Kung Fu High School Read Free Page A

unnecessary because Cue and Jimmy were already laughing super loud and it echoed into the kitchen. I couldn't put them back though. Habit.
    "Jen, Dad,
Jimmy's
here!" Cue yelled too loudly. "Oh, man, what the hell are you doing here? Can't you at least ring the bell?"
    Just hearing his name, I felt my mother's disavowing ice pick of a look all over again. I felt the hidden part of me that still was that defiant, cold girl returning her gaze and making ice cubes in between. Like I'd grown up completely encircling that hidden, staring me—left her intact like a nested Russian doll down deep. As untouched as the pencil mark on the kitchen entryway to measure my height at twelve. I fought that emotional old shit though. Pushed it down, all five feet and eight straggling inches of me. Below that.
    I took the corner and just held the knives out naively, like a cheerleader offering up her pompoms for the home team. The city part of the wall-hanging was on the floor and the bridge half hung crookedly above it, still on the wall. Funny how the exterior was a dark brown but the inside was just normal, aged-looking wood. Untouched by the stain, it looked like yellowy bone, marrow even. Percussive though. It had sounded like claves when it hit the tile. Just once, like TAC.
    "Are those knives for me?" Jimmy had his arm around Cue and with his other hand, he rubbed at the growing red spot at the base of his neck.
    "Dinner, crazy boy. Hope Cue taught you good not to walk right into people's houses without ringing the doorbell."
    That's all that came out of my mouth and I'm lucky it did. I mean, at least it wasn't garbled or anything. And at least I didn't stammer or just stop talking altogether. Because I hadn't seen Jimmy in years and he was gorgeous. Even with the farmer-boy mop on his head, the thick black strands couldn't hide his light brown eyes. I felt a twinge in my stomach when he pushed his hair off his forehead and leaned his head back into the weak hall light.
    Yup, his brown eyes were just as light as they'd ever been. Like bright sunlight passing through label-less brown beer bottles, they shined at me. Mental note: NOT allowed to feel sexual attraction to cousin. The best part was, non-embarrassment-wise, I didn't drop the knives when I led the boys into the kitchen. They just pushed past me into the dining room anyway. A waist-high, partition-type wall separated the two rooms.
    "Uncle B.—what happened?" Jimmy asked as Dad, tired as he was, tried to push himself up on his walker.
    "Shit, your mom didn't tell you? Modern construction. Can you believe it? Always wear your helmet, son."
    Dad shook Jimmy's hand and smiled his halfway smile that had sat on his face ever since the accident. I could tell he was smiling for real though because the vein in his neck twinged and that only happened when he meant it to.
    "Foreman Dad took his helmet off for a water break and a brick fell on him."
    I said it as I took the pasta noodles off the boil. They were a little soft because I'd left the pot on the burner. If they complained, I'd blame it on Jimmy.
    "It was damn hot that day. What do you want from me, mi
angelita?
"
    Dad put his hands in the air. Insert canned laugh track. I didn't turn around, didn't react to his little drama, just told the draining noodles my answer all low:
nada. Nada,
I said, to that full sieve. The literal translation in the dictionaries is always one word: nothing. But to me, when I breathed the accented syllables into the steam, pushing a coat of fog onto the window, it meant less/more than nothing at the same time. A push/pull kind of nothing. A go-away-but-don't-go-away kind of nothing. A please die/don't die kind of nothing. It always canceled itself out.
    "What the heck is you doing here, stealthy? Why the big bag?" Cue's voice broke my thoughts like he knew them, then made sure to change gears. "You know, I heard you when you passed the mailbox. If you want to sneak up on me again, don't wear