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eBook Category: Young Adult
eBook Description: Rochelle Tyler is not looking forward to starting seventh grade in a new and unfamiliar town. An encounter with a bully on her very first day deflates her even more. But when she discovers a new girls-only karate class taught by a woman sensei, she begins to believe life can improve ... and then she begins to understand that she deserves it. Karate Girls #1: The Bully, written by senior black belt karate instructor Dave Smeds, begins a series of tales exploring the friendships, turmoil, challenges, and successes of a special group of young women as they begin to come of age.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Fictionwise.com, 2003
Fictionwise Release Date: April 2003

18 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [303 KB], eReader (PDB) [105 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [88 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [80 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [110 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [142 KB], hiebook (KML) [209 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [138 KB], iSilo (PDB) [74 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [91 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [126 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [124 KB]
Words: 27419
Reading time: 78-109 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

The bully was waiting for Rochelle on the way to school. He was standing in the shade of a pepper tree, face half-hidden by the curtain of leaves. As Rochelle tried to walk past, he stepped into the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of her.

He was big. At least a ninth-grader. A wispy black mustache clung to his upper lip. Old enough to shave, but young enough not to have bothered yet. If he had kept his glance at his eye level, it would have gone right over the crown of Rochelle's dark brunette hair. A lot taller than her four foot, eleven inches. A lot heavier than her eighty-six pounds. Most of his weight seemed to be muscle.

He stared down at her, folded his arms, and grinned. "There's a toll to walk under this tree," he said. "It'll cost you two dollars."

Rochelle's heart drummed against the inside of her ribs. She glanced quickly up and down the street, hoping for witnesses. The school was just around the corner. She could hear the yells of kids playing a before-class game of softball. But right here, no one was in sight. She was on her own.

She swallowed. The sides of her throat almost stuck together, they were so dry. The bully reached out, palm up. His smile widened.

She moved left, stepping off the curb into the gutter.

He blocked her way again. "It costs three dollars to walk in the street," he informed her.

She cringed, almost as if he had struck her. He hadn't. One hand remained at his side, the other extended for payment. But Rochelle saw his arm twitch in a way that told her he wasn't afraid to hit her. She thought he might even be looking forward to it.

She returned to the sidewalk. "I don't have any money," she said.

"You've got some right in your pocket there," he said, pointing at the top of her thigh. Her denim jeans bulged there, just a bit.

The bulge came from her house keys. One for the doorknob. One for the deadbolt. "You can't be too careful," her mom had said. Right now Rochelle wished to heaven that she only needed one key, because it would have stayed flat in her pocket. Not bulge the way keys did when attached to a keyring.

She had no money in that pocket, but he was going to shove his hand in there at any moment. She could tell. Trembling at the thought, she pulled her backpack around to the front and unzipped the front pouch. She pulled out two dollar bills--all of her lunch money--and placed it in the bully's palm.

He stuffed the bills in his back pocket. "Very good," he said. "You can go now." As he waved her on, he leaned against the trunk of the pepper tree, looking as lazy and content as a grizzly bear with a belly full of salmon.

Pepper trees looked like willows. They both grew long, trailing branchlets. Rochelle had always liked willows. Her grandmother had one in her yard. She had admired this tree before she saw the bully. Now she wished someone would take a chain saw to it.

She checked behind herself as she turned the corner. Her tormentor was still lolling against the tree. He winked at her. She jerked her head back and quickened her steps.

Finally out of his sight, she raced down to the end of the dead-end lane that led to the back fence of the school. Only then did she let out a sob. The tears she had kept bottled poured from the corners of her eyes.

She stopped, caught her breath, and dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. She remained on the neighborhood side of the playing fields until she could inhale without hiccupping. The red eyes she couldn't do much about, but she was determined not to be caught actively weeping. She knew what happened to undersized girls who were believed to cry a lot--other kids would find reasons to make them cry. Crying was something to do when only your friends were around.

That meant Rochelle couldn't cry just now. She didn't have any friends here.

Gaining control of everything but the shaking, she crossed the lawns and joined the students milling around the doors of the classrooms. She checked her watch. Five minutes until the bell.

Strange faces surrounded her. The beige stucco walls, blotched with white paint where the taggers' marks had been covered, looked like the same old school walls she was used to, but that was an illusion. Her old school was ninety miles away, her old friends a memory dulled by a summer's passing. She didn't know the teachers. She had barely met the office secretary.

Would anyone here believe, or care, what had happened to her?

Not long before the bell, she looked back the way she had come. The bully was ambling through the outfield of the softball field. The players kept looking toward home plate as if the intruder wasn't there, but they all somehow kept out of his path. No one yelled at him for getting in the way.

"Who is that guy?" Rochelle asked of a freckled girl nearby. She was small, like Rochelle, and flabby besides, or Rochelle might not have found the courage to speak.

"I don't remember his real name," the girl said. "They call him Moochie. His big brother is in Las Luces. They say Moochie is, too."

"Las Luces?" Rochelle asked, remembering just enough Spanish to translate the words. The Lights.

The girl looked at Rochelle like she had just said the stupidest thing a twelve-year-old could. "You new around here?"

"Yeah."

"Las Luces is the neighborhood gang," the girl said, speaking quietly. "This school is in their territory. Look for guys wearing white headbands or white belts. If you ever see guys with white headbands and guys with red headbands in the same place, run away real fast."

"Before the fight starts?" Rochelle asked.

"That's right."

Deep inside, Rochelle groaned. She surprised herself by nodding her head toward the bully and admitting, "He stole money from me this morning."

The freckled girl shook her head sympathetically. "You must have gone through a toll gate. You never know when that might happen. Las Luces toll gates are invisible, and they move around."

"And I'll bet the price changes," Rochelle murmured.

"It does." The girl leaned forward, putting her mouth just a couple of inches from Rochelle's ear. "Listen, if Moochie ripped you off, don't tell anyone. Especially the principal or the teachers. If you get him in trouble, then you'd be in trouble with Las Luces."

"Thanks for telling me," Rochelle whispered back. The knot at the bottom of her stomach tightened.

The bell rang. The freckled girl waved and headed off. Her homeroom proved to be two doors farther down, robbing Rochelle of the only person in the whole school she had made any sort of acquaintance with.

"Welcome to junior high," Rochelle mumbled, and dragged herself into her first class.