Page 13 of Tell Me You Love Me

“It’s summer, and that’s usually when numbers spike for us. Moms and dads are at work, and daycare is more expensive than martial arts classes. Have you ever done a class like this before?”

He shakes his head.

“And just to clarify, do you know how to speak? Do you have a voice?”

“Yes.”

Victory!

I swing my gaze up and smile, even if he gives me just one word. One raspy, shaky, barely committed syllable.

“I guess you heard all that stuff where I was being silly and loud, huh? I probably sounded like the kind of guy who doesn’t know how to be quiet. But,” I dip my chin toward the cage. Toward my brother pounding on our local doctor. “He’s my twin, and he’s probably the quietest guy I know. Except for what you just saw, he doesn’t really like talkin’ to people, either. So I learned a long time ago to respect a man’s desire for silence.”

Slowly, with every word I speak, the tremble in his jaw slows. The glow of his cheeks softens.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna. But I’m gonna give you instructions during class, so if you don’t understand them, or don’t feel safe, or if anything feels off, I’ll need you to speak up then, okay? It can be as much or as little as you want it to be. But I can’t know something is wrong unless you say so. Did your mom or dad sign any forms when you got here?”

He shrugs, lifting his shoulders and exhaling. “My grandma brought me. My mom is at her new job.”

“Okay. Cool.” I scratch my jaw. “Are you new to town?”

He nods again. “Since a few days ago.”

“Is your grandma new to town?”

He shakes his head. “She always lived here. She said she knows your family and that you wouldn’t mind if I came to class.”

She knows my family…Geez. I fuckin’ hope not. My family is trash.

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of all the grown-up stuff later. Do you have any injuries or anything we need to talk about before we start? How old are you?”

“I’m nine and a half. My birthday is in January. And I have a sore leg.” He points at a yellowing bruise on his shin. “I fell over at my grandma’s. She has cows, and they were looking at me kinda funny.”

“The cows were looking at you funny?” A soft chuckle reverberates along my chest. “Funny, how?”

“Like they were gonna kill me.” He folds his arms again, shuddering. “She has chickens, too. I think they ascended from hell and came here just to give me nightmares.”

“Ascended? That’s a pretty smart word for a nine-year-old, don’t you think?”

He stares, firming his lips and studying me like I’m dumber than the killer cows on his grandma’s property. “It’s a normal word. You don’t know it?”

I bark out a loud laugh and straighten out before my legs explode from swelling lactic acid. “I know it. I know all sorts of smart words, actually. But I learned them from my brother, and he’s the smartest guy I ever met.”

“My mom says I’m the smartest person she knows. Including the adults.”

“I bet she’s probably right, then. You wanna tell me your name yet?”

And just like that, he snaps his lips closed and shuts down.Interesting. Itake a step back, then another when I’m reasonably confident he won’t dart out of here and onto the road in his escape. Then I clap my hands for the rest of my class, who, while I focused on the new kid, dissolved into some kind of illegal cockfighting ring. “Molly Jenkins!” I grab the scruff of her shirt and drag her off her victim. “Control yourself, girl. You’re supposed to show us dumb boys how girls have superior self-control and yada yada yada.”

“Yada yada, my butt!” She turns on Jeremy with a feral glare. “He said he was better than me in jiu-jitsu.”

“Yeah? Well, you sure showed him.” I meet Jeremy’s electric eyes. “She had you in submission, bud. She’s a girl and was still whooping you. You’re as embarrassing as your father.”

“I can’t believe wepayfor this,” Billy grumbles. “At least back in school, Tommy Watkins talked shit forfree.”

“Inflation,” I chuckle, setting Molly on her feet and pushing her toward the new kid. “Go over there and make friends.” But when the kid’s eyes flash with panic behind his glasses, I add, “but he doesn’t have to talk to you if he doesn’t wanna. Be nice, but don’t be bossy. Jeremy.” I point him toward the first hoop. “Lead your group. Frog hop from one to the next. Go around the circle, then come back to line up again. I wanna see you all panting and sweaty before we can get started on the real stuff.”

“Warm-ups are never fun,” he grumbles. Though he doesn’t pass up the opportunity to be first in line, either. Like father, like son. “Can we practice roundhouse kicks today?”

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