A/N: Do not ask me what possessed me to write this fic, it just came to me so go with it.
Disclaimer: All creative property of The Karate Kid belongs to Robert Mark Kamen and Columbia Pictures… except the characters that belong to me, I claim dibs. The songs The Girl All the Bad Guys Want belongs to Bowling for Soup and The Ride belongs to The Matches (we KK fans have yet to hear it on an official CD release or any p2p so for the lyrics I took a little creative license and made up whatever I couldn't grab from the infamous dirt bikes scene- believe me I tried).
Return of the Cobra Kai: The Girl All the Bad Guys Want
By Saoirse the Irish Colleen
Chapter I: Sensenfukoku!- The Declaration of War!
It was always sunny in Southern California. And it's not that Sandy Witten didn't like the Valley, but when you have to share space with a bunch of Neanderthals like the Cobra Kai 24/7 outside of West Valley High life gets difficult. And they said living in Encino was a privilege.
Every major karate-do competition in the San Fernando Valley was dominated by the Cobra Kai Dojo, their success along with their insane mantra 'Strike first! Strike hard! No mercy!' was attributed to Sensei John Kreese, a decorated Vietnam vet and captain in the United States Army. An egomaniacal despot whose Grand Canyon-sized chip on his shoulder fueled his logic of 'Beating the slopes at their own game' since losing the war. But even Sandy knew that crazy man wasn't anything when he didn't have his brat pack of robotic foot soldiers behind him. And nepotists like Kreese were notorious for keeping favorites- the asskissers.
'Fat Frank' or Frank 'The Tank' Dempsey, brown belt. His dad was a linebacker for the 49ers back in the day, and now owned a big sports bar and grill in the Valley. All of Frank's buddies eat there for free, with an endless supply of beer. So why did Kreese not roll out the fatty when he showed up on his dojo's doorstep? Frank held the bench press record since junior high and has been breaking boards with his head way before he even took a karate lesson. Frank's dad's other talent aside from football was breaking bricks with his head.
Jerry Robertson, brown belt. Encino Oaks Country Club has proudly called itself 'diverse' since letting the only black family in Encino into its ranks. Sandy laughed herself to tears. She wondered what Jerry's dad, a circuit court judge, and his mom, a legal analyst for KTLA thought of it from a legal standpoint.
Andrew Cohen, black belt. His dad, Senator Jeremy Cohen (Republican) spent the majority of his time in D.C. Andrew's mother was a heart surgeon who lived in the OR. She knew her only son wasn't responding too well to the Ritalin she prescribed him so she signed him up for karate instead.
And now the crème-de-la-crème.
Dutch, first name unknown but a black belt nevertheless. He probably escaped from the zoo and his parents thought it fashionable to adopt a hairless baby primate. He hopped around thinking he was Joe Louis and Sandy thought he should sue his hairdresser. The peroxide job looked like it was done after the stylist snorted a few grams. His dad was Steve Dutch, one of Hollywood's biggest action stars. He was on location in Italy with his new wife, some model that could have been in the last graduating class. Dutch's mom was a former Playmate and married to a T.V. exec.
Jimmy Anderson, brown belt. The smart one- and Sandy used that term loosely. He was in the AP chemistry and algebra II classes; and had a collection of matching polos and crew neck sweaters, the smart-ass wrung the hell out of the term 'preppie.' His parents ran the firm of Anderson, Anderson & Blum, and their commercials were all over the local channels. If Jimmy doesn't get into Harvard Law, they would probably disown him.
Tommy Shaw, black belt. Most recognized for his hyena bray, hotheadedness and an overbite the size of the overpass by the school. His dad was in the construction business, every apartment and office complex that went up in the Valley the contracts were awarded to Shaw's company. The word was he paid buku kickbacks to ensure his bids were selected.
Bobby Brown, black belt. A sports enthusiast with Bruce Jenner hair and was as dull as his name. Wishy-Washy never made a decision for himself as long Sandy knew him. One minute he'd pity the poor bastard his he and his friends tortured, and the next he'd join in. His father owned a chain of sports equipment stores, but instead of getting into the family business, Wishy-Washy wanted to open his own dojo.
And last and certainly least, Johnny Lawrence, a.k.a. King Asshole. A black-belted cretin who carried the stench of old Mayflower money. The original dumb blonde. People like him were a staple in the Hidden Hills; unfortunately they can't survive without feeding off the lifeblood of normal folk so they spread like cancer killing everything in sight. Kreese was grooming his moronic little namesake to carry on the Cobra Kai legacy when his tournament career takes off after graduation. Sandy's best guess was that the Lawrence patriarch will probably buy off his spoiled brat with a trip to Japan, a geisha and by the time the idiot came around from his saké and sex induced coma he'll be on some Ivy League campus where his old man bought him his spot edging out yet another valedictorian as they stew in community college.
What was Sandy's interest in them? None, but since she was forced into dinners with her parents at the Encino Oaks Country Club, she would have to take the Cobras' abuse since she had virtually no friends in her Hills neighborhood for as long as she lived there. She didn't know who was worse, the girls or guys. Ali Mills was okay considering she had her head perpetually stuck in the clouds. As for Susan Messner and Barbara Dunn, Susan ping-ponged between Dutch and Tommy, but currently was Tommy's moll. Barbara a.k.a. 'Barbie Doll' had been Bobby's main squeeze since sophomore year. But no girl in the Hills could top The Queen, Amber van Houten and her ladies-in-waiting Ginger McGuiness and Terri Baxter. Van Houten, cheerleading captain and Homecoming Queen who was in the running for Prom Queen was recently thrown out of the school's dance class by Madame Loisel. A feat unto itself. Van Houten claimed Loisel's competence was nil since it wasn't 'preparing' her for her future career as a Laker Girl. Loisel, once a prima donna ballerina had awards wallpapering her office for having the finest high school dance troupe in Los Angeles. But Sandy saw right through that front (and image was a way of life in Encino so she considered herself an expert) and knew the real reason why she was kicked out.
Lara Czako, Loisel's best student and resident of Sepulveda who mostly hung out with Josie Mason, Monica Le Fontaine, Bernard 'Boom' Kassowitz (infamous for his fuck-ups in the chemistry lab) and Rick Heller gymnastics team captain and the crew from Reseda: Freddy Fernandez, Chucky and his twin sister Chloe Micelli, Billy Taylor, Alan Connor and Isabel Lopez. A fist-sized lump grew in Sandy's throat at the thought of Rick on the pommel horse. How could Lara not know he's been in love with her since freshman year? It was the only time Sandy ever felt frustrated with her. Not that she was jealous or anything. She couldn't afford to be, her parents would skin her. Sepulveda and Reseda were names she's heard of but places she could never visit.
Sandy had known Lara since elementary school, but they rarely shared the same schedules. Lara was a redhead but it was such a rare shade of red that couldn't be called either auburn or copper, but something that had to come from her Hungarian ethnicity. Sandy could think of no other explanation for it, and Lara was the only Hungarian aside from Zsa Zsa Gabor she knew. Lara was no slave to fashion preferring jeans, T-shirts and long sweaters. Sandy never saw her in a dress, and only in a skirt a handful of times. She never teased her hair and her only cosmetics were lipstick and nail polish. She stood 5'9" and cut an athletic figure as opposed to willowy that made up the female population of West Valley High. But Lara derided team sports and snuck out before the pep rallies could begin. She was also edging out Jimmy for Valedictorian. Lara was relatively friendly and if you wanted to find her she would be on the roof having a smoke when she wasn't in class.
Sandy and Lara shared a windowsill in the hallway with a Sony radio between them harmonizing with a local band's hit single from the speakers.
Remember how cool
Back in the days of high school
We were on the scene
Tearin' on through like cream
It was lightning in my eye
Watchin' you move to the beat
It was the ride
Hey hey you're the ride
You're the ride
Hey hey
What you say
Hey hey what you know
What you do
Comin' up with you
Hey hey
"The Matches are cool, but that band that played at our Halloween dance, I heard they cut their first single." Said Sandy.
Lara toyed with her father's gold lighter. "I'd like to know when The Clash are gonna release anything new," Lara commented. "The stereo's beginning to collect dust."
"Think Aerosmith's gonna go on tour soon? If they come to the Valley, I'm there!" Sandy reached into her tan leather backpack and pulled out a blue scrunchie to pull back her wavy honey brown hair. It was nearly down to her hips and needed to be trimmed. From out on the quad she heard boisterous voices near the car park and saw the Cobras crowd around Dutch's yellow dirt bike. She frowned tossing her hair over her shoulder. "They sure know how to ruin the moment."
Lara laughed at Sandy's perturbed expression. "Do what I do when I see 'em."
"What's that?" Sandy asked grinning knowingly. Lara turned the volume knob all the way up to ten.
"Check this out," Dutch could hardly get his laughter under control when the blasting song drowned out the rest of his bad date tale. "So Kira and I pull up on the ridge when she says-"
Those were the nights
Cruisin' around the street light
You were in my eye
We were a team
Racing to a night dream
Radio played on
It was the ride
Hey hey you're the ride
You're the ride
Hey hey
What you say
Hey hey what you know
What you do
Comin' up with you
Hey hey
"The hell is that?" Tommy flared. The Cobras whipped around looking up to the second floor to find the radio's origin. They recognized Sandy's profile and communally rolled their eyes.
"Princess Dorkette," Jimmy quipped eliciting laughter from his best pals.
"Doesn't she live near you, Bobby?" Tommy asked.
"Unfortunately." Johnny just shook his flaxen head and gestured them to follow him to the lockers. Sandy glanced at her Swatch and turned to Lara.
"Wanna go to McDonald's?"
Lara shrugged. "Why not? Mom's workin' late anyway." Just as they were collecting their bags a voice called to Lara from down the corridor.
"Hey Lara!" A head of frizzy brown hair stuck out from the dance room's door. It was Caroline Chardoff another dancer in Loisel's troupe.
"What is it Carrie?"
"I need your help to move this table into the closet, please."
"I'll be there in a sec! Wait for me," Lara said to Sandy.
"Sure." Lara jogged to the dance room. The B-52's 'Love Shack'began playing and Sandy got up to stretch her legs from sitting in an awkward position for so long. Johnny rummaged through his locker only to exacerbate his frustration.
"Shit!" The Cobra Kai leader cursed.
"What's the problem man?" Bobby queried.
"I think I left my algebra book in Ortiz' class."
Jimmy checked at his digital watch against the slower outdoor wall clock. "Well let's haul ass. We've got study group today." He pointed out. The dojo's resident honors student took it upon himself to ensure his best friends graduated. They groaned but shuffled back into the school. Up on the second floor landing Sandy was in the zone, basking in the radio's electric joy moving to the beat failing to notice several large white plastic buckets filled with turquoise paint precariously balancing on the brick ledge left by the custodians that were doing various renovations around the school. She began a pirouette when her arms sent the buckets flying into the air. Sandy didn't come back to earth until she heard the wet crash followed by a cacophony of screams from below.
"Oh my God!" She clapped her hands over her mouth when she saw five guys doused in latex paint crumpled on the floor. Sandy raced down the wide concrete staircase to the breezeway to see if there were any serious injuries. "Are you okay?" She touched the paint-slimed back of the tallest boy only to recoil when she met the vicious dark blue glare of Johnny Lawrence.
Carrie exhaustedly slid the closet's lock into place after she and Lara spent the last 15 minutes trying to collapse a folding table that was used for the volleyball team tryout signups. "Sorry that took so long," she apologized to Lara.
"What do you expect from furniture that's been around since WW II?"
"See you tomorrow." Carrie laughed.
"Later." The two girls separated, Carrie to collect her stuff from Mr. Harris' class and Lara back to the window for her bag until the sound of a guy shouting and the ledge nastily stained from the turquoise paint caught her attention. "Sandy…?"
Johnny was firing on all cylinders berating Sandy who shrunk from the Cobras' icy glowers. "What the hell's wrong with you, Witten? You blind?" Tommy whined picking at his once maroon Cobra Kai leather team jacket with his fingers coating them with even thicker layer of paint. Dutch, the burliest of the team pulled at his paint-matted bleached hair.
"You know what these cost us, Witten?" Bobby thrust what was his dark blue team jacket in Sandy's face. His fury burned hotter at the fact that he paid for it right out of his allowance.
"You just don't get these jackets Witten," Jimmy interjected. "You earn them in Sensei Kreese's dojo!" The other Cobras nodded unanimously.
"Jimmy," Sandy pleaded uselessly, "I said I'm sorry and I promise to pay for the damages." Lara, up on the landing unsure if she was comfortable about still going unnoticed silently approached the top of the staircase.
Johnny scoffed at her entreaty. "Man, I'd expect something like this to happen from a loser like you." Lara's eyebrow twitched feeling a pinprick of ire from Johnny's cutting remark. "Social rejects like you just wouldn't get how important we are to this school." Lara's jaw hit the deep green-blue parquet. Important to the school? "I don't even know why I let geeks like you live in the same neighborhood as me. You just bring everything down." Now Lara considered herself smart, and she had been doing the smart thing ever since she began West Valley High, allowing the assholes like Johnny to ride out his anger chopping those like Sandy to pieces all the while keeping out of the no-fly zone. The landing's metal railing heated up from her moist palm as Lara wrapped her hand around it. She wasn't completely sure if her brain was in full communication with the rest of her body when she just went to take a breath when instead it gave life to the words on her tongue.
"What are you on the rag about now, Lawrence? You rich bitch!" All activity stopped and the air charged up like an electrified fence. Sandy blanched a brand new shade of white and the Cobras looked to face their interloper. Lara's throat parched like she swallowed a fistful of sand. She wondered if her voice sounded as tinny as she thought it did. Out of practice was a better phrasing for it. When no retort was made Lara decided to pick up the slack and finish what she started. She stomped down the steps with both her backpack and Sandy's in her right hand and confronted the idiots. "Why can't you just drop it?!" She specifically addressed Johnny her hazel eyes shooting daggers at him.
"And who invited you, Czako?" Tommy demanded.
"I invited myself, Shaw. And quit lookin' at me with those bug eyes of yours will ya'?" Tommy was dumbstruck, nostrils flaring from her barb. Lara turned her attack on Jimmy. "And if you were any kind of martial artist you'd put a lid on it!" She advanced on Bobby who reflexively took several steps back. "But all I see are a bunch of spoiled Encino punks!" Dutch began to splutter when she shoved Bobby aside and went for his throat. "What? Can't take the truth, Dutch? You start a fight at the drop of a hat if you think somebody looks at you wrong. That's so fucking pathetic!" And now ready to complete the circle, Lara went back to Johnny. "As for you Lawrence…" She reached up and ripped off the tapered black hachimaki he wore throwing it to the floor pulling a few bright blonde hairs out with it. "You with your stupid hair and your stupid bike and your stupid red jacket! You have no respect for the black belt you supposedly earned!" Lara punctuated her last words with rough finger jabs to Johnny's chest. Sandy unconsciously brought a hand up to her mouth, her pupils pinpoints in her eyes. "Let's go Sandy." Lara wheeled the ramrod stiff girl out the front doors. "Now look what they did. I lost my appetite because of their ugly faces!"
The Cobras stood staring out the doors looking at the now empty campus for about five minutes. It felt like five hours. Mechanically Johnny knelt down to retrieve his revered hachimaki, as far as he was concerned it was an essential part of his gi. For Sensei Kreese to allow him to go against the dojo's strict uniform protocol, could only mean that he was sensei's finest student. And that bitch tossed it like a rag. No respect for his black belt? Johnny clenched a long-fingered fist around his hachimaki. This was war.
-------------------
At the end of a sleepy street in Sepulveda, a working-middle class suburb of the Valley stood a farmhouse-esque dwelling with gingerbread house eaves whose paint was going from white to a dull steel color and had jutting slats on the wrap-around portico. Lara put down the little red flag on the mailbox and removed the few envelopes and rolled up catalogs from it. Strolling up the walk to the front door she stomped on one of the offending slats shifting it back into place. Just another thing he left behind. While the mailbox still read Czako, Lara's mother, Ahna Rubik attained her legal divorce in the U.S. from Janos five years ago on account of their refugee status. She just never bothered changing the name on the mailbox. Lara knew the house was empty long before crossing the threshold; her mother's nine-hour shift wouldn't be up for another several hours. But the travel had her home just before nine. Even as a senior-level accountant in that fat cat downtown L.A. firm her mother only got 2 weekends a month off, and this upcoming weekend would be a working one.
There was no light in the house, the thick vellum curtains warded off the sun, but Lara could still see dust particles flying in the air. Her foot collided into a white cardboard box carelessly abandoned by the door. It produced a deep clanking noise. Lara made a face, dropped the mail on the tall vestibule table and picked up the box to dump it with the rest of the garbage on the curb. She closed the flaps as best as she could, but the number of empty wine and liquor bottles it contained made closing it shut impossible. If any of the neighbors questioned it Lara would say her mother threw a dinner party for her coworkers. Despite the fact that they hadn't had a visitor in five years, Lara couldn't run the risk of anyone,especially from school to see her mother.
The note on the fridge left by her mother instructed her to make Ukrainian beef stew for supper and to put her usual glass with ice in the freezer. Lara vacuumed the living room's berry-colored carpet and straightened out the antimacassar on the Queen Anne sofa. Its right back leg was glued and nailed together and the cushions had to be turned over to prevent anyone from seeing the patches on the velvet slipcovers. The swatches that were used were a darker shade of crimson and cotton to boot. The wingchairs' upholstery was wearing thin in places concealed by doilies. The maple coffee table was rickety and made level by a coaster under one of its legs. Lara prepared dinner and ate hers in the living room in front of the 20-inch Zenith with the bent rabbit ears doing her homework. Canned laughter erupted from the high school-themed sitcom, The Best of Times causing Lara to roll her eyes at the pseudo-geeky central character's bad joke trying to chat up the popular girl after losing the big game. Lara was on her third can of Diet Coke when her mother finally walked in.
"It's not my fault the temps can't add columns…" Ahna grumbled around an unlit Virginia Slims. "Sorry I had you cook," her mother switched to Hungarian. It was an unspoken rule Czakos had, no English in the house. Ultimately Americans were strangers even though they were the defectors and Lara was born in L.A. Ahna cast her coffee brown coat and paisley scarf over the sofa's armrest knowing her daughter would put it away. She lit her cigarette with an antique platinum lighter, a keepsake from her mother still behind the curtain in Budapest. Ahna's platinum blonde hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun, and had penciled in eyebrows. In old black and white photos buried in albums was an excruciatingly beautiful woman in a Hungarian high school uniform, now Ahna's skin took a waxen hue and her round face was wan with puffy eyes. She ladled some stew from the stoneware pot into a dish and took out her glass from the freezer. With glass in hand Ahna briskly walked into the dining room and fetched the Stolichnaya from the glass liquor cabinet. "I have work to do, so you stay down here and finish your homework." It was already done. Ahna set her dish, vodka bottle and a glass partly filled with lemonade on a lacquer tray; she bent down and kissed Lara on the temple. Her lips were cold and her coral lipstick was flaky. "That's my good girl." She dashed up the steps humming a broken tune.
Lara waited until she heard her mother's bedroom door shut and she stalked to the liquor cabinet and opened a new bottle of vodka. She filled a tumbler two inches full and drank the Russian spirit straight. There was always money to buy the good stuff, but never enough for college tuition.