OK. Fire’s out for now, he sent back.I’ll call you from the road when the traffic thins.
I never went back to sleep this morning after you left and I’m about to take a nap,she texted back.So if I don’t pick up...
His curiosity was through the roof, but he was nothing if not patient. After he arrived tonight, he’d ask her. He would make the question casual, after asking how she was doing and if she’d heard anything from Carlotta. “Hey, did you ever meet him? Milton Devonshire? I’ve been reading about him and he sounds like a real asshole...”
No worries,he typed back now.Sleep well.
Her response was a heart, and as he locked her door behind him, he hoped with all ofhisheart that he could get this done, that he could pull this off.
And maybe live happily ever after.
CHAPTER NINE
Jules: Age Seventeen
Connecticut
The stupidly tall and handsome boy’s name—the one who loved his gay brother, so knock it off, Rodney—was Christopher. Topher for short, which seemed, to Jules, to be exceedingly Connecticut. Maybe not so much tobacco-farm Connecticut, but certainly country-club Connecticut. And the state was pretty small so it made sense that lines would blur.
His father was a retired Army officer, and Topher, apparently, was West Point bound.
Or he had been, before Colonel Dad went and kicked his brother Liam out of his house. For, you know, being true to himself. Apparently, Topher really did love Liam because he packed up and left, too. They both were now living with the family of Liam’s former high school girlfriend, even though she’d left for college. Which seemed weird, but really was proof that some people—maybe most people—weren’t awful.
The other member of the FU Club was a kid named Joey who was in ROTC, which made Jules want to hum the song from Sesame Street about one of these things is not like the others while pointing to himself.
He’d had a quick convo with Mr. Harrison while helping to set up the thick floor mats.
“Just so there’s no misunderstanding,” Jules said, “there’s absolutely zero chance of my joining the military.”
“Oh,” Harrison said. “Yeah, I know. Hah. They wouldn’t know what to do with you.” He laughed again. “Hah. Don’t worry, kid. This isn’t secretly the armed forces recruitment club.”
“Phew,” Jules said, which got him another “Hah.”
Because there were so few kids, the structure was informal. And since Jules was new, Joey and Topher sparred as he watched, in part to show him some of the things he would learn here, in part to refresh their memories after the long summer break.
They then spent the rest of the ninety minutes learning about center of gravity—how to stand, how to come in low to knock an ill-prepared opponent off their feet—along with some rudimentary skills to safely fall and to absorb or minimize a blow.
These basics were, Harrison claimed, the secret to winning any fight, particularly combined with running hard (five miles a day, what?!) while carrying on a conversation, or singing (really...?!!) if they were running alone. Stamina combined with being smart, paying attention, and actively avoiding getting hurt could overcome even the biggest differences in size and weight. And of course, the teacher talked quite a bit about using logic and one’s non-animal brain to evaluate when it was best to “win” by simply beating feet and getting the hell outta Dodge.
At first Jules had thought that Harrison had to advocate for that option, but as the class wore on, he realized that,no. The man really believed what he was teaching them. Ask yourself,Do you really want this fight?
Use your brain.
There was a lot of science involved, and common sense, too. Harrison advocated using elbows or knees to strike a blow instead of a closed fist, because the human hand and wrist had a serious design flaw when being used as a hammer.
These lessons were not even close to gentlemanly fisticuffs, Jules was happy to discover. This was full-on, free-for-all, defend-yourself-from-serious-harm, kick-your-opponent-in-the-nuts, wartime fighting-back techniques. Which would include, as the weeks continued, his learning how to pin or neutralize an opponent while waiting for backup to arrive.
It was pretty freaking cool.
Jules had never been into team sports or thought of himself as being particularly athletic, but he wasgoodat this. It felt amazing to use his body this way, too, and he left the gym that afternoon feeling energized and intrigued. He couldn’t wait for next Wednesday, to learn more.
Harrison had given him an info sheet on running—David had always mocked the joggers in his old neighborhood. But Jules did get out of breath rather quickly and if running was a sure-fire way to increase his stamina, he was going to try it. At least once.
“Give it around six weeks,” Mr. H had said in his gravely voice, with that spot-on way he had of somehow knowing exactly what Jules was thinking. “If you still hate it after six weeks, we’ll figure something else out.”
Six weeks, hey? Jules managed not to laugh in his face, but inwardly he was rolling on the floor.
It was then Harrison handed Jules another of those FU permission slips and said, “Tell your fan club president that he’s welcome to join us next week.”
