Kung Fu High School Read Free Page B

cowboy boots."
    The hick. The big shitkicker. Jimmy didn't have an answer. He just looked at me like he was a lost puppy while I shredded the cheese into the smallest bowl we had. Thank god for self-control. I almost told them both that he could sleep in my bed right then.
    "So, what? You're living here?"
    I could see Cue putting two and two together from all the way across the kitchen, over the partition, and inside the dining room beside the packed bookcase. He sat down at the table and motioned for Jimmy to do the same.
    "No. I mean, yeah, if I can and that's cool with you guys and Uncle B.," Jimmy said, adding, "You didn't get the letter?"
    He had to push a stack of old newspapers out of the way before he could pull a chair out and sit down between Dad and Cue.
    "Sure we did. Blue envelope. Marin still has great handwriting, like your
mamá's
used to be." Dad said it like me and Cue had forgotten. Jimmy kind of nodded. I didn't say shit, only tore the last of the lettuce harder.
    "Oh yeah, we heard you got in trouble but we figured it was no big deal. I mean, not compared to what we go through, Farm Boy. Besides, you probably just slapped somebody." With that said, Cue smacked Jimmy lightly across the cheek, rolled his eyes, and made a little girly scream to accompany it, "Ay!"
    "I got in a fight." Jimmy actually lowered his head when he said it.
    Cue and I just laughed at that, at the words, at his shame, at everything. I was setting the salad and cheese bowls on the table and Cue looked me up and down with his wide silly smile before poking me right in my splenectomy scar. I squirmed but spilled nothing. Only he knew where it was. Got that ruptured from a body blow. Good thing it's out now. Only way to make sure it'll never happen again. Surgery sure sucked though. I mean, everything in my torso was tender for weeks and weeks. Everything. I could barely eat. Lost thirteen pounds and I even got a cold when I was recovering too. Coughing was like getting beaten up all over again. Total nightmare.
    "Yeah, well, it was completely Mom's idea, which was why she wrote the letter. I had to promise her I'd never fight again though."
    Probably for the first time since Jimmy had walked in, the house was completely quiet. Even though the big pot was off the boil and empty of noodles, a few bubbles rolled to the surface of the splash of water left in it and popped. I just watched them, scooping pasta onto the plates without looking down. The letter hadn't said anything about that.
    Cue laughed the silence right out the door.
    "What, like
The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air
meets
Fists of Fury?
You be a cross between Will Smith and Bruce Lee? You're fuckin' lying to me! Hey, Jen, you finally got something to write about!"
    Cue had the biggest smile on his face I'd seen in a long time. He always did when he was teasing me about my notebooks. Genuinely though, he was excited. He was convinced it was a joke, and a good one too. Because he knew. I knew. Hell, even Dad knew that Jimmy was the best fighter in the whole family. Always had been. With him fighting too, the Waves would win the Grand Championships again. No doubt.
    "Dead serious, man. I promised my mom. No more fighting. None."
    Maybe it's because I've been hit so many times that it makes you harebrained but I'm more sensitive to things like changes in temperature ever since I made a habit of acquiring broken bones and, honestly, the temperature in the room lowered when Jimmy said those words. Fahrenheit five degrees easily, and I was standing in front of the stove.
    "Well, you in trouble then,
primo,
cuz if you expect to come to the Fu, you gotta roll."
    Cue flexed and his black wife-beater shuddered. Trap muscles grew up next to his neck like pyramid ramps to his head made out of that dinosaur capsule stuff that expands when you put it in water. His biceps rolled over onto themselves like snowballs becoming snowboulders rolling too fast down a powdery hill and the scar on his left