Read Online White Ninja by Tiffiny Hall - Free Book Online Page B

you didn’t sign that kid up,’ he says.
    â€˜I’m so sorry,’ I say, looking at the slurpee dripping from his uniform.
    â€˜It’ll wash out.’ He smiles. ‘The problem is his, not mine. It’s an important life lesson to learn.’
    Jackson comes over. ‘Was that Hero?’ he says, looking at Sabomin’s uniform.
    â€˜How do you know him?’ I ask.
    â€˜We used to go to the same martial arts school,’ Jackson says. ‘Now we compete against each other in comp.’
    â€˜And who is he talking about?’
    Jackson’s eyebrows thread together in frustration. ‘The White Warrior,’ he says.
    Sabo interrupts. ‘May I talk to you in the trailer?’

EIGHT
    Jackson and I take a seat on the kick pads in the trailer. Sabomin stands in front of a pile of vertically stacked practice mats that looks like a giant wafer biscuit. When I woke up this morning, I didn’t expect to be spending my afternoon in a sweltering trailer with martial arts experts. But nothing about today has been normal.
    â€˜You killed that board,’ Sabomin says.
    My heart beats near my tonsils. I can’t speak.
    â€˜So,’ Sabomin says, ‘tell me if any of this sounds familiar. Dizziness, hot flushes, nausea, your hands and torso start flashing invisible and suddenly you can fight like Jackie Chan?’
    The air sucks out of the trailer, my stomach squelches, my hands slide down to my knees with sweat. Nervousness creeps all over me as panic climbs in my chest. ‘Um,’ I stutter, my cheeks stinging with a vicious blush. Jackson will think I’m a freak, a total weirdo, if I admit to flashes of invisibility.
    â€˜You, my girl, have the symptoms of ninja,’ Sabomin says.
    Jackson slaps the back of his hand on his palm. ‘Textbook,’ he says. ‘Let’s take her down to the dojang and see what she can do!’
    His excitement is almost more than I can take. Instead of wanting to hide, I feel like running. But I stay where I am, for fear of leaving a sweat patch on the kick pad I’m sitting on.
    Sabomin points the tip of his belt out the door of the trailer. ‘To the dojang!’ he cries theatrically.
    Â 
    Squeezed next to Jackson in the front of the van, I relish every bump in the road that pushes our knees together. My senses are brimming with his scent. I know I shouldn’t be in a van with a stranger — Mum would kill me. But Jackson makes me feel safe. Protected.
    Sabo pulls up in the forecourt of a service station. ‘We’re here,’ he says.
    â€˜To fill up?’ I ask.
    â€˜No.’ Jackson leans over me to open the door and his hair brushes against my cheek. ‘To fight.’
    Nerves seize my stomach. I’ve already fought once today, but that was a total fluke. I couldn’t possibly do it again. I don’t know how.
    The service station is ancient: petrol pumps without hose nozzles; an out-of-service car wash; an empty shop; graffitied concrete walls. I follow Sabo and Jackson around the back and down a driveway that leads to a blue building with a single black door and a red sticker saying Get your kicks here.
    â€˜You’re going to love this,’ Jackson says as he pulls the door open for me.
    I’m not so sure.
    I gasp as I enter the room. The floor is carpeted with spongy blue and red jigsaw mats. The walls are lined with sheets of white rice paper and etched with dark wooden beams that weave in intricate patterns up to the ceiling and spiral into a glass dome that infuses the room with a warm glow. The room contains every type of equipment you can imagine: kick bags hanging from the roof on chains, ladders, cones, bamboo sticks, swords, nunchucks and things I don’t recognise. I am in awe of this room. There is a peacefulness to it that makes you feel instantly serene.
    Jackson and Sabo bow as they enter.
    â€˜Welcome to the dojang,’ Sabomin says.