Mum’s is the worst peanut butter soup （pudding is a better description）， fufu （white, gritty, and as hard as stone）， and kelewele （a mushy, salty mess made from plantains not ripe enough） I have ever had the pleasure of eating.
I eat every bit of what she puts in front of me. Then I ask for seconds, ignoring the looks of utter repulsion from Elin and Dad.
61
AFTER
Although Nena was still high after her magical date with Cort the other night, the threat of Paul’s next move loomed over her head. His cigar was a message that he could reach out and touch anyone. But she’d already known that, hadn’t she? That was why she and Georgia were currently pulling up in front of a nondescript building in a warehouse section near the port where they’d fed the gulls earlier.
She and Georgia toured the facility. The gym was small and looked more like a boxing training facility. Didn’t have the purple of Planet Fitness or orange of Orangetheory. There weren’t a lot of people there, just a thick punching bag suspended from the ceiling and, in a back room, an expansive blue mat taking up much of the floor space. Georgia wondered aloud if they were about to practice gymnastics.
“You asked how I learned to fight,” Nena began, settling her eyes on the younger girl. “It wasn’t for pleasure, okay? It was for a purpose.”
“Okay,” Georgia prompted.
“The type of fighting you witnessed that night is called Krav Maga. It’s not easy, and it takes years to learn.”
“What is it? Like kung fu or something?”
Nena pulled a face. “No. There is no liberal philosophy with Krav. It’s about doing whatever you have to and using whatever is around you to be the one that lives. Do you understand?”
“Think so.”
“Krav is about acting by your instincts and using techniques that are simple and effective to get you away. It essentially makes you a human weapon.”
Georgia cracked a grin. “That sounds pretty fucking cool.”
Nena gave her a sharp look.
“Sorry,” Georgia mumbled sheepishly. She bent down to untie her shoelaces. “Should I take my shoes off and get on the mat?”
“Do you plan to have your shoes off when you’re attacked?” Nena asked curiously.
Georgia hesitated as if trying to determine if she was serious or not.
She was.
“No,” Georgia drawled when Nena didn’t answer. “I guess not?” It came out as a question. She seemed to wilt beneath Nena’s intense scrutiny.
Nena said, “When the girl from your school put the gum in your hair, what did you do?”
Georgia offered a limp shrug. “Do? Where?”
“When you fought.”
“I never said I fought.”
“You didn’t just stand there either. Show me,” Nena prompted.
“But what does that have to do with learning combatives?”
Nena didn’t answer, instead channeling her inner Witt.
Georgia gave in, positioning Nena as Sasha’s stand-in. She pantomimed hitting Sasha in the mouth by tapping Nena on hers. Nena blinked away her surprise at the unexpected force of the blow.
Georgia grinned, pleased she’d gotten one in.
She grasped Nena’s arm, recalling how she’d twisted Sasha’s until the girl had cried out in pain and embarrassment. When Georgia dropped Nena’s arm, she stepped back.
“And that’s when Coach came in and broke it up.”
“That’s all?” Nena asked.
Georgia’s head bobbed in several short nods.
“Was quick,” Nena observed, lightly touching her smarting lip. Little bugger. “Not bad.”
Georgia sighed with relief.
“Most fights are quick. Not long and drawn out like you see in the movies. And you tire fast because it takes a lot of energy to be that physical. Adrenaline is what pulls you through combat. You must use the little opportunity you have to get your opponent in a position for you to either get away or kill them.”
Georgia blinked multiple times. “Who said anything about killing?”
“Had you ever fought before? Before the racist girl?”
Georgia made a face that questioned Nena’s sanity. “No.”
“Self-defense, then. That’s what propels you.”
Georgia thought about it. “Yeah, especially because of the hair. And she made a slick comment about my mom,” she said between gritted teeth, fresh anger flooding her voice.
Nena nodded. She knew all too well about triggers. Nena’s own hair was a mass of brilliant, luscious coils now twisted in a thick rope of two braids and swirled into a bun at the base of her head. And there was that one time when Robach had made derogatory comments about her father and brothers. They were the last comments he’d made before she’d killed him.