Sean’s last name again? Ueno . . . Uenoyama, that was it.
“Hi, Mr. Uenoyama. It’s nice to meet you.”
Sean’s father smiled. “Oh, Uenoyama is Sean’s mother’s name. Mine’s Freeman. Malcolm Freeman. But please, don’t even think about calling me Mr. Freeman, unless you want to make me feel old. You can just call me Malcolm, okay?”
Livia nodded. “Okay.”
“So you want to learn jiu-jitsu, Livia?”
“Yes,” Livia blurted out. “Please that.” She realized in her eagerness she had lapsed into a strange construction, so she amended. “Yes, please.”
“Well, it would be good for Sean to finally have a partner his own size, I’ll say that. How often can you train?”
Livia was surprised. She expected Sean would have had dozens of training partners. Hundreds. How could everyone not want to learn jiu-jitsu? She shook her head, not understanding the question. “As often as you can teach me.”
Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “Well, Sean and I train every day. And if you train every day, you’ll learn fast, that’s for sure. But do you have time with all your schoolwork? Is this going to be okay with your parents?”
Livia felt a bolt of panic. She hadn’t thought of that. Mr. Lone wouldn’t like her being out of the house so much, she knew that. And how would he ever allow her to learn something she could use to fight?
But she had to find a way. She had to.
Malcolm seemed to sense her unease. He said, “You want to talk to them first?”
“They’re not my parents,” she said, terrified she was making a mistake in telling him. “I’m . . . I stay with Mr. and Mrs. Lone.”