“At least ya arm stayed in its socket, eh?” Dauda winced as he rolled his own injured shoulder in a circle. The clicking sound that emitted from his bones turned my stomach. Dauda was a six-foot-five, hard-as-nails Sierra-Leonean, so I felt slightly better knowing he’d had his ass handed to him too.
Marcel mopped his shiny brow on the back of the Institute’s version of a judogi, which we all wore for these lessons. The judogi worn by trainees was black and durable, with a strip of white cutting through the center to identify us as first years. Marcel wore a solid maroon belt, which he tightened before lunging back in to silence Genie’s smart remarks. Finally, they were in close combat. For every strike that Marcel put up, Genie blocked it with a forearm, a palm, a shoulder—the sound of the fast impacts smacked through the room, making everyone flinch. For every strike Genie tried to land, Marcel countered as though he were flicking lint off his uniform.
“You’re thinking too much,” he warned as he advanced on her, forcing her to retreat before jabbing the heel of his palm into her sternum and knocking her backward.
She recovered quickly, steadying herself by squatting low. “I thought I was supposed to have a concussion?”
“Maybe your head is the thing made out of metal.” Marcel covered the distance between them in two strides, his hand slicing downward, aiming for the space where her neck met her shoulder. She took advantage of the vulnerability of his body, left defenseless by his attack. She countered with a dragon rana, flipping herself forward through the air so that she landed atop his shoulders, her legs hooking around his neck. Then she heaved her bodyweight toward the ground while the rest of us watched, breathless, as Marcel toppled, pulled down by the unexpected move. He arced in seemingly slow-motion before his back thudded hard into the floor, sending out shockwaves through the room. He lay still for a moment, stunned.
“Holy crap!” said Suranne.
I nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
Genie got to her feet, towering over Marcel, and pressed her foot to his chest. “Do you surrender?”
“Not even close.” Marcel grasped her foot and pushed upward, sending her sprawling.
I unclenched my fists, not realizing I’d balled them up out of anxiety for my friend. Marcel wouldn’t admit it until the fight was over, but she definitely had come close to winning.
“You almost had him, G!” Adrian Gunn shouted. Adrian was a long-haired Welshman who may or may not have had a huge crush on Genie, so who knew how objective he was.
“Sock it to him!” Teddy yelled.
Pia Sund, a Swede with a sharp blonde bob, punched the air vehemently. “Do that flippy thing again!”
Is this really the same Institute? I observed my classmates with an amused smile. No one jeered, they just offered advice and commiseration, and even promised to save a slice of pie for me at dinner while I swept the dojo floor.
“I’ll be coughing up bits of lung for a month,” Genie joked, lurching back up.
Marcel cackled. “Well, dinnae go telling the medics it was me who dislodged ‘em.”
“Pfft, I’m no snitch.” Genie round-housed Marcel while he was mid-laugh, catching him square in the almighty chest. I made a mental note of everything she did, determined to try it out when I got back to my room. Maybe not the flippy stuff, but I could definitely improve my kicks and slices and spins.
I have liv’d long enough for others, like the Dog in the Wheel, and it is now the Season to begin for myself: I cannot change that Thing call’d Time, but I can alter its Posture and, as Boys do turn a looking-glass against the Sunne, so I will dazzle you all. I’d been reading more British and Irish literature since coming here, thanks to Nathan’s recommendations, and that quote from Peter Ackroyd’s Hawksmoor had struck a sincere chord. I did feel as though the seasons had changed, not just literally but figuratively, and these last days of summer had formed the firm foundations of the hunter I would become. I wasn’t a fumbling, staggering newborn foal anymore. Maybe I was still hitting the floor in Martial Arts, but I was making huge leaps elsewhere. I finally had a handle on my Purges, thanks to all I’d learned in training and the puzzle boxes I now carried at all times. And Genie… well, she was dazzling everyone. I’d never seen her thrive like this, and it buoyed me up, knowing we’d made the right choice in coming here.
Marcel stumbled back and Genie landed another roundhouse on the exact same spot, whirling like a dervish as she struck him with kick after kick after kick, until, like a tree that had been chain-sawed at the base, he finally toppled. The ensuing crash made the mirrors tremble, and some older students peeked through the training-room windows to see what had happened. A few inquisitive eyes widened in shock, seeing Marcel downed like Goliath to Genie’s David.
“YASSSS!” Gem shouted, before flinging her arms around Suranne.
“Genie, Genie, Genie, Genie!” Teddy started up the chant and everyone jumped in, cheering my best friend before the match was even properly over. Carried away by the mob mentality, I added my voice to the mix, shouting until my voice went hoarse. Genie had ranted about this for weeks, exasperated that she kept getting beaten by Marcel at the last moment, but she’d finally done it… Marcel was down for the count.
Genie, sweating buckets, walked to Marcel and stood over him. “Do you submit this time?”
Marcel held out a hand. “I submit, lass. Three months of near misses, and you finally did it. Landed me on me arse, like a prize wally.”
“Hey, Ms. Jules is always harping on about patience and modesty.” Genie grabbed his proffered hand and helped him up. “I’ve learned modesty by getting floored 99% of the time—or maybe that’s humility. And I’ve learned patience by persevering to reach that 1%.”
“Well earned, lass.” Marcel dusted himself off and tightened the belt of his judogi variation. “I could’ve done without the gawping spectators, but there’s nae shame in losing.” He nodded toward the observers behind the training-room glass. “You only learn how to win by taking a whole lot of hits first.” His eyes sought mine with a pointed nod, and I heard his encouragement loud and clear.
If I’m ever going to get out of last place, I need to up my game. Poring over books and absorbing endless notes came easy to me, but I sometimes forgot that the physical part of my training also needed care and attention outside of lessons. It wasn’t enough to prance around in my bedroom, trying to kick seven bells out of imaginary attackers. I needed to learn from my mistakes and come back harder and faster and fitter than before, which meant cardio, and maybe persuading Genie to spar with me. Or perhaps I could ask Teddy or Dauda to step in, to imitate battling with physically bigger opponents. Either way, I wanted to show everyone that both of us SDC women were a force to be reckoned with.
Marcel smiled, unfazed by the loss. “After that, I need a sit down, so yez can scoot early and sort out your aches and pains. Persie, you know where the broom is, aye?”
“Aye,” I mimicked.
Ayperi shouldered her backpack, while the others were already halfway out the door. “Do you want us to get you anything from the canteen?”
“Not today, thanks. I’ve got to go see Ms. Jules and then come back here to sweep the decks, so I’ll grab something later,” I replied, grateful for the offer.