“Liam, you’re limited to reverse punches. Nate, you can only use side kicks. First to score five hits wins. No powers.” Amelia was walking us through our next drill. We’d gone over dozens of different variations with the limited number of strikes she had taught us.

When we’d first started learning how to fight, I’d hoped to learn some secret techniques that would magically make me better overnight. Maybe it would be a slight shift to my shoulders, or a minor change to my breathing that would seem obvious in hindsight. Movies and anime had taught me that fighting was mostly about having some esoteric bit of knowledge that separated me from the rest of the world. Before magic, I would have scoffed at the idea, but suddenly it had a lot more merit.

As it turns out, that was not how our training went. So far, we’d learned a jab, a reverse punch (or a cross), a front kick and a side kick. Next week, Amelia said we’d be learning a backfist and a back kick, but that would be it for months.

She’d also taught us how to move. We didn’t learn stances like in kung-fu movies or in my short time taking karate as a kid. Instead, we learned one stance, then drilled on how to move our feet within that stance. After that, she drilled us on how to move our body as we moved our feet. Then she drilled us on how to move our hands to redirect incoming attacks while we moved our body while we moved our feet.

These drills involved her limiting herself to one strike, like a jab, and us focusing on avoiding it or redirecting it depending on the drill. Sometimes we weren’t allowed to move our upper body at all. Sometimes we weren’t allowed to move our feet.

It was hard work, but it was very different from what I’d expected. It took me a while to figure out why, but here it is: we were never in any danger of getting hurt. I’d been conditioned by movies to think that becoming a good fighter meant subjecting yourself to constant danger. In those films, the martial arts master would always have some combination of harrowing trainings prepared for our hero where their only choices were success or death.

The difference, I think, is that Amelia came from a sports background. In sports, you train in ways that limit your potential for injury (at least from what I’ve read—I'm not really a sports guy). Why wouldn’t you? Does that mean you’re any less prepared than someone who’s master taught them balance by standing them on poles twenty feet above a spike pit? I don’t know, but one thing I’m sure of: I preferred it Amelia’s way.

I rushed in as fast as I could, which was getting faster every day. Nate chambered his leg, trying to intercept me with a side kick before I could close the distance. Too slow. I succeeded in stepping inside his guard, planting my feet, twisting my hips in a way that used the momentum of my sprint and the weight of my body to lend my fist more power.

Even with the padding of the practice glove, Nate was sent staggering backward. My fist impacted right in his solar plexus, and the wind was knocked from his body. In the aftermath, he worked to get his balance, holding out his hands in a warding gesture to give himself more space.

“Point! Liam!” Amelia called.

“That was...surprising,” Nate said, blinking. “If my power didn’t naturally give me more durability, I think I would have been heaving up breakfast.”

“Good hit, Li.” Amelia nodded in my direction before turning back to Nate. “You know he’s faster than you, but with a kick, you should be able to keep that speed at a distance.”

“I know I should, but that doesn’t make my body move any faster,” Nate complained.

“I know,” Amelia grinned. “Practice does. Anyway, I’m going to show you a variation on the side kick that I think will help you out, Nate.”

I made my eyes wide and jokingly whispered, “Secret technique!”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “No secrets here, boys. Liam, I want you to come at me like you did Nate. I’ll try to move at his glacial pace to demonstrate.”

I nodded, squaring up in a fighting stance. “When do we start?”

“Whenever you decide to move.”

I rushed her just like I’d done with Nate, but where he’d chambered his leg to prepare his kick—raising himself onto one leg while pulling the other in before extending it back out to strike—she skipped that step, moving her forward-most leg straight from the ground to my side, bending her back leg as she did and pushing forward with it to lend her some power.

It connected before I could get in close. It wasn’t a particularly strong kick, and with the practice pads I didn’t feel much in terms of impact, but it stopped me in my tracks long enough for her to chamber the leg and extend out with another, much more powerful kick.

I let out a groan as Nate called “Point! Ami!”

“What was that?” I asked.

“It’s called a ‘slip kick.’ They’re used more in point-sparring, but they work alright outside of it. They don’t have a lot of power, and your balance is shot for the split second you’re delivering them, but they can sometimes help you surprise an opponent or set up another attack.”

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“That feels like a good way to win this drill, but a bad strategy for winning a fight,” Nate hazarded skeptically. “If Li had been allowed to block or parry, he could probably have taken advantage of that moment you were off balance.”

Amelia shrugged, “Use your discretion. Sometimes you’ll find yourself against a fast opponent who isn’t particularly skilled or clever... like, say, a monster.”

Nate didn’t look convinced, but I’d felt the truth of her words in the heel of her foot. Truthfully, I don’t think I could have stopped her kick if I’d wanted to. According to Help, even though she was only Level 3 to my Level 6, Amelia's Agility was more than double mine. I guess magic couldn’t make up for 18 years of lethargy.

I was grateful to have her guiding us; getting our bodies in shape and drilling some skill into our tired muscles. Adding that experience into Fighting (Hand-to-Hand) had helped. It brought the skill up to Level 2, and I could feel the difference just that one level had made. If my other skills were anything to go by, the difference between Level 1 and Level 2 was maybe six months of practice and training. Level 3 was a bigger milestone, but I’d get there soon enough.

“Okay,” Amelia said, interrupting my train of thought. “Let’s take it again from the top with you. Nate, this time you can use the wing block. Li, you can use the slapping hand block. I want you two to focus less on closing distance. Instead, your goal is to never attack from the same line twice. Y’all move like you’re in Street Fighter II.”

And so it went for the next hour. Drill after drill. When we were done with that, it was time for strength training, followed by cardio. After that, Nate and I were finally free to begin our 8a.m. shift at Brownbag Groceries.

After that morning’s training, I thought I was ready for anything. I have never been more wrong. Were Predators waiting for us when we got there? Had our shift supervisor been turned into a monster?

No.

Any of those things I could have handled, but this...I wasn’t prepared for this.

“A...date?” I asked. The blood in my face couldn’t decide if it wanted to drain to white or flood my face in a rush of red.

“Yes,” Nina said in a measured tone.

“With me?”

“Yep.”

“And you?”

“Unless you’d prefer to date yourself,” she shrugged.

I didn’t know what to say. Of course I liked her. She was funny, smart, and easy to be around. And obviously she was attractive. I didn’t know what sort of scale my Help power was using, but she was seven points more attractive than me.

All that was great, and I did like her...but did I like her like her?

“That...sounds like fun!” I finally managed. “I’ll have to warn you, Nina, I haven’t been on many dates.” Any, as it turned out.

She waved the statement away, “Oh, that was obvious from the start. Don’t worry about it, Li. It’ll be fun!”

“So, I said yes!” I lamented, slapping my hand against my face.

“What’s the big deal? You like this girl, right?” my mom said on the other end of the phone.

I don’t want any of you giving me crap about talking to my mom about this, okay? First of all, what do you get out of tearing me down? Does trying to make me feel embarrassed make you feel strong? Secondly, my mom and I had been getting closer lately, and coming to her for advice made her feel seen and important. Also, as it turns out, she has pretty good advice (something I never could have admitted even a year ago).

“Yes, I like her,” I explained, “but I don’t know if I—you know—like her like her.”

“Liam, that’s what dates are for. Not everyone goes to the frozen yogurt shop knowing what they want. That’s why they give you samples on those tiny spoons.”

“Relationships aren’t frozen yogurt!” I all but shouted into the receiver.

“Remind me how many relationships you’ve been in?”

I paused, considering. “...are relationships frozen yogurt?”

“No, but the metaphor stands. Look, on TV, people have those meet-cutes, right? They run into each other carrying important documents and the papers go flying. They bend down to pick the papers up, and their hands meet over a manila envelope. Looking up, their eyes meet, and sparks fly. It’s the truest kind of love: instant and eternal.

“In real life, those feelings last maybe six months before you have to reckon with the actual person you ‘fell in love’ with in that moment. Usually, you find out your heart is a lousy judge of character and the relationship crumbles to dust. Falling in love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“So you didn’t...umm...fall in love with dad?” My voice cracked a little as I asked the question. We didn’t talk about my dad very much. He’d died when I was six. It was a long time ago, but the more we avoided the subject, the more difficult it was to broach it.

I felt a surge of relief when I heard laughter burst through the phone. “No, Liam, I didn’t fall in love with your dad. I didn’t even like him all that much at first. A mutual friend had set us up, and he had all these weird hobbies I didn’t understand. We ate outside at a restaurant, and he seemed so much more interested in every dog that passed by than he was in me or our conversation! It wasn’t until our fourth or fifth date that I thought there might be something. I don’t think we fell in love. We just sort of...gently meandered in its direction.”

I smiled. “Like how some shows need a season to grow on you before you start to like them.”

Her tone shifted. “I’ve already told you I’m not watching Bob’s Burgers.”

“It’s a good show about a sweet family!”

“What’s that? Oh, I’m sorry Liam, I have to go. Your nanna is here. We’re going to pick blueberries.”

“You’re allergic to blueberries!”

CLICK

“Nanna’s been dead for twelve years!”

I rolled my eyes and put my phone in my pocket. I guessed it was time to get ready for my date.