Karate Kick

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2009 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  First eBook Edition: August 2009

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-08185-6

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Matt Christopher®

  The #1 Sports Series For Kids

  1

  Hi-ai!”

  With a forceful cry, eleven-year-old Cole Richards flipped his best friend Marty Bronson backward over his hip. Marty landed with a thud on the thick floor mat. Cole dropped down and, with a loud “He-ya!” aimed a punch at Marty’s throat. His fist stopped less than an inch from its target.

  They both froze for a moment. Then they relaxed and looked at their martial arts instructor, their sensei.

  “Good,” said Sensei Joe, nodding.

  Cole stood up and adjusted his white gi top so that it lay neatly over the uniform’s white pants. He tugged at the ends of the blue canvas belt wrapped around his waist, tightening the belt’s knot.

  “Okay, Marty, it’s your turn,” the instructor said. “Cole is going to attack you with one of three grabs — a single wrist grab, a double wrist grab, or a front choke. When he does, defend yourself.”

  Marty faced Cole. Cole waited a beat, and then rushed forward and put his hands around his friend’s throat.

  With a lightning-quick move, Marty flung his arms straight up and outside Cole’s arms, fingertips pointed at the ceiling. Then he stepped back, twisted sideways, and dropped one elbow across and down onto Cole’s arms.

  Cole fell forward and released Marty’s neck. Marty delivered two quick elbow jabs at Cole’s exposed jaw, punctuating each with energetic cries.

  “He-ya! He-ya!”

  Those elbow jabs ended the move. The two separated and turned for Sensei Joe’s reaction.

  “Not bad,” he said. “Marty, you attack Cole now.”

  “Okay!” Marty wrapped his left hand tightly around Cole’s right wrist. Cole tried to free himself by pulling his fist up toward his ear with a sharp jerk.

  It didn’t work.

  “Stop,” Sensei Joe said. “Cole, what did you do wrong?”

  Cole stared at his wrist, still encircled by Marty’s fingers, and shook his head, mystified.

  “Marty, do you know?” Sensei Joe asked.

  “He forgot to turn his wrist first,” Marty replied immediately.

  “And why would that make a difference?” the instructor prodded.

  “Because then the skinniest part of his wrist would face the spot where my thumb and fingers meet,” he said. He demonstrated by rotating Cole’s wrist. “Without the turn, the widest part of his wrist would be at that spot instead. It’s hard for the wide part to force its way through that opening. But it’s almost impossible for me to keep my grip on him when the skinny part does.”

  “Exactly,” Sensei Joe said with satisfaction.

  A red flush of embarrassment crept up Cole’s face. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten such a basic move. It was something he’d learned nearly four years ago, when he’d first started taking karate, for Pete’s sake!

  “Try again,” their instructor said.

  This time, when Marty grabbed his wrist, Cole remembered the turn and yanked himself free without a problem.

  “Good,” Sensei Joe said.

  Cole and Marty attacked one another with several more grabs. Then Sensei Joe told them to join the other students to practice some different defensive moves, called kumites. They bowed to one another and moved from the mats to the main floor of the dojo. Their instructor, meanwhile, disappeared into his office.

  Marty nudged Cole. “You know what Sensei Joe’s doing, don’t you?” he whispered.

  Cole glanced through the office windows. “It looks like he’s printing something,” he said.

  “Exactly! And I bet I know what it is!” Marty grinned at him. “It’s your invitation to test for your green belt!”

  Cole blinked. His mouth grew dry. His heart started thumping in his chest. “My green belt test? You really think so?”

  2

  Cole had been a karate student for more than four years. Like all beginners, he had started his training in the white belt class. Sensei Joe and the other instructors taught him some basic blocks, kicks, strikes, and stances, plus some simple defensive moves, and how to spar safely against other students. They also taught him his first kata, or series of karate moves.

  Each belt level had its own curriculum. After a few months, Cole had learned all the material at the white belt level. But before he could advance to the next rank, yellow belt, he had to demonstrate that he had mastered the white belt skills. That demonstration, or test, was by invitation only and took place on a special day and time outside of class.

  Cole had been nervous the day of his first test. But once he began, his anxiety had fled.

  For the test, one of his senseis asked him to do some basic moves. Another watched him perform his kata. Finally, Sensei Joe had tested his defensive skills. Cole did each task well and had passed with flying colors. When he accepted his new yellow belt from Sensei Joe at the end of the test, he couldn’t stop grinning.

  As a yellow belt, Cole learned new moves, a new kata, and practiced all the white belt material as well. In time, he advanced to the next level of orange belt, where he continued to build upon the skills he had learned at white and yellow.

  At some karate schools in other parts of the country, green belt followed orange. But at Sensei Joe’s dojo, the next level was purple, and then blue, green, and brown. Cole was a blue belt; if he made it through green and brown and continued training, he could eventually achieve the coveted rank of black belt.

  That wasn’t the end of the road, however. If he wanted, he could train for years to come, for as Sensei Joe often said, there was always something else to learn or some skill to perfect.

  To reach blue belt, Cole had gone through the testing experience four times. Each test had been longer and more difficult, for the higher up he climbed, the more he was expected to know. His last test, from purple belt to blue, had lasted more than two hours!

  Now, the thought of being invited to test for his green belt filled his stomach with butterflies. There would be so much to remember!

  “Hey, boys, shake a leg!”

  The call came fro
m Sensei Ann, another instructor. Sensei Ann was a senior in high school but she already had her black belt, a sure sign of her dedication to martial arts. With her warm smile and easy laugh, she was a favorite among the students. She didn’t mind joking around with them — but when it was time to train, like now, she was all business.

  Cole and Marty quickened their pace. The other students had already formed two lines facing one another. Cole joined one line and Marty took a spot opposite him.

  Cole liked pairing with Marty during exercises that required a partner, such as the defensive maneuvers they were about to do. They were the same age, height, and build, and since Marty had just recently advanced to blue belt, they were the same rank, too. While Cole had no problem working with someone shorter or taller or weaker or stronger than he was, he preferred to pair off with someone equal in size, strength, and skill, like Marty.

  “Bow to your partner,” Sensei Ann called when everyone was ready.

  Cole and Marty dipped forward, straightened, and then assumed positions about an arm’s length apart.

  “Kumite number one,” Sensei Ann said. “Marty’s side strikes first, the other side defends. Ready? Go!”

  Marty lunged forward with a straight-in punch directed at Cole’s face.

  As the fist neared, Cole burst into action. He slid his left foot back. He twisted his body a quarter turn to the left. He struck out with his right arm, hitting Marty’s forearm with the back of his own to push the punch away. Then he flattened and flipped his right hand and thrust the pinky edge at Marty’s neck — a strike their instructors called a shuto. That done, he slid his right foot over and twisted back toward Marty, driving the heel of his left hand at Marty’s jaw as he did. A split second later, he unleashed a right punch at Marty’s midsection.

  “Ki-ai!” he shouted with the punch.

  “Ye-ow!” Marty yelped in pain. Then he clutched his abdomen and moaned, “Oowww, my gut! Ooowww!”

  3

  For one heart-stopping moment, Cole thought he had really hurt his friend.

  But then he realized he couldn’t have. After all, he had only touched Marty with his knuckles! If he had actually hit him full force, with that punch or any of his strikes, Sensei Ann would have been on him faster than fleas on a junkyard dog.

  So instead of showing concern, he folded his arms over his chest, rolled his eyes, and said, “Nice acting. Are you up for an Academy Award or something?”

  Marty straightened, a wide grin on his face. “Just imagining what it’d be like if you really hit me!”

  Cole struck a pose, hands circling in front of him. “You better hope you never find out! These bad boys are lethal weapons, you know!”

  “Ahem,” Sensei Ann interrupted. “Some of us are trying to practice kumites here. If you’d rather goof off, please step out of line.”

  The boys stopped clowning around instantly and muttered apologies. At their instructor’s command, Cole threw a straight-in punch at Marty. Marty defended himself with the same quick, powerful moves Cole had just used.

  When both lines had done the first kumite, Sensei Ann told Marty’s side to shift down one spot. Now everybody faced new partners for kumite number two.

  Felix, a small boy who had only recently achieved the rank of purple belt, looked up at Cole with trepidation.

  “Hey, Felix,” Cole greeted him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I always mess this one up,” Felix confessed.

  “So don’t rush it,” Cole suggested. “Do it one step at a time. Then do it again and pick up the pace. Learning to do these kumites right is what this drill is all about, after all!”

  “Okay,” Felix said, looking a little more cheerful.

  Cole came at Felix with a straight-in punch. But unlike the driving punch he’d delivered at Marty, this one was slow and deliberate.

  Felix responded with the same twisting arm block used at the start of kumite number one. Then he hesitated.

  “Slide your front foot back,” Cole coached. “And do the two shutos, right then left, at my neck. Follow those with a right punch to my stomach. Remember?”

  “Foot, shuto, shuto, punch,” Felix muttered, performing the motions as he said them.

  “Good!” Cole praised the other boy. “Now do it all again, with a little more power and speed. Ready?”

  This time, Felix didn’t hesitate at all. When he finished he gave Cole a big grin. Cole responded with a thumbs-up sign. Then he defended himself against Felix’s punch with the same moves. After that, it was time to change partners again.

  When Cole saw who he was paired up with next, he almost groaned out loud.

  Monique Cleary had started taking karate at the same time as Cole. Back then, she, Marty, and Cole had been good friends; in fact, Cole and Monique had been the ones to convince Marty to join them in learning karate.

  But right after he did, something changed. Monique started taking private lessons with Sensei Joe in addition to the regular classes. She also started taking karate much more seriously. She delivered every kick, every strike, and every block as if her life depended upon it! That newfound intensity, plus the extra training, had vaulted her ahead of Cole and Marty. Three months ago, she had earned her green belt.

  Cole was more than a little jealous that she was further along in her training than he was. But he could have handled it if not for one thing. Soon after she had reached a higher rank, Monique had started pointing out his smallest errors. It was almost like he was a mouse and she was a cat, waiting to pounce on him!

  He knew fellow students were supposed to correct one another when they noticed someone making a mistake. Normally, he didn’t mind it; after all, he helped others as much as they helped him. But there was something about the way Monique did it that just drove him nuts.

  Now, it was his turn to defend himself against her attack, an uppercut punch, for kumite number three. Monique pushed her curly red hair out of her face and got ready. At Sensei Ann’s command, she scooped her right arm up at him.

  He twisted sideways and blocked the blow as it rose toward him. But as he started to do the next moves — grabbing her wrist and tugging her forward into his jabbing elbow — he saw Monique’s fist continue on its upward path toward his face!

  “Uh-oh,” she said smugly, “someone didn’t block very well!”

  4

  Cole dropped his arms and glared at Monique. “What?”

  Sensei Joe appeared behind him. “I believe she said you didn’t block very well. And she’s right. You rushed the block to get to the elbow strikes. But you’ll never get a chance to do the strikes if you don’t block first, because her fist will be jammed into your eye. Try it again.”

  By this time, everyone else was done with the kumite. They all turned to watch Cole and Monique.

  Cole flushed from his neck to his scalp as he set up for kumite number three again. This time, when the uppercut came, he struck Monique with as much force as he could muster.

  That strike backfired, for a starburst of pain exploded in his own arm. From her gasp, he knew the blow had hurt her, too. But he didn’t stop. Instead, he wrapped the fingers of his left hand tightly around her right wrist and, with a quick twisting yank, jerked her into his jabbing right elbow.

  Her free hand whipped up to protect her jaw from his jabs.

  Cole let go. “I’m not going to hit you!” he said. But secretly, he was glad he had made her think he might. Maybe next time she’d think twice before correcting him!

  Sensei Joe and Sensei Ann led the students through several more kumites. They finished just as class time ran out.

  “Man, my arm is going to be bruised tomorrow!” Marty said, rubbing the spot where students had struck him over and over. “Everyone’s arms are so bony! It’s like getting whacked with a broom handle!”

  Cole looked at his own forearm and grimaced. “Yeah, my arm is sore, too. But what can you do? Karate is a contact sport, after all!”

  “True enough, my friend
, and so much more besides,” Marty agreed.

  They both glanced at the wall where a poster hung. Written on that poster was the basic philosophy of karate as translated from Gichin Funakoshi, the man who had put it forth more than a century earlier: “Seek perfection of character, be faithful, endeavor to do well, respect others, and refrain from violent behavior!”

  Sensei Joe clapped his hands then and instructed the students to line up for dismissal. He bowed to them and they returned the courtesy. Then he told them to remove their belts.

  Cole widened his stance, loosened the knot, and pulled the belt free. He folded the canvas length neatly, making sure it didn’t drag on the floor, and placed it in his right hand. Then he held both hands out in front of him in the ready stance.

  His heart started pounding again. If Sensei Joe was going to invite him to test, now was when he’d do it.

  Instead, Sensei Joe made an announcement. “Before you go,” he said, “I want to tell you about a contest we will be holding here at the dojo.”

  “What kind of contest?” one of the students asked. “It’s our first annual create-your-own-kata contest,” Sensei Joe replied. “Contestants will have until this Sunday to make up a karate routine, their own kata. That afternoon, each student who enters will perform his or her kata for the rest of the class, parents, and other audience members. We will vote for the one we like best and the winner will teach it to us during future classes.”

  There was an interested murmuring among the students, a sound that stopped immediately when their instructor cleared his throat.

  “One final thing,” he said. He held out a piece of paper. “Cole, step forward, please.”

  A jolt of nervous excitement coursed through Cole’s body. This was it! That paper had to be his official invitation to test for his green belt!

  He was right. “Congratulations,” Sensei Joe said, handing Cole the paper.

  As the other students applauded, Cole bowed to both of his instructors and shook their hands. Then he returned to the line.