“You think?” the professor said with a sarcastic tone. “Not to worry, Elena. We're not going to throw you into the deep end just yet. We'll just take it one step at a time, okay?”
The corner of my mouth twitched. I tried desperately to hide my doubts that anything good was going to come out of me holding a weapon. Silently, I resigned myself to the reality that I was going to suck with a sword and would probably fail this class.
“Becky,” Professor Mia said, “go get her armor. We'll take it from there.”
Becky gripped my arm again and pulled me over to the cupboard. We found an old safety vest. I barely caught it when Becky tossed the thing to me. It reeked of old sweat, and I made involuntary gagging sounds. It smelled worse when I tried to pull it over my head. I found Becky leaning against the cupboard with criss-crossed legs, laughing in total hysterics.
She regained control of herself and wiped away her tears. “Don't worry, we'll find you one tomorrow in Elm that will fit,” she said, without looking at me.
The thing was double my size, and I knew I looked ridiculous. So much for first impressions.
Now I know how a stuffed animal feels.
“Becky, is it going to be today?” Professor Mia yelled, irritation lacing her voice.
Becky burst into laughter again, which was starting to annoy me. It got even worse when the class joined her.
“Comedy hour is finished. Get back to practice,” Professor Mia ordered, and Becky stopped.
I trembled as I listened to steel slamming against steel. It looked like total war out there.
I'm so not cut out for this.
I didn't even have to try it once; I knew I was going to be absolutely terrible.
“Is there any way I can drop this class?” I whispered to Becky, pleading with my eyes for any way out of this situation.
She snorted and tried desperately not to break out into laughter again. “Sorry.” She worked hard to keep a straight face. “No, it's mandatory. Besides how are you going to protect yourself, Elena?”
“From what?” I asked, but before Becky could burst out laughing again, I realized the answer. They were huge, had wings, and breathed fire. A typical David and Goliath story, only ten times worse.
“Give it a try, who knows, you might love it.” She suggested it as if there was an alternative.
We reached Professor Mia slowly, who methodically made her way around the small room, wielding her sword with unbelievable precision. After a short and not very informative lesson from Becky, she placed the sword in my hand. It made me tip over like a bowling pin. I stared at it like an idiot. My eyes grew larger as I took in the metal blade.
“Becky, go spar with Collin,” Professor Mia ordered.
Becky left my side for the first time since we’d left our room.
“Elena, here.” Professor Mia touched my chin and turned my face to look into hers. “The first rule of combat is never to take your eyes off your opponent.”
* * *
Class was excruciating. In ten minutes, every muscle and joint in my body was inflamed. Right before I thought I was going to pass out, Professor Mia mercifully stopped. She had made a mistake when she said that I would get better. I knew it, she knew it, and the unrelenting laughter emanating from the other students knew it. The second half of class, I rested on the bleachers. I hardly had the strength to take off my vest.
I watched the other students as they trained around the room. Becky was good. I felt sorry for her opponent. She even threw in a kick or two between the blows of her sword. I understood now why they called wielding a weapon the art of dueling.
Thankfully, a bell rang in the distance and everyone stopped on Professor Mia's command. The students walked with high spirits toward the wall to return their equipment. I tried to get up, but my body ached, and I fell back onto the bleachers in a huff.
I'm going to regret this in the morning.
Becky put her shield, helmet against the wall, and walked over to the cupboard to put away the sword. She ran over to me. “Are you okay?”
“I'll live,” I said, sulking.
“You'll see. It’s going to be your favorite class too. I don't think there's a student here who hates Art of War.” She lent me a hand up.
“Well, then I'm going to be the first. I'm definitely a lover, not a fighter.” I said, honesty coating every syllable.
She giggled, pulled me toward the exit, and back to the main building.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nodded, carrying her sweaty vest over her shoulder.
“What happens if someone gets hurt?”
“Swallow-Annex's are good at healing cuts and bruises,” Becky said simply as if that offered any real explanation.
Swallow-Annex? The term sounded Greek and dangerous. I decided against asking for a translation. My legs burned as I climbed the stairs, each step sending a biting pain into my knees. To make matters worse, they didn't want to bend properly, turning my balance to a big fat zero.