Dear Mr. Knightley Read Online Free Page A

“Sam, I just finished a wonderful book. I’ll bring it by after I’m finished in the office. Will you be in your cottage?”
    “Umm . . . Hannah? How did you do that?”
    “It’s not hard. That’s first-degree black belt stuff. I’ll show you later.” And she breezed out. I didn’t teach long division coherently after that.
    I practically tackled Hannah when she stopped by last night. I’m never eager to chat, but I’ve known Hannah for years, and everything I knew or assumed had been completely flipped. No pun intended.
    “Where’d you learn that? Why’d you never tell me? That was unbelievable!”
    “Yeah, I can’t believe Kyle walked away like that. He even found me in the office to apologize.” Hannah flopped on my couch. “I think I’m going to like that kid.”
    “No one could like that kid.”
    Hannah hesitated. “I do, Sam.”
    “Anyway, tell me how you did it.” I knew she thought me harsh, so I pushed her past thinking about Kyle.
    “You want me to show you?”
    For the next ten minutes I pretended to punch her and sheblocked every attempt. Ramp up the power and speed, and I can imagine Kyle’s surprise.
    “Is that karate?”
    “Tae kwon do.”
    “What’s the difference?” How can it matter?
    “Karate is from Japan. Tae kwon do, Korea.”
    “How did I not know this about you?”
    “That I’m Korean?” Hannah smiled. Then she considered me for a moment. She finally said, “You know, Sam, there’s a lot you don’t see because you don’t choose to. I’ve studied martial arts since I was nine. It’s a big part of who I am. But I doubt Jane Austen would find it ladylike.”
    “You’re probably right, but knock-offs like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies make Lizzy Bennet an amazing fighter. I just read one that had demure Anne Elliot from Persuasion throwing punches.”
    Hannah sighed and looked away. Did I say something wrong? She left soon after that. Did I miss something? Those questions kept me up half the night. And the whole conversation irritated me because I suspected she was right: I only see what I want to see.
    And then today, I added something else to my pool of self-reflection: I only do what I want to do—even if it costs others dearly.
    It all started this morning when I stopped at Buckhorn to return some corrected math work sheets. Kyle was rude, as always, and I got ticked that Hannah got respect and I didn’t. Call it jealousy. So when Father John called me later today and asked me to find Kyle, who had missed his anger management session this afternoon, I was already on the offensive.
    I started my search at the high school track a few blocks away, where I’d occasionally seen Kyle when I was there running laps myself. Sure enough, he was there. It struck me that racing him might earn me some respect.
    “What do you want? You—” He sneered as I approached, and started pacing like a caged tiger, circling me. He acted tough, but a familiar glimmer of vulnerability gave him away.
    “Hey! Don’t say it!” I reached for tough.
    “Say what?”
    “You were about to call me something nasty. At Grace House you can’t swear without getting detention, but I bet you’ve got an amazing arsenal. Don’t say something you’ll regret.”
    “I don’t regret nothin’.”
    “You might.”
    He thrust his chin up and glared at me. This boy knows how to hate.
    “I know. I don’t like you either, but we’re both runners. Maybe we have more in common than we realize.”
    “We ain’t friends, you—”
    “I said nothing about friends.” I looked at the track. “I bet I can whip your butt.” Now I had his attention.
    “You can’t beat me. A skinny white girl like—”
    “You scared?” I cut him off with a challenge because that’s how you trap a boy, in case you’re interested. You dare him. I looked down at his legs. They aren’t kid legs. At thirteen, Kyle’s legs have enough muscle definition that I questioned my great idea. Yet I refused to back