Page 7 of 4 Corinthians

“One of them was messing with a girl on the bus the other day. She said he was being mean to her, pulled her hair, and said some stuff she didn’t like.” He shrugged his shoulders, then gave a rare smile. “One of the girls came to me on the playground with a bunch of money and said she would pay me to beat one of them up, so I did it.”

“That’s why you got detention?” Mercy asked, surprised, and Judge nodded. “What did your parents say?”

“My mama was mad; she said I shouldn’t be fighting, and at first, my daddy was too until he saw the Kilmore boy. After that, he got me ice cream.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Your daddy was there, Corinthians. He said my daddy needs to get me into some clubs or a boxing ring. Your daddy said he had a place in mind.”

“Tell them you don’t want to do it,” I quickly said, shaking my head. The bobs in my hair clicked against each other as I moved. “Judge, tell them you don’t want to go.”

“Why not?” He pushed his glasses up again. “I’m good at it. Not as good as Cross or Exodus, but I’m not the worst one in the family.” Cross and Exodus were the best fighters. He looked at the door and smirked. “The worst fighter is Psalms.”

“Psalms is not the worst!” I jumped up and stomped my foot. “She’s a little kid; she’s just learning.”

“All she does is cry,” Judge said, shaking his head. “I know you love your little sister, but you have to admit it. She’s not the best. Maybe fighting isn’t for her. She likes dirt and flowers. Maybe she is too girly to fight.”

“She doesn’t need to fight,” I told him. “She has me, and I’ll fight for her.”

“You can't fight all her battles, Corinthians,” he dismissively said. “She’s going to have to fight for herself eventually. You won't always be around to protect her.”

“Yes, I will,” I said, nodding. “I will always protect her because she’s my little sister. Maybe you don’t understand what that’s like because you don’t have a brother or sister; none of you do, but I do. Bug is mine to protect, and that’s what I’ll do.”

“You can't even protect yourself,” he said, pointing to my hand. “Your daddy had to go find who beat you up.” Judge shrugged and looked around. He wasn’t normally this mean, but he was always this blunt. His face morphed from bored to concerned. “Maybe you need more time practicing.” He nodded, then sighed. “Fine, I’ll go get Krude, and we can practice.”

“I didn’t ask you to get Krude,” I said as he passed me.

“You didn’t have to; I told you I was,” Judge replied as he went up the steps and to the front door. “He needs to get away from the TV anyway; they say it destroys brain cells, and Krude needs all of his.” He opened the door and went inside without closing it. “Krude! Stop singing, sounding like a hyena from Pride Rock, and come outside. Corinthians can’t really fight, so we need to show her some stuff.”

Krude's singing stopped immediately, and he came running to the door. “Corinthians, you can't fight?” he asked with a concerned look. His face twisted in confusion. “Is that why you got beat up, and your hand is cut? That knocked the lessons out of your brain?”

“I know how to fight,” I told him.

Judge came to stand next to him. “I don’t think she does,” Judge declared. “We have to teach her everything over again.”

“Works for me,” Krude said, shrugging. “I saw some moves on TV that I want to try out anyway. On WWE, one of them jumped off the ropes, wrapped his legs around another guy's neck, and squeezed until they tapped out. Corinthians is small enough that she could do that and survive.”

“And if she doesn’t, we can practice our first aid; I’m pretty sure I’m strong enough to do chest compressions now,” Judge offered.

“You got a pen on you?” Krude asked Judge.

Judge dug into his pocket, pulled out the pen he'd used earlier, and handed it to him. “Here,” he said. “Why do you need it?”

“Cross told me this morning, while we were eating breakfast, that she watched a TV show and they used a pen to open someone’s airway. I want to see if she can do it,” he answered, then turned and walked away. “Cross!”

“You know that special place Uncle JD went to with the padded walls and that man who was wearing a pirate hat made out of foil?” Judge asked, and we nodded. “I think Krude is going to end up there, too.” Judge shook his head. “I’ll visit him.”

“Me too,” Mercy laughed. “I liked it there. It was calming.”

“The asylum was calming?” Judge asked, and Mercy nodded. “You’ll be there with him, too.”

The door opened again, and Psalms walked out. She’d been quiet ever since I came home beat up. She sat next to me, rested her head on my shoulder, and twisted her fingers.

“You want to go to the park?” I asked her. I know my cousins wanted to practice fighting, but I didn’t need to. I spent all my free time sparring, with Robert and Logan watching. As soon as I got home from school, Daddy took me to a practice center, which was really the basement of someone’s house. The only reason I wasn’t there now was that Madea insisted that all her grandchildren come to her house for a few hours. Daddy tried to argue, but she said either Psalms and I were dropped off, or she came and got us.

“Yes,” Psalms softly answered and nodded her head.

“The park?” Mercy perked up. “I want to go.”

“Okay.” Psalms and I stood, and Mercy ran up the stairs.

“Madea, can we walk to the park?” she yelled through the screen door. We weren’t allowed to leave the yard without permission. The only one who was brave enough to do it was our oldest cousin, Exodus, and he got a whooping every time.