This Isn’t for Little Girls
“This isn’t for little girls.”
Mason Price said it loudly enough for half the gym to hear.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't the friendly smile instructors used when welcoming nervous beginners. It was the other kind—the smile of a man who had already decided everyone around him understood the joke.
Several people laughed.
A few didn't.
Forty-six-year-old Camille Reed stood at the edge of the mat with both hands inside the pockets of a faded brown canvas jacket.
She looked at Mason.
Then she looked at the nineteen-year-old woman sitting on the floor behind him.
The girl's name was Emily Parker.
Her right hand pressed against the side of her neck.
Her eyes were wet.
She had tapped three times.
Camille had seen it.
So had at least twenty other people.
Mason had released her a second later, but the expression on his face suggested that the tap had meant nothing.
Emily slowly got to her feet.
“I said stop,” she whispered.
Mason shrugged.
“You were supposed to tap earlier.”
Emily looked down.
“I did.”
“You probably thought about it.”
Another few people laughed.
Camille's expression didn't change.
The gym was called Iron Ridge Martial Arts Academy, a large converted warehouse on the eastern side of Columbus. The building had once been a furniture factory. Now it contained three training areas, a boxing ring, heavy bags hanging from steel beams, rows of lockers, and a wall covered with framed photographs of champions.
Mason Price was one of the academy's senior instructors.
He was twenty-nine.
Six feet tall.
Broad shoulders.
Black belt.
Three stripes on his belt.
A regional grappling champion.
He had been training since he was twelve.
And he knew it.
Everyone knew it.
Mason liked reminding people.
Especially beginners.
Especially people who looked as though they didn't belong.
Camille had been standing there for nearly fifteen minutes without saying anything.
She had come to pick up her nephew, Daniel, who was attending his first trial class.
Daniel was thirteen and had been begging her for months to let him try martial arts.
Camille had finally agreed.
She had expected to sit quietly in the corner.
She hadn't expected to watch someone humiliate a teenage girl.
Emily was new to the academy too.
Camille had noticed her when she first walked in.
Nineteen years old.
Small frame.
Dark hair tied into a loose ponytail.
Nervous eyes.
She had spent ten minutes stretching by herself before asking Mason if she could join the advanced fundamentals group.
Mason had looked her over.
Then he had laughed.
“You sure you're in the right class?”
Emily had nodded.
“I think so.”
“You've trained before?”
“No.”
“Then you're definitely in the wrong class.”
The class had laughed.
Emily had smiled awkwardly.
“I can learn.”
Mason had stared at her for a moment.
Then he'd said, “Fine.”
That had been an hour ago.
Now she was sitting on the edge of the mat, trying not to cry.
Camille walked toward her.
“Are you okay?”
Emily looked up.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you're not.”
Emily swallowed.
“I just need a minute.”
Camille nodded.
“Take two.”
Emily gave her a small, grateful smile.
Behind them, Mason was talking to another student.
Camille heard him say, “Some people think watching videos online makes them fighters.”
More laughter.
She turned.
Mason noticed.
Their eyes met.
“What?” he asked.
Camille shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Mason smiled.
“Good.”
Camille returned her hands to her jacket pockets.
Daniel appeared beside her.
“Aunt Camille?”
“Yes?”
“Was that okay?”
Camille looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“The choke.”
“No.”
Daniel looked toward Mason.
“Coach says people have to learn the hard way.”
Camille crouched beside her nephew.
“Learning martial arts should make you more controlled, not less.”
Daniel nodded slowly.
“You know martial arts?”
Camille stood.
“A little.”
“How much?”
Camille smiled.
“Enough.”
Daniel's eyes widened.
But before he could ask anything else, Mason walked over.
“You Camille?”
She nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Daniel's aunt?”
“Yes.”
Mason looked at Daniel.
“Good kid.”
Then he looked back at Camille.
“He'll need to toughen up if he wants to stay here.”
Camille said nothing.
Mason glanced at her jacket.
“You waiting for somebody?”
“My nephew.”
“Right.”
He smiled.
“You should probably keep him away from the advanced mats for now.”
Camille raised an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because people get hurt.”
“I see.”
“And this isn't exactly a place for spectators to give advice.”
Camille's eyes remained on him.
“I wasn't giving advice.”
“Good.”
Mason walked away.
Daniel whispered, “I don't like him.”
Camille almost smiled.
“You don't have to like him.”
“Then why do people listen to him?”
“Because they're afraid not to.”
Daniel thought about that.
“Are you afraid of him?”
Camille looked across the gym.
Mason was laughing with two black belts.
“No.”
Daniel noticed the answer immediately.
“You're not.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Camille looked at her old canvas jacket.
There was a faded patch near the left shoulder.
Almost impossible to read.
Daniel had never asked about it.
Neither had anyone else.
Camille touched the patch briefly.
“Because I've met men like him before.”