Chapter 10: My Team

X.

It would have been really awkward if I'd stayed. Who am I kidding? It was just awkward. Santana's eyes narrowed at me, and her cheeks pinked. Brittany helped me out.

"Why didn't you tell me? I wondered why I could never find you when I ditched second period."

"You looked for me? Wait." To me: "You talked to her? I knew I shouldn't have given you her number."

"You're right. I should never have interfered. And I'm sorry. I gotta change into my uniform." I slid by and changed. When I returned, I expected them both to be gone, but they were still standing by the door to the gym.

" . . . pretending to date? This is confusing, but you still look hot in your uniform."

"Come on, nobody looks hot in a dobok." They spotted me. Well. It wasn't like I was hiding. And I did have to go through the doors they were standing by. I eyed them, then, crinkled up my eyes. Nodded at the two of them. "Okay, maybe I didn't think that statement through."

"Or much."

"I apologize, Santana, you are correct. But I distinctly remember you never told me not to tell Brittany you were training here. And . . . I didn't know you were going to do forms class. Usually it's just me and 3 or 4 boys with ADHD."

"Coach said I'm going to get promoted at the next belt test."

"'Bout time," I said, smiling.

"I can't believe you two have been working out together."

"Yeah, Santana's playing on my team now, Brittany, what are you going to do about it?" I wiggled my eyebrows.

"You did not look up her archives." Santana.

"I did. I so did. You know, what goes on the internet stays on the internet. Your cat seriously needs to lay off the cheese."

They exchanged glances.

Brittany said, "He can have cheese, he's on Catkins."

"Line up!" said the forms coach. That's my cue.

"You coming?" I asked Santana. She looked between us. Brittany smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

The forms coach bowed us in. Then he pointed to me and declared, "This is my star student." Noooooooooo! I grew up a nerd, tormented because of being studious. Respectfully, Sir, shut the hell up. Sometimes cultural differences are difficult to bridge.

He gestured to Santana, the only white belt at class that night. "You will work with her. First two forms."

"Yes, Sir!" said Santana.

"Yes, Sir!" said I.

Forms are just really simplified one-sided fights. Santana learns much more difficult cheerleading routines all the time. She pretty much mastered the first two forms within minutes. The coach sent the boys for a water break and I had Santana show off for him.

"Good," he said, "Very good! Continue with Form Three."

"Yes, sir!" we said.

"At this rate, you'll jump above me at the next promotion," I said.

"Yeah, right," she said.

"Really, you're good. You should compete."

She laughed in my face. I showed her Form Three.

Brittany had waited through class for her. She had a big smile on her face. "You're really good! You should compete!" she said.

"See?" said I.

"I saw the forms competition once. I'm not really interested," said Santana.

"Spar," I said. "I bet you'd have a blast."

"Yes, San, say you will! It would be so fun!"

"I'll . . . think about it."

"Would you think about something else?"

"Maybe . . . "

Brittany whispered something in her ear. Santana blushed. So did I, for that matter, and I was only guessing what she was saying. She started nodding, small at first, then bigger. They looked into each other's eyes.

They continued looking into each other's eyes.

"Umm, I think Coach needs to lock up," I said. Then I asked my boys to get their stuff and meet me at the door.

"Bye," said Brittany, staring into Santana's eyes.

"See ya," said Santana, staring into Brittany's eyes.

They linked pinkies and left together.

"Bye, Ladies," I called. Then I had to coerce my children into leaving. Then I had to cajole my children into leaving. Then I had to plead with my children to leave. Then I had to bribe them. Wait. So much easier if: "Dudes, let's walk the ladies out, shall we?"

"Goodnight Coach! Goodnight Brittany! Goodnight Santana!" called my older son.

"Goodnight Pretty Ladies!" called my younger son. Giggling ensued.