Bay of Sighs
Page 10
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Sasha and Bran are up the stairs making magicks. I think Sawyer and Doyle are still in the grove for the training part.”
“All right then. You need to put on pants.”
“Pants.”
“Yeah, those ones that hit about here?” Riley tapped the flat of her hand just above her knee. “The ones with all the pockets. And the tank you can tuck into them. I want to work on some of my moves, and you’ve got the best. And we’ll work on your hand-to-hand. But you can’t go doing flips in that dress, especially since there’s nothing under it.”
“I like dresses better than pants.”
“Maybe so, but when you go commando and do handsprings and flips, you’re flashing.”
“Flashing?”
“The girl parts, Anni. The parts we tend—right or wrong—to think of as private. Maybe we’ll get you some bike shorts. You could wear them under a dress.”
“Bike shorts.”
“We’ll look into it. But for now, go ahead and change. I’ll see if Bran can spare Sasha. She needs the work.”
“She does better.”
“Yeah, she does,” Riley agreed as they started upstairs. “You’re a good coach.”
“Thank you. I like to help.”
Pleased, even if she had to wear pants, Annika went to her room to change, and wound her hair into a long, thick braid.
She left her windows open, and though she would go outside, took a moment to lean out, drink in the air, the fragrance, her view of the sea.
On the narrow road below, she saw people walking up the steep, steep hill in boots and shorts. Maybe they were bike shorts, but she knew what a bike was, and they didn’t have one.
She saw bushes and trees full of blooms, and, farther out, people on the sickle of beach, boats plying the blue water.
Sometimes she liked to swim beneath boats, look up at their shadows and try to guess where they would go.
But today she saw a woman walking slowly up the steep road and pushing a fat-cheeked baby in a . . . walker, runner . . . Stroller! A stroller. Plastic bags hung heavily off the sides of the stroller, and another bag crowded into its little basket.
The baby laughed and clapped her chubby hands as the woman sang.
Annika wished she could paint like Sasha. She would have painted the woman and the baby, laughing with the long, high road still ahead of them.
The woman looked up, caught Annika’s eye. So Annika waved.
“Buongiorno,” the woman called out.
She had bits of languages, because she liked to listen and learn. “Buongiorno,” she called back. Not sure how to make the sentence, she mixed her languages together. “You and your bambina are bella.” Annika held out her hands. “Bella.”
The woman laughed, angled her head. “Grazie, signorina. Grazie mille.”
And singing again, the woman and her baby continued the steep climb.
Her mood buoyed by them, Annika danced downstairs and outside to train for war.
She saw Sasha and Riley on the strip of lawn between the pool and the lemon grove. Pretty plants and bushes added color at the edges, and the tall, slim trees formed a green wall.
Not so much room, so they’d have to . . . practice smaller.
Still she enjoyed watching Riley work with Sasha on the hand-to-hand. A punch, a pivot, a kick. Like a dance.
After a short run, Annika executed a double handspring, landed soft, and mimed punching both of her friends with the backs of her fists.
“Show-off.” Sasha grumbled it.
“There’s not so much grass, but it’s very nice. You can practice your rolls, Sasha.” Annika rolled her hands to demonstrate. “Then the jump up.”
“Double roll,” Riley decided. “Come up, side kick, backhand.”
“Seriously?”
“You need to start combining the flips and tumbles with the rest. You’re wicked good with a crossbow, pal, but we all know you can’t always fight at a distance. Agility, mobility, power. Right, Anni?”
“This is right.”
“Make her do it first.” Sasha jabbed a finger at Riley.
“You want me to do it first? I’m first.”
Riley slapped her hands together, rolled her shoulders, flexed her knees a few times. Then she sprang forward, landing on her hands, tucked into a roll, a second roll, then pushed up, kicking one leg out to the right, her arm with its fisted hand to the left.
Annika applauded.
“Don’t encourage her,” Sasha mumbled.
“You can do it, Sasha. Remember. Tight, tight.” Annika tapped a hand on Sasha’s belly. “Power there, power in your legs.”
“Okay.” Shaking her arms, Sasha blew out a breath. “Okay. Tight, tight, power, spring, roll, kick. Oh, God.”
She gave herself a short, running start, threw her body over for the handspring.
Annika nodded, then winced, because while the spring was very good, the roll went off-center, the second roll more off-center. So when Sasha tried to heave herself to her feet, she landed on her face.
“Damn it!”
“Ten out of ten for the face-plant,” Riley decided.
Sasha rolled over, gave Riley the beady eye.
“You did the handspring very well.” Annika crouched down, rubbed Sasha’s shoulders.
“Right.”
“No, I think left. This is left, yes?” Holding up her left hand, Annika wiggled her fingers. “You did the handspring, but then you tipped to the left on the roll, and more left on the next. You had no center, so no balance. I’ll show you, slower than Riley.”
“All right then. You need to put on pants.”
“Pants.”
“Yeah, those ones that hit about here?” Riley tapped the flat of her hand just above her knee. “The ones with all the pockets. And the tank you can tuck into them. I want to work on some of my moves, and you’ve got the best. And we’ll work on your hand-to-hand. But you can’t go doing flips in that dress, especially since there’s nothing under it.”
“I like dresses better than pants.”
“Maybe so, but when you go commando and do handsprings and flips, you’re flashing.”
“Flashing?”
“The girl parts, Anni. The parts we tend—right or wrong—to think of as private. Maybe we’ll get you some bike shorts. You could wear them under a dress.”
“Bike shorts.”
“We’ll look into it. But for now, go ahead and change. I’ll see if Bran can spare Sasha. She needs the work.”
“She does better.”
“Yeah, she does,” Riley agreed as they started upstairs. “You’re a good coach.”
“Thank you. I like to help.”
Pleased, even if she had to wear pants, Annika went to her room to change, and wound her hair into a long, thick braid.
She left her windows open, and though she would go outside, took a moment to lean out, drink in the air, the fragrance, her view of the sea.
On the narrow road below, she saw people walking up the steep, steep hill in boots and shorts. Maybe they were bike shorts, but she knew what a bike was, and they didn’t have one.
She saw bushes and trees full of blooms, and, farther out, people on the sickle of beach, boats plying the blue water.
Sometimes she liked to swim beneath boats, look up at their shadows and try to guess where they would go.
But today she saw a woman walking slowly up the steep road and pushing a fat-cheeked baby in a . . . walker, runner . . . Stroller! A stroller. Plastic bags hung heavily off the sides of the stroller, and another bag crowded into its little basket.
The baby laughed and clapped her chubby hands as the woman sang.
Annika wished she could paint like Sasha. She would have painted the woman and the baby, laughing with the long, high road still ahead of them.
The woman looked up, caught Annika’s eye. So Annika waved.
“Buongiorno,” the woman called out.
She had bits of languages, because she liked to listen and learn. “Buongiorno,” she called back. Not sure how to make the sentence, she mixed her languages together. “You and your bambina are bella.” Annika held out her hands. “Bella.”
The woman laughed, angled her head. “Grazie, signorina. Grazie mille.”
And singing again, the woman and her baby continued the steep climb.
Her mood buoyed by them, Annika danced downstairs and outside to train for war.
She saw Sasha and Riley on the strip of lawn between the pool and the lemon grove. Pretty plants and bushes added color at the edges, and the tall, slim trees formed a green wall.
Not so much room, so they’d have to . . . practice smaller.
Still she enjoyed watching Riley work with Sasha on the hand-to-hand. A punch, a pivot, a kick. Like a dance.
After a short run, Annika executed a double handspring, landed soft, and mimed punching both of her friends with the backs of her fists.
“Show-off.” Sasha grumbled it.
“There’s not so much grass, but it’s very nice. You can practice your rolls, Sasha.” Annika rolled her hands to demonstrate. “Then the jump up.”
“Double roll,” Riley decided. “Come up, side kick, backhand.”
“Seriously?”
“You need to start combining the flips and tumbles with the rest. You’re wicked good with a crossbow, pal, but we all know you can’t always fight at a distance. Agility, mobility, power. Right, Anni?”
“This is right.”
“Make her do it first.” Sasha jabbed a finger at Riley.
“You want me to do it first? I’m first.”
Riley slapped her hands together, rolled her shoulders, flexed her knees a few times. Then she sprang forward, landing on her hands, tucked into a roll, a second roll, then pushed up, kicking one leg out to the right, her arm with its fisted hand to the left.
Annika applauded.
“Don’t encourage her,” Sasha mumbled.
“You can do it, Sasha. Remember. Tight, tight.” Annika tapped a hand on Sasha’s belly. “Power there, power in your legs.”
“Okay.” Shaking her arms, Sasha blew out a breath. “Okay. Tight, tight, power, spring, roll, kick. Oh, God.”
She gave herself a short, running start, threw her body over for the handspring.
Annika nodded, then winced, because while the spring was very good, the roll went off-center, the second roll more off-center. So when Sasha tried to heave herself to her feet, she landed on her face.
“Damn it!”
“Ten out of ten for the face-plant,” Riley decided.
Sasha rolled over, gave Riley the beady eye.
“You did the handspring very well.” Annika crouched down, rubbed Sasha’s shoulders.
“Right.”
“No, I think left. This is left, yes?” Holding up her left hand, Annika wiggled her fingers. “You did the handspring, but then you tipped to the left on the roll, and more left on the next. You had no center, so no balance. I’ll show you, slower than Riley.”
