At the end of class, Sifu said, “Because we don’t want to break our partners, we’re constrained in what we can practice at full force. But remember, if you’re fighting for your life, there aren’t any rules. When you’re attacked, ‘fighting dirty’”—he made air quotes—“is exactly what you should do. Bite, pull hair, knee their groin, scratch their eyes.” His usually playful black eyes were serious. “When your life is on the line, you have to do everything you can.”

DANIEL DIAZ

With the rest of the students, I returned Sifu’s bow at the end of class. But I didn’t really see him. Instead, the left-hand corner of my vision was focused on Savannah Taylor. Before today, when I’d seen her with the Bruce Lee book, I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to her.

I mean, sure, I knew who Savannah was. But white belts tended to come and go, try class for a week or a month and then decide they were really cut out for Pilates or pickup basketball. Even people who made it to orange, as she had a month ago, sometimes dropped out right after the test, as if they had used up all their energy just climbing the first rung of the ladder. It wasn’t unusual for it to take a decade to get a black belt. If you ever did. Some people had tested numerous times for it and never been awarded the rank.

Sifu dismissed class. At our dojo, the students were expected to clean up afterward. When I saw Savannah take one of the mops, I made sure to grab the other. Since mopping the floor was the last step, by the time we started, all the other students had left, calling goodbyes.

Sifu picked up his backpack. “Hey, Daniel, do you mind locking up tonight for me?”

“No, Sifu.”

“Thanks. I promised my daughter I’d help with her homework.” He gave us a wave. “See you guys Saturday.”

After the door closed behind him, I was hyperaware that we were now completely alone, with the darkness pressed up against the windows.

“Tonight was fun,” I said, moving the mop in a series of tight S-curves down my half of the floor. Fun? Couldn’t I think of something better to say than that? Just the memory of Savannah’s skin under my fingertips left me tongue-tied. I had dated a few girls before, but nobody special. Nobody who had made me feel the way I was starting to think I might feel about Savannah.

“Yeah.” Sniffing, she swiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

Remembering how wet her eyes had looked when we met outside, I realized I’d been too focused on myself. “Are you really okay, Savannah?”

After a long pause, she said, “Right before class, I was kind of arguing with my mom’s boyfriend.” As she spoke, she kept her gaze on the floor.

“So he lives with you?”

“We live with him. He’s the reason we moved here. But I don’t get what my mom sees in him. I’m not even sure she does anymore.” Savannah shook her head. “Anyway, we really weren’t seeing eye to eye.”

My hands tightened on the mop handle. “What were you arguing about?”

She sighed. “Tim says it’s dumb that I’m taking kung fu. He’s always talking about how it wouldn’t do me any good, because men are bigger and stronger.” After dipping her mop back into the water, she squeezed it dry. “But now I feel like I could do something if someone attacked me. Maybe I’d still end up hurt or killed, but I’d definitely make them sorry first.”

“The struggle is real,” I said. “Size does make a difference. But most bad guys don’t have any training, and you’re starting to. And you’ve got good instincts, and you move well.” I didn’t add that this Tim dude seemed like a real jerk. The kind of guy who wouldn’t be happy until he brought everyone down to his level.

“Thanks.” She lifted the mop head from the water and dropped it into the wringer. “I’ve never really done any kind of sports before.”

Grabbing the handle, I squeezed it dry for her, standing close enough that my shoulder brushed hers. “And what he said about size is just wrong. Look at Bruce Lee. He wasn’t much bigger than you. He was, like, five foot eight and a hundred forty pounds, and he was the best martial artist in the world. Ever. I think he would have approved of what we were doing tonight. It was certainly practical. He wanted to be able to end fights while expending as little energy as possible. And he never telegraphed what he was doing.” I tilted my head. “Do you know what that means?”

Savannah gave me a crooked smile, and my stomach did a complete 360. “It’s funny that we still use the word telegraph when none of us has actually seen one. But telegraphing”—she moved the mop handle to her left hand so she could demonstrate with her right—“that’s like when you pull your fist way back for a big roundhouse, right?”

“Yup. Your standard bar fight punch. Bruce Lee’s kicks and punches were more like they exploded from his body, with no windup. He was famous for his one-inch punch. People literally didn’t know what hit them.”

“At least you and I understand where that phrase came from.” Savannah’s blue eyes flashed up to mine and then back to the floor.

“And he was more than just a martial artist. He did fencing and running and weight lifting and boxing. Anything he thought would make him better at kung fu.” I might have been a little obsessed with Bruce Lee, but Savannah honestly seemed interested. “He was even the Hong Kong Cha-Cha Champion.”

She brushed back her dark curtain of hair. “Cha-Cha? Like the dance?”

Bruce Lee had supposedly only learned to dance as a way to impress girls who didn’t appreciate the fact that he could do two-fingered push-ups and jump eight feet into the air. I decided not to share this with her. “I read that he realized a lot of what he learned dancing could also be useful for kicking ass.”

“Well, dancing’s supposed to make you light on your feet.” She wasn’t looking at me, but at the dirty mop water.

I clenched the mop handle so hard it hurt my fingers. Before I could think better of it, I said, “Winter formal’s next month. Wanna see if it would work the other way around? If kung fu could make us good dancers?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. With every second, I died a little.

Finally she sighed. “Sorry. I don’t think it would be a good idea.” She didn’t elaborate, but I filled in the blanks. She didn’t like me. She only liked me because I could throw a spinning hook kick. She had a boyfriend. She thought my obsession with Bruce Lee was weird.

Whatever it was, she clearly wasn’t interested in me.

“Okay,” I said, then added, “Sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “I mean, I like you, Daniel, but—”

I held my hand up to interrupt her. “That’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything.” I just wanted this moment to be over. I didn’t need to hear the details. Or worse yet, a lie.

We finished the mopping in awkward silence, while I mentally kicked myself for ruining what might have been the beginnings of a friendship. For making what had clearly been a bad day for Savannah even worse. After putting the bucket and mops away, we grabbed our stuff. I set the door so that it would lock behind us, and then we walked outside. After the warmth of the dojo, the chilly air was a shock.