Mr. Knightley requests that you continue your letters until you hear definitively from the Medill program. Wait-listed at the nation’s best journalism school constitutes an accomplishment rather than a defeat. Should you gain admittance, it would be unfortunate for you to have violated the terms of this grant prematurely.
Sincerely,
Laura Temper
Personal Assistant to
G. Knightley
JUNE 15
Dear Mr. Knightley,
Thank you for such optimistic thinking. I will continue to write, for now. I still haven’t heard from Starbucks, but I got turned down at Macy’s and two legal firms. Desperation claws and chokes a bit more now. On to another topic, any topic . . .
A new kid named Kyle moved into Buckhorn Cottage last week. I hate him. That’s not true; he makes me hate myself—and that’s worse. Kyle’s only thirteen, but he intimidates me. I’m five foot ten, so that’s not easy to do. But Kyle’s already about five eight, and his features aren’t small, cute, and kid-like. He’s got a strong nose, his hair is shaved close to his head, and his eyes are the hardest I’ve ever seen. It took him thirty seconds to pick out the weak and timid boys, and he has spent every moment since torturing each of them. Until yesterday . . .
Hannah dropped by Buckhorn as I was tutoring some boys in math. She noticed Kyle twisting nine-year-old Jaden’s arm in the living room and told him to stop. Kyle shoved Jaden against the wall and came after her. He grabbed her shoulder and swung a punch, and I thought she was going to die.
But teeny-tiny Hannah swung her forearm out to block his punch. He threw another and she blocked it again, slicing her arm in a high arc above her head. Kyle swung again, lunging simultaneously. Hannah blocked his strike with another sweep of her arm as she stepped to the side.
Kyle righted himself and stared at her through narrowed eyes. The moment lengthened, then he backed away, clearly stunned.
“We done now, Kyle?”
He nodded slowly.
“Wise choice.” Hannah lowered her arms and sighed. “Don’t bully the boys, Kyle, or I’ll make sure you get moved outta here.”
Kyle stared at her. We all stared.
“Yes, ma’am.” Kyle ducked his head and walked away.
Hannah turned to me, completely relaxed. “Sam, I just finished a wonderful book. I’ll bring it by after I’m finished in the office. Will you be in your cottage?”
“Umm . . . Hannah? How did you do that?”
“It’s not hard. That’s first-degree black belt stuff. I’ll show you later.” And she breezed out. I didn’t teach long division coherently after that.
I practically tackled Hannah when she stopped by last night. I’m never eager to chat, but I’ve known Hannah for years, and everything I knew or assumed had been completely flipped. No pun intended.
“Where’d you learn that? Why’d you never tell me? That was unbelievable!”
“Yeah, I can’t believe Kyle walked away like that. He even found me in the office to apologize.” Hannah flopped on my couch. “I think I’m going to like that kid.”
“No one could like that kid.”
Hannah hesitated. “I do, Sam.”
“Anyway, tell me how you did it.” I knew she thought me harsh, so I pushed her past thinking about Kyle.
“You want me to show you?”
For the next ten minutes I pretended to punch her and she blocked every attempt. Ramp up the power and speed, and I can imagine Kyle’s surprise.
“Is that karate?”
“Tae kwon do.”
