Poisoned Pin: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 2) by Laney Monday
Authors: Laney Monday
Tags: Fiction
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judo gis, especially the, uh, pants. Not that I would know anything about that. It’s not like I ever ripped the pants off one of the police officers I’d just met at the Bonney Bay Police Athletic Club’s judo practice two weeks ago. And no, fortunately or unfortunately, it was not Will Riggins. Riggins led the PAL Judo Club, though he was only a brown belt. When I’d refused to teach those guys—which may have been just a teensy bit because Crazy Officer Eric went apeness on me for ripping his pants off and exposing his big albino Sasquatch hiney—Riggins talked me into agreeing to give him lessons so he could advance and become a better teacher. So far, I’d managed to put him off. But I couldn’t stall forever.
I put the lid on the bin of tiny little double and triple zero sized gis with a sigh of relief.
Blythe placed a size one in its stack. “Well, that went incredibly well!” she said.
“Except for my grand entrance.” I sat back against a bin, put my bare feet up on another, and groaned. “Why didn’t you wake me up, Bly?”
“I’m sorry. You had such a hard day yesterday, I figured you needed the rest. I was shocked when the first couple of families came in that door. And then they just kept coming. I texted you to let you know, but I think your phone was dead, and I couldn’t just leave them.”
“It’s not your fault, Bly. I’m just—” Utterly humiliated. Again. Let it go, Brenna. Just let it go. Hey, this whole thing was my idea. I needed to step up. I didn’t know what was getting into me lately. “We have twenty-one students!” I said brightly.
“Not every single ballerina, but over half of them,” Blythe said. “We owe Miss Ruth big time.”
“I’m really looking forward to tonight. I can’t wait to see how they do.” Not to mention how we’ll do.
Once we’d gotten the gis together, Blythe and I gathered up the forms and began inputting data into our computers, compiling rosters for our different classes. We’d made preliminary plans for three separate groups—ages four to six, seven to nine, and ten to twelve. They were all beginners, so for now it made sense to split them by age. The youngest group had forty-five minutes to practice, the middle group an hour, and the older ones an hour-and-a-half.
Unfortunately for my sanity, the youngest group was by far the biggest. Ten little kids. Preschoolers and kindergartners. Judo isn’t like karate or tae kwon do, where kids can practice punches and kicks without a partner—you know, without the potential of hurting a partner. There are no punches and kicks in judo. It’s a grappling sport, and everything involves doing something to another person. Picking them up and throwing them clear over your head and down to their backs, for example. We wouldn’t get bored teaching that group, that was for sure.
I’d taught many seminars for judo kids, and I’d helped teach the occasional beginner the basics at the judo club I was part of when I was growing up, but I’d never actually been in charge of brand-new beginners. Blythe and I had many long talks as we prepared to open, about the challenges of taking an entire class full of beginner kids, none of whom even knows how to listen or follow directions, or how to do the simplest drill.
We had our work cut out for us tonight. But my stomach was full of happy butterflies. This was what I’d come here for. This was the beginning of my very own judo school. I couldn’t wait to see the kids’ eyes light up when they nailed a new move I’d taught them. I couldn’t wait to see them discover the special brand of hard work—the rolling around the mat and struggling and laughing with friends—that only comes through judo.
10
Rain streamed over the brand new, bright blue awnings, and pooled on the sidewalk. But the weather couldn’t dampen the excitement of just as bright, just as brand new, four-to-six-year-old judo students.
I demonstrated a somersault, and several
I put the lid on the bin of tiny little double and triple zero sized gis with a sigh of relief.
Blythe placed a size one in its stack. “Well, that went incredibly well!” she said.
“Except for my grand entrance.” I sat back against a bin, put my bare feet up on another, and groaned. “Why didn’t you wake me up, Bly?”
“I’m sorry. You had such a hard day yesterday, I figured you needed the rest. I was shocked when the first couple of families came in that door. And then they just kept coming. I texted you to let you know, but I think your phone was dead, and I couldn’t just leave them.”
“It’s not your fault, Bly. I’m just—” Utterly humiliated. Again. Let it go, Brenna. Just let it go. Hey, this whole thing was my idea. I needed to step up. I didn’t know what was getting into me lately. “We have twenty-one students!” I said brightly.
“Not every single ballerina, but over half of them,” Blythe said. “We owe Miss Ruth big time.”
“I’m really looking forward to tonight. I can’t wait to see how they do.” Not to mention how we’ll do.
Once we’d gotten the gis together, Blythe and I gathered up the forms and began inputting data into our computers, compiling rosters for our different classes. We’d made preliminary plans for three separate groups—ages four to six, seven to nine, and ten to twelve. They were all beginners, so for now it made sense to split them by age. The youngest group had forty-five minutes to practice, the middle group an hour, and the older ones an hour-and-a-half.
Unfortunately for my sanity, the youngest group was by far the biggest. Ten little kids. Preschoolers and kindergartners. Judo isn’t like karate or tae kwon do, where kids can practice punches and kicks without a partner—you know, without the potential of hurting a partner. There are no punches and kicks in judo. It’s a grappling sport, and everything involves doing something to another person. Picking them up and throwing them clear over your head and down to their backs, for example. We wouldn’t get bored teaching that group, that was for sure.
I’d taught many seminars for judo kids, and I’d helped teach the occasional beginner the basics at the judo club I was part of when I was growing up, but I’d never actually been in charge of brand-new beginners. Blythe and I had many long talks as we prepared to open, about the challenges of taking an entire class full of beginner kids, none of whom even knows how to listen or follow directions, or how to do the simplest drill.
We had our work cut out for us tonight. But my stomach was full of happy butterflies. This was what I’d come here for. This was the beginning of my very own judo school. I couldn’t wait to see the kids’ eyes light up when they nailed a new move I’d taught them. I couldn’t wait to see them discover the special brand of hard work—the rolling around the mat and struggling and laughing with friends—that only comes through judo.
10
Rain streamed over the brand new, bright blue awnings, and pooled on the sidewalk. But the weather couldn’t dampen the excitement of just as bright, just as brand new, four-to-six-year-old judo students.
I demonstrated a somersault, and several
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