Page 70 of Sleeper: The Palisades Edition

“I made this for you!” She presents me with a painting. “We had to paint someone we like to be with, and I did you!”

Through watery eyes, I’m staring down at a colorful portrait of a woman with a huge head, enormous brown eyes, giant smile, big long dark hair, massive boobs—thank you Summer!—and a yellow heart on her neck.

“Summer. This is so beautiful.” I bend down to hug her. I don’t know why I’m so surprised that she’d pick me, but I am. “I love you,” I whisper in her ear. I’ve never said it to her before, and it immediately feels like I just crossed a boundary, but I don’t regret it.

She says, “Okay,” gives me an extra squeeze before letting go, and looks at me like we have a shared secret now. “Heyyyy,” she says. “You got another heart on your neck.”

“Yes. I got it today. Isn’t it pretty?”

She nods and takes my hand.

Shane is admiring Lucky’s painting of him. He mostly painted a bunch of hair that’s standing up and big blue eyes inside an upside-down triangle face, but it’s unmistakably Shane.

“You guys are so talented,” he says. “I love it. You ready to go kick some ass at the dojo?”

“Yaaaahhhh!!! What’s a dojo?” Lucky asks, as Summer asks, “Are you going to stay and watch us?”

“We both are,” I tell her.

“A dojo is where you’re going to go once a week to kick some ass.”

“But why’s it called that?”

“It’s a Japanese word,” Shane says, winking at me, like “I got this.” “For a room or hall where karate or other kind of martial arts is practiced.”

“What’s martial arts?”

“It’s what you’ll be learning. It’s a kind of self-defense fighting that just uses hands and feet. No weapons.”

“We get to fight each other?” Summer claps her hands. “And we won’t get in trouble?”

“Well, not by me or Willa, but you’ll have to do what the karate teacher tells you to do.”

“Why is it called karate?”

Fifteen minutes,four cookies, a baggie of baby carrots, and twenty-seven questions later, we make it to the dojo in the Palisades, help the kids change into their karate uniforms, chat with the instructor and some of the other parents, and then take a seat in the folding chairs at the edge of the room to watch the half-hour-long class.

It is so stinking cute, watching Summer and Lucky and eight other three-and-a-half to five-year-old kids line up, shout out “yes,sensei!” and imitate the instructor when he tells them to. Honestly, I could watch this all day. But Shane appears to be a bit restless. In my peripheral vision, I see him surreptitiously typing something out on his phone. When I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, I casually look around to see if anyone will notice me pull it out. I look down and almost laugh out loud when I see the message.

SHANE: I cannot fucking wait to get back up in your dojo later.

ME: Does this mean you’ll be using your hands AND feet to defend yourself against me?

SHANE: It means get ready for some full-contact sparring with my Sammo Hung.

ME: Is that a martial artist joke?

SHANE: I would never joke about hiding my dragon in your crouching tiger.

ME: Are you drunk?

SHANE: I wish. Are you still wearing those lacey panties?

ME: Watch your children.

SHANE:

I stiflea giggle as I look over at him. We both slide our phones back into our pockets, but it’s too late. Summer is watching us from the blue mats, attacking us from across the dojo with the most devastating frown I have ever seen.