Words With Fiends by Ali Brandon Page B

morning. If you two want, you can come in and I’ll give you your own private belt test.”
    â€œIf you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” Darla began, only to have Robert cut her off.
    â€œSweet! We’ll be here,” he agreed, his grin as broad as Darla had ever seen it. “What time?”
    â€œHow about eleven?”
    Robert hesitated, his enthusiasm obviously dimming as he looked at Darla for confirmation. Both of them were scheduled to open the store at noon on Sunday, which would be cutting it pretty darn close. But seeing how much this meant to Robert—and looking forward herself to trading her beginner’s white belt for a yellow one—Darla gave him an answering smile and then turned to Tomlinson.
    â€œEleven would be fine . . . and if the store opens a few minutes late, I’m sure everyone will survive it.”
    â€œSweet,” Robert happily repeated. He gave a few air punches to punctuate the sentiment, while Roma enthusiastically bounded up and down at his feet. “Thanks, Master Tomlinson.”
    â€œThank
you
. Nothing is better than finding students who truly want to learn. So come ready to show me your best.”
    â€œWe will,” Darla promised.
    â€œWe will,” Robert echoed, and then bent to tussle a moment with Roma, who promptly grabbed hold of his gi sleeve with tiny sharp teeth and began play growling as she tugged at it.
    Tomlinson smiled a little even as he assumed a stern tone. “Leave it, Roma. You know better than that.”
    The small canine obediently let go of Robert’s sleeve, but her bright brown eyes still flashed with mischief as she sat beside the instructor. Hank, meanwhile, strolled past them on his way to the equipment area, pausing a moment to give Roma a disapproving look.
    â€œWe’re about to start the sparring class,” he announced. “That rat’s gonna get stepped on. Why don’t you stick it in its cage?”
    By way of answer, Tomlinson abruptly clapped his beefy hands. With a graceful vertical leap, Roma landed in the older man’s arms. From the safety of her owner’s arms, she gave Hank what Darla could only interpret as a smug look before snuggling with her long snout tucked beneath the lapel of his gi.
    Tomlinson, meanwhile, gave his stepson a cold look. “Roma knows how to behave in the dojo, which is more than I can say for some other people.”
    â€œWell,” Darla brightly broke in, “I think it’s time for Robert and me to head out so we’re not in the way of the next group. We’ll see you Sunday morning, Sensei.”
    She made her quick bow to Tomlinson and Hank; then, grabbing Robert by his gi sleeve, she dragged him toward the changing area.
    â€œBut I wanted to watch the sparring class,” he complained as he stumbled after her.
    She halted and let go of his sleeve. “Sorry, I just wanted to get us out of fist range in case something happened. This isn’t the first night I’ve seen those two do a little verbal sparring, and it always makes me nervous.”
    She glanced over her shoulder and saw in relief that the two men had apparently parted with nothing worse than the few harsh words already exchanged. Even so, she wasn’t going to hang around. “Stay if you want,” she told the teen, “but I’m going to leave before—”
    Before Mark shows up
, was what she intended to say. But she made it only halfway through her sentence when she caught a whiff of stale cigarette smoke, and a familiar nasal voice chimed in behind her, “Hi, Darla.”
    Too late.
    Wincing a little, Darla turned back around to see Mark Poole and his overstuffed gear bag wandering in from the training area. “Long time, no see,” he trotted out the old cliché, and then grinned in appreciation of his perceived wit. “You staying to watch me spar tonight, maybe give me a little