t, the other with Captain Marvel.
Reynaldo Valdez, the studio owner, was over at the counter. As Jen counted off front kicks, she caught Bird’s fluting voice. “. . . how much for a lesson? . . . Petra and Cleo, visiting from out of town.” She indicated Petra, tall and slender, her short, shiny blue-black hair swinging about her ears, and short, round Cleo, who wore the T-shirt depicting Elizabeth, the huge sort-of penguin from the anime. Cleo was already tying her cloud of ringlets back into a practical bun. Both girls wore leggings, which could easily serve as workout clothes.
“If you’ll just fill out this form, for legal coverage,” Master Reynaldo said.
Jen was afraid that that would put an end to the girls’ visit, as Master Reynaldo was scrupulous about such things, for both students and instructors’ protection. To her surprise, Doris took over and began filling out the forms. “Their guardian will be along soon to sign it,” Doris assured Master Reynaldo.
“Are you beginners?” Master Reynaldo asked, clearly doubting.
Cleo and Petra both shook their heads.
Jen found herself moving toward the counter. “I’ll take full responsibility for them,” she said, and couldn’t help the warmth she felt inside when the two wide-eyed faces broke into smiles.
“Well, this is a class for beginners, so there won’t be any sparring. Just practicing the forms. I will need a legal guardian’s signature if you take any more advanced class,” Master Reynaldo warned.
The girls both bowed, hands on their thighs, put their shoes in the cubby lining the opposite wall, and scampered inside, onto the studio floor. Here, they bowed to Jen.
“Must we do the stretches?” Cleo asked. “We are ready!”
Jen said, “I’ll tell you what I tell all my students. I realize that defending yourself on the street seldom allows you time to warm up, but it’s better for your body to stretch when you can.”
Cleo sighed. “Yes. So says our . . . kyrios.”
Petra said earnestly, “That means our teacher. It means boss, in our language.”
Cleo nodded, a few escaped curls bouncing. “Stretching is so bor-ring!” She rolled her ‘r’s. “But we will follow orders.”
“Great! Go ahead and join the class,” Jen said.
The girls went to the back, and matched the easy movements. It was clear to Jen that these girls were very experienced. When it came time to kick the practice dummy, the sharp thwack of their kicks impressed the rest of the class—and Jen noticed with approval that those who’d been tentative no matter how much she tried to get them to loosen up, began to put some real effort into their next round.
Jen divided her time between guiding the students, watching Cleo and Petra, and noting with surprise that both Doris and Bird had remained, sitting on the hard benches behind the low divider between the front area and the studio floor. She couldn’t remember them ever coming to the studio before.
The lesson for the day was getting out of an attacker’s grip on one’s wrists, and then breaking a neck hold. As usual, the teenagers jumped right in, but the older women were more cautious, terrified of hurting one another. Jen had them all practice on her as she pretended to menace them, until they loosened up enough to really try each move on their partner.
As the hour neared its end, the room filled with laughter, and satisfying thuds as they worked their forms. Cleo and Petra stayed with one another, impressing the other teens as they flipped one another and exchanged mock blows. Jen assessed them, not surprised to discover that they, like so many their age, preferred the flashier moves to the more basic ones that they had done so many times their muscle memory made them perfect. But that was part of practice, too.
To demonstrate, she moved in, and with a quick block here, and a hip throw there, tossed both of them just as they were trying a fancy maneuver. Cleo let out a whoop, and Petra a laugh as they hit the mat. Jen extended her hands to pull them to their feet, about to give them the lecture on saving the high kicks and jumping turns for demos, when she sensed an arrival.
It was as if spring sunlight flooded the room after a gloomy day of rain. Her entire body shimmered with awareness. Expectation.
Her back was to the door, but she knew it was Nikos Demitros. She had to concentrate to recover the words she’d spoken so many times. But the rhythm soon got her going in the familiar groove. She gave her talk, set them to one last round of form practice, and then dismissed the class.
Only then did she let herself look. And there he was, his dark, wavy hair tied back, framing the sculpted bones of his face. Deep-set eyes, a high bridged nose, a mouth whose line curved entrancingly, ending at shadowed corners, calling Greek statues to mind. She wondered idly what those lips would taste like. What would happen if she tongued those mouth corners, if he’d open up to her—
She shut down hard on that thought—and saw that Mikhail and Joey Hu had joined Doris and Bird.
Petra and Cleo scurried off the studio floor, each bowing correctly before they began pelting their guardian with a stream of chatter in their language. Jen made herself check that the practice equipment had been wiped down and stored correctly before she left.
When she was done, everybody was gone except Master Reynaldo (who began setting up for a weapons class for the advanced black belts) and the seven people who had so unexpectedly shown up. As Jen joined them, Bird said, “Do you have plans for lunch?”
Jen, who had intended to skip lunch as usual, said, “I’m free until five, when I have another class.” She tried not to stare after Nikos Demitros, who walked his two charges out, followed by Mikhail and Joey Hu.
Bird smiled. “Doris has her car out front. She can give you a ride. I have my bike.”
“Thanks,” Jen said. “But I’m in my practice gear still.” She indicated her T-shirt and yoga pants. “I should go home and get a shower.”
“We’ll be eating out on the terrace,” Bird said, and sniffed. “You’re fine!”