Everybody was Kung Fu fighting...except for Chester "Rambo" Zephanic. The boy was clumsy, lazy, and not in my class out of free will. "Come take a karate mat," I instructed him for the second time, as the rest of the class waited for him. He lugged his drooping body to the front and slowly....slowly...walked back. The mat fell on the ground and made a slapping noise on the linoleum floor. Normal people would have calmly lowered themselves on the karate mat, and then proceeded to cross their legs, but not Chester. You could almost hear the ground grunt as he plummeted his body downward like a gravity loving meteor. Never will you see someone sit down so painfully.



"Ok let's just start off with some leg stretches," I extended my right leg, and placed my left foot on my right thigh, the class mirroring me. I stretched my arms out and grabbed my toes. "One..." I started counting.

"Why aren't you doing your stretches?" I heard a dull voice ask. Oh no. Peter Buck was sitting next to Chester. I could handle elbow strikes, palm heel strikes, front kicks, and back kicks all aimed at me, but Chester and Peter within ten feet of each other? I'd rather take a groin kick. I looked at the clock, and realized that getting our karate mats had not taken up an hour, but only five minutes. Fifty-five more to go. "Two..." I counted. Fifty-five minutes and thirty-nine seconds to go, to be exact. "Because karate is stupid, and I only come here because my dad makes me," Chester retorted. "This isn't Karate, it's Kung Fu," Peter stated abruptly but calmly. "Three..." my voice strained. "Then why are we sitting on karate mats?" Chester snapped. Peter Buck said monotonously, "They're only called karate mats. They're actually used for a variety of different things. Karate, Kung Fu, Judo, Tai Kwon Do, Jujitsu-" "And cheerleading!" Chester interrupted. I switched legs and counted another three long seconds, and my shouts echoing in the room seemed quieter than Peter's silence in that time. "Yes, also for cheerleading," Peter sighed, "Because cheerleaders need mats also." "What do you mean also?" Chester said, "We don't even need mats, and we're in Kung Fu." " The mats help us so that we don't slip, have shock absorbers, and have impact resilience but aren't so spongy that our feet fall into them. We need them," Peter stated dryly. I stood up and the class followed me. I looked down at my feet and noticed that they were comfortable on the padded mat but still secure, which I had never noticed before. "You might even say," Peter smiled, "That Mat is my best friend."

Chester laughed and I forgot that I was leading a class, completely dumbfounded that Chester and Peter had a moment of friendliness. I stared, along with the rest of the class. Chester turned his laugh into a cough, and then stated "If everyone hates you so much that you have to start making friends with inanimate objects, that's your own business Foul Feet Pete. Gosh! His feet really do stink. I know these karate mats are precious to you and everything, but can't you make an exception and require Peter to wear shoes?" Chester said to me. I looked at the clock. Fifty-four minutes to go...