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CHAPTER 1

The first thing that hit me was the sound.

Screaming and banging from the kids who were already inside.

I stood in the hallway, just outside the dojo.

The thought of being tossed in with those rough kids made my stomach drop, flop and twist. It felt more like being thrown out of a plane than walking into my first aikido class.

The second thing to hit me was the smell.

I leaned a little closer, poked my nose through the doorway and sniffed. Sweet and funky at the same time. Like old gym socks.

"Go on, Riley," Dad said. "It's going to be fun!" He chopped at my neck. "HiYA!"

"Really, Dad?" I smacked his hand away. "A karate chop? This isn't even karate!"

My dad laughed. "C'mon, Riley, please give it a chance. I really think this will be good for you." He pulled his bag strap up on his shoulder and started down the hall. "I have some marking to do. I'll be on one of those couches in the lobby." He smiled and disappeared around the corner. I could hear his footsteps echoing.

I rubbed my neck where he had chopped me. Who knows? Maybe they did do karate chops in aikido.

Aikido chops?

I inched back up to the open door. I told myself that all I had to do was step through.

One step.

The voices got louder.

My heart pounded harder. My palms and back were suddenly sweaty. My eyes filled with water, making the puke-green mats swim a little. It was the start of a feeling that Mom had called "the Surge." Her hands had opened up wide when she described it. "It's when all your feelings rush up like one big tidal wave," she'd said.

"Surge is right. But for me it's not like a wave," I'd told her. "It's more like a burst of electricity hitting a robot, making all his springs pop loose and his eyes light up and his head spin around."

She'd laughed and then hugged me. She said that when her feelings rushed in like a wave, I could be her anchor. And when my feelings electrocuted me, she would be whatever it was that helped exploding robots.

That was before she left. Before her feelings surged up and carried her away. In her letter she tried to explain how bad it was when the Surge mixed with a whole other feeling called "the Shadow." She said she had some ideas about how to get better, but she didn't say what they were. Or when she'd be back.

Or if she'd be back.

It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like forever. The Surge had been hitting me a lot more since she left.

Dad didn't really get it. He called my feelings "anxiety." When Mom left he'd done what professors always do. He dragged me to the library. One book said that exercise could help anxious kids calm down. That night at dinner he'd read it out loud to me. "Physical activities such as aikido or yoga are especially good for easing a troubled young mind." He stopped to wipe taco crumbs off his face. "The traditional Japanese martial art of aikido, in particular, builds cooperation skills and confidence."

I'd put on my best professor voice. "Well, I, in particular, do not care what that book says."

My dad used a bit of taco shell to scrape up a blob of salsa from the table. "The book says aikido or yoga. So choose one. You can take a couple of days to think about it." He crunched into the shell and smiled. "Or I'll choose for you."

That night I couldn't fall asleep. I snuck out of bed and searched aikido on YouTube. I saw that it actually had some pretty awesome moves. Who cared about cooperation? This could make me invincible.

And one day, I'd be a black belt!

I grabbed my bathrobe off the floor. I pulled the belt out of its loops and tied it around my waist. I stood on the bed so I could see myself in the dresser mirror. Not bad!

I still had the belt on when I woke up the next morning.

When Dad came down for breakfast, I said, "Sign me up for aikido."

It had seemed like an easy choice. Now, standing outside the dojo, I realized something. If I wanted to earn a black belt, I was probably going to have to smash other kids to get it. But that meant the other kids who wanted their black belts were going to be smashing me.

The book Dad took out of the library should have been more specific about what "building cooperation skills" really meant.

I wondered if it was too late to switch to yoga.

Seriously, what was that smell?

I stretched my foot through the doorway and tested the mat. It squished when I pushed down with my big toe.

Here goes everything.

I stepped into the dojo and looked around. Black-and-white photographs of old Japanese men were hung up on the wall. Blue and red crash pads, bigger and puffier than bed mattresses, slouched in one corner. The walls themselves were white with a few scuffs and dents.

I stood up straight. I finally saw who had been making all the noise. Just two whole kids in the back corner.

On the one hand, I was relieved. If no other kids showed up, I'd only have to survive two boys. On the other hand, I had no idea how to talk to kids like that, kids with so much energy. One of them was taller than me. I put him in seventh or eighth grade. The shorter one was about my height but had big, square shoulders. Maybe a bit older than me — sixth grade? They looked so much alike they had to be brothers. They wore matching jogging pants and T-shirts. And they had matching haircuts too. Buzzed all the way down on the sides, long and floppy on top. Only the cool kids in my school had haircuts like that.

They were still yelling at each other and fighting with everything they had. That included exercise stuff from a set of plastic shelves they had knocked over. Colored balls, hoops and stretchy bands were scattered all around them. A hoop rolled my way, and I casually grabbed it, pretending I wasn't watching them. The shorter boy picked up an orange pylon and tried to smash it against the taller one's head. The taller boy jumped away and picked up a long, yellow elastic band. He whipped it at his brother's bare feet, making him dance around.

"You're going to need more than a plastic hoop if you plan to take on those two," said someone behind me.

I jumped. I turned to see a girl leaning against the back wall. I hadn't noticed her when I came in. She was wearing the same kind of martial arts uniform as me. Except hers obviously hadn't come out of its plastic package right before class.

Her uniform looked broken in. She had her arms crossed, and I could see that her cuffs were pretty worn. Mine were thick and hard. And my sleeves were so long they came all the way down to my fingertips. Her jacket and pants were white, but not blinding. Mine were so bright that my eyes stung if I looked down at them for too long.

I was relieved to see that she was a white belt, like me. But even her belt looked soft and worked in. My belt was so stiff that Dad and I had barely been able to get it tied. We had followed a video on YouTube, folding it and bending it and twisting it over and over again until we'd finally got the right knot. Even so, it had managed to spring itself free only seconds later.

The knot on this girl's belt sat snugly. Mine was already wiggling itself loose, and all I had done was walk into the room. I yanked at the ends of my belt nervously.

The one extra piece she had on was some kind of hoodie helmet. Like the rest of her uniform, it was white. It was made of some expensive-looking fabric with tiny dots all over it. The sides had a pattern of thick little hexagon pads. It hugged her head perfectly, like a futuristic ninja hood.

Her headgear looked awesome, but I wasn't about to say so. She was playing it cool, so I did too. I put on my best bored voice.

"Isn't the helmet a little extreme?" I said. "Or is that some kind of ninja-girl fashion statement?" I tugged my jacket closed to hide my skinny chest. That made the collar scratch against my neck. I shrugged it back, but that made my chest peek out again. Even though I was getting nervous sweaty, I kept up the cool voice. "You're probably a little more worried than me because you're a girl, but I don't think we do punches to the head in aikido. I did some research online."

A massive thump came from the corner, and I instinctively ducked. My shoulders stayed tight as I snuck another look at the guys.

"On the other hand ..." I said. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to have a little extra protection. The videos I'd watched did show a lot of throwing. And one person's throwing was another person's falling. I wondered if the headgear came in black. That might distract people from how brand-new my uniform was. It could be a kind of stand-in for a black belt until I got the real thing.

The boys in the corner were now breathing heavily, bent over with their hands on their knees. They'd swipe their long hair out of their eyes to glare at each other, but it would flop back down a second later. They'd try to blow it out of their eyes, but the sweat seemed to make it too heavy and sticky. Maybe they could use some headgear, too, to keep the sweat and the hair out of their eyes.

My shoulders relaxed a little. There was something I could talk to these guys about after all!

The taller kid snagged his little brother in a headlock and ground his knuckles into his skull. "Aikido noogie!" he yelled. "Aiki-noogie!"

The shorter one struggled to get free, then reached out and pinched his attacker on the inside of the thigh. His brother yelped and jumped away. They stared at each other again, chests rising and falling.

"They'd better be careful!" the girl said in a bubbly voice. "Without ninja helmets like mine, those losers might knock each other out before class even starts!"

I nodded. "Exactly! I was just thinking the same th —" I looked over at her and stopped cold. Her expression made it clear that she was making fun of me.

The girl turned away to study a row of judo diagrams that were posted on the back wall. Her body flexed as she followed along with the sequences. "By the way," she said, "your pants are on backward."

I looked down. What! How? How could you even tell?

As if reading my mind, she added, "It's the kneepads. They go in front. Y'know, because that's where your knees are."

I pulled my right pant leg around to check. Sure enough, I could see a big stitched square of padding.

Right where my knee should be.

Right where my knee would be if my pants weren't on backward.

With all the twisting, my belt knot had come undone again.

But my stomach tied itself in a fresh knot.

The girl put her bubbly voice back on. "Or maybe you're just making some kind of Ninja Boy fashion statement!" She strode away to study another judo poster farther down the row.

Burn.

My first class hadn't even started, and I had already been taken down.

How stupid was I going to look by the time this was over?

"Let's get ready to ruuumm-ble!"

Another kid bounced into the dojo room. He had a shaved head and a wide smile. He was shorter than any of us, but he looked like he might weigh as much as the two other boys put together.

His uniform was a shining, bright white like mine. Like mine, his sleeves covered his hands down to the fingertips. Because of his round body, though, the front edges of his jacket didn't even come close to covering his wide brown chest. He didn't seem to mind.

He checked me out and then the girl. His eyes moved on to the boys in the corner. I didn't think it was possible, but his smile got bigger.

"Sumo attack!" he yelled.

And charged.

I froze.

He blew by me so fast and so close, I felt a breeze.

The brothers looked up. For a second they seemed mesmerized.

At the last second the taller brother dove clear. The shorter one held up his hands uselessly, then almost disappeared from view.

The new kid crushed him like a freight train, burying him in one of the puffy crash pads against the wall.

He raised both hands in victory.

And slowly rolled back and forth, steamrolling the boy with his belly.

I realized my jaw was hanging open. I shut it with a tiny click.

The brother who had escaped was curled up on the floor. He howled in laughter.

The new boy pushed himself away from the crash pad. He smiled again. "I'm Joe!" he said.

The squashed brother slowly peeled himself off the crash pad. Joe grabbed his hand and pumped it.

"I'm Dion," the boy said. He pulled his hand free and backed up a step. He pointed. "That's my big brother, Zack."

Joe put his hands to the sides of his mouth and yelled at the ceiling.

"Sumo attack! Sumo attack on Zack!"

He took off, aiming right for Dion's brother.

Launched himself in the air.

Smashed like a wrecking ball.

Zack's laughter came to a muffled stop.

Joe pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He sat back, kneeling, pausing to catch his breath.

He caught sight of me.

Still breathing heavily, he smiled.

My heart stopped.

It had been kind of shocking but also kind of funny to see the other boys get smothered. The sort of thing that would get a million views online. But it was only okay because they were tough. After all, they had been happily trying to kill each other only a minute before. I bet they could have stopped Joe if they had really wanted to.

But me?

I started to feel the Surge. Tingling fingers, a tight neck and pressure like my head was going to explode. It wasn't about being afraid of getting hurt. I had been roughed up by bigger kids at school before, and I knew that bruises heal.

The real problem, right here, right now, was that I knew exactly how stupid I was about to look. How weak I'd seem when I couldn't laugh off whatever this Joe kid was about to do to me.

He kept me in his sights as he stood up. He got one foot under him, then the other.

He locked his legs straight. Then he pawed at the mats on the floor with one foot. He held up his pointer fingers to the sides of his head like bull's horns.

He ducked his head.

He charged.

The taste of metal washed across my tongue.

I didn't want to play like this. But this kid didn't care. Dad didn't care, or he wouldn't have signed me up for this. Mom didn't care, or she wouldn't have left.

This was how I was supposed to gain confidence and learn cooperation?

I went hot and cold and tense and limp, all at the same time.

Joe yelled for the third time as he raced across the dojo floor.

"Sumo ..."

The girl in the white ninja hood huffed in disgust.

The huff was a girl noise. The girls in my class made that sound when the teacher told them to run faster in gym class or didn't let them choose their best friends for class projects.

This girl sounded just like them.

But she didn't move like them.

Joe was coming right at me.

The girl pushed off the wall and stepped forward.

Right into the path of the bull. I don't think he could have slowed down if he'd wanted to. And he sure didn't look like he wanted to.

Just as he should have been smashing her, she vanished.

On that exact spot, right in front of me, Joe flipped.

Hard.

The mats shook under my feet, and he landed flat on his back.

He bounced up just a little off the mats, then landed flat again.

The girl rose up from a crouch. She stood over him. "Nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Wafaa."

A laugh came from the doorway.

Wafaa stood at attention. Joe, still on the floor and breathing heavily, sat up straighter. I didn't look at Zack and Dion behind me, but I couldn't hear them. For the first time since I walked in, they must have stopped fighting.

A young man stood at the edge of the mats. He wasn't much taller than us, but he had dark stubble that made him look like a teenager, or maybe even a little older. He looked at each of us intensely, one at a time. When he looked at me, I dropped my eyes to the floor. When he moved on to the other kids, I checked him out. He must be our teacher. He had the same uniform jacket as me, but his was even more broken in than Wafaa's. The edges of his cuffs and his jacket were frayed. I could see a bunch of loose little threads.

Instead of pants like ours, he wore a swishy black skirt. It went all the way to his ankles and had long, straight folds down the front.

"I know you're all excited because it's the first class," he said. He kicked off his flip-flops and stepped on the mats. As he did, I saw two of the folds split apart. It wasn't a skirt, after all, but some kind of fancy pants. "I'm excited too." He was holding a gym bag in one hand and a long, skinny black bag in the other hand. He used the long one to point to the mess around Zack and Dion. "But this doesn't happen again. Ever."

Without saying a word Zack started to put the plastic shelves back up. At the same time Dion began picking up all the equipment.

The teacher used his long bag to point at Wafaa now. "Your throw showed excellent technique. Perfect technique, in fact. Which makes me even more excited. Because I'm here to teach technique. You just showed me that you respect that."

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Excerpted from "Eight Times Up"
by .
Copyright © 2019 John Corr.
Excerpted by permission of ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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