The bell rang and everyone crowded into the halls, chattering loudly on the way to class.

I walked slowly, seriously considering skipping next period. I tried to think of somewhere I could run off to and hide away, but nothing came to mind in time.

Might as well go in, I decided, and pushed through the door. Besides, if I got caught skipping again it would be a whole extra week of detention and another endless round of my dad's lectures.

It was always the same thing with him; the importance of education, responsibility, discipline, eating your vegetables, and so on. By now I could save him the trouble and lecture myself. That would be pretty funny.

I would have come back in time for math anyway. I sit next to Sophia during math so it isn't that bad. It's really only gym class that I hate this year.

"Hurry up, Grimes!" bellowed the gym teacher, "We have a special guest today."

The gym teacher is retired from the Army but makes us call him Sergeant Ford. We always say 'Yes sir' or 'No sir' or else we have to do push-ups. He's super strict but I like him. Once we spent an entire class period listening to him tell us some crazy story about exploding camels.

"Yes, sir!" I answered and hurried into the locker room to change.

I was the last one to get to my locker, which was just as well because it meant less time in the locker room. My strategy is to put on my gym uniform as quickly as I can, try not to bother anybody, and go right back outside.

The thing I hate the most about gym doesn't have much to do with gym, exactly. It's more the people in my gym class that are bad.

One day last year, I don't remember when, someone came up with a theory and before I knew it, everyone was talking about it. No matter how much time passes, someone always brings it up again.

I have a curse.

The story goes like this. Carl Grimes might seem like an ordinary kid at first, but he lives under the influence of a powerful curse. If the storyteller is particularly creative, this is where they add in something about Black Magic or Voodoo.

First, Carl's dad got shot in the chest and he survived. Then Carl got shot in the stomach and he survived. Then his mom, who was pregnant, got into a horrible car accident. The baby survived but Carl's mom died.

All that bad luck in one family, they reasoned, it had to be a curse. Whatever you do, don't get too close to Carl or the curse might rub off on you, too. Better safe than sorry.

At first I tried to argue with them. I told them it was all nonsense. The theory didn't even make sense.

My dad got shot because he's a cop. Being in dangerous situations is part of his job. I got shot in a hunting accident. And car accidents happen to a lot of people.

One kid went so far as to say that it was because of my curse that Sophia got lost in the woods that time, that she almost died because she was my friend.

Sophia is very sensitive to people saying mean things, no matter who it's about. When she heard someone say that part of the theory, Sophia ran to the teacher in tears and by the time everything was sorted out, the boy's parents were called in to the guidance counselor's office and he was in big trouble.

That should have stopped it, but he blamed me for getting him in trouble, which wasn't true at all. Long story short, I punched him in the face and got in even bigger trouble.

Now, for the most part, I stay away from him and the other boys who follow him around, which works pretty well. That is, except for gym class.

Today, however, everybody seemed to be putting on their gym uniforms as fast as they could and running back outside.

I tied my sneakers and hurried to catch up.

Inside the gymnasium, Sergeant Ford was ushering everyone to sit down over to the side. It looked like there was going to be some kind of demonstration. Curious, I followed the other stragglers to the edge of the group.

Sergeant Ford was standing next to a woman in a white karate uniform. Her black belt had several gold bars around the loose ends and what looked like Japanese letters stitched in gold. Then there was what had to be a sword slung over her shoulder.

This was the last thing, besides maybe brain-eating zombies, that I had expected to see today. Everyone was talking excitedly, wondering what was going to happen.

I was about to sit down when I noticed the woman's long dreadlocks and realized who it was. She recognized me at the same time.

"Carl!" she called out, smiling and raising a hand to wave at me.

I stood there frozen in surprise for several seconds before finally managing to give a small wave back. I sat down; mentally correcting myself that this was the last thing I had expected to see today.

Everyone was staring at me.

"Carl! You know her?!" the girl next to me wanted to know.

I glanced back over to see Sergeant Ford helping our special guest to get some boxes set up, looked back at my classmates. Everyone was staring at me expectantly.

"Yeah, that's my friend's mom," I said casually, pointedly neglecting to mention that the friend in question was only five years old.

"Wow, really?!"

I nodded, and was immediately bombarded with more questions.

"Is that a real sword?" everyone was desperate to know.

"Of course," I said, pretending that I knew exactly what I was talking about, "It's a real samurai sword."

I made a note to take Andre more seriously in the future.

"Who is your friend?" someone asked.

"His name is Andre. We've hung out a few times. He's new in town," I answered, pointedly neglecting to mention that we had met at a pumpkin patch and we had 'hung out' in the child care room at my dad's New Year's thing.

"I don't know an Andre. Does he go here?" someone else asked.

"No, he goes to a different school," I said. Day Care counts as school, right?

"Everyone listen up!" Sergeant Ford's voice boomed out and the talking died down right away.

"We have a special guest today so I expect everyone to be on their very best behavior. This is my friend, Michonne. You will address her as 'Sensei', which means 'Teacher' in Japanese," Sergeant Ford introduced Andre's mom and nodded for her to take over.

Michonne placed her hands flat against the sides of her legs and gave a small bow.

Straightening up, she said, "Good afternoon, class."

After a moment of uncertainty, Sergeant Ford prompted us, "Good afternoon, Sensei!" and we returned the greeting in a scattered chorus.

"We'll work on that," Sergeant Ford muttered to himself.

"Starting next week, I'm going to be teaching a Karate class," Michonne explained, "Twice a week, instead of Study Hall you can come to the gym and practice Karate. For now yours is the only grade being offered this chance. If it goes well, then the other grades will get a chance also."

"There are some rules," Michonne told us, standing with her feet apart and her hands clasped behind her back, "To sign up, you need a parent or guardian to sign your permission slip. If you are late, you have to sit on the side until I say you can join in. Uniforms cost five dollars and you must always wear your uniform to class. And no shoes!"

"The most important rule is this," she held out a finger for emphasis, "You must never use what you learn to hurt someone else."

There was some shuffling and sounds of confusion.

"Karate is about more than fighting. It teaches self-control, discipline, and confidence. If anyone is caught fighting in school or out of school, for whatever reason, you will be kicked out of class."

We nodded our understanding.

Finally, Michonne cracked a smile, "Would you like to see a demonstration?"

There was an excited commotion and Sergeant Ford made us repeat, "Yes, Sensei!"

Michonne took a few steps back so that she had a large open space around her. She gave a nod to Sergeant Ford, who hit a button on the boom box. Techno music filled the gym and Michonne started moving.

She started with a series of kicks and punches, each move seamlessly transitioning into the next. A sweeping kick became an elbow strike became a change of direction became a double front kick.

The music picked up pace and Michonne moved faster to keep up. There were moves I couldn't keep track of. It was like watching one of the Kung-Fu movies that Patrick loves so much.

Finally she did some kind of jumping spinning kick and then the music paused and she stood still, a serious look on her face.

The music slowly built up again. She reached her left hand back to steady the bottom of the sword's hilt. At the same time, her right hand reached up and closed around the white and black handle. When she drew the sword a glint of silver flashed in the gym and a collective gasp was heard.

Holding the sword with both hands, Michonne swung the blade high to low, left to right, slicing down invisible enemy after invisible enemy. With one last flash of her sword, the music reached a crescendo and stopped.

Michonne calmly removed the white and black hilt from over her shoulder and slid her sword back inside, then hooked the strap over her shoulder again.

We were all staring, wide eyed in amazement, slow to realize that the demonstration was over. Michonne gave another small bow to the class and we erupted in applause.

"Do we get to use a sword too?!" was the first shouted question.

"Students are only allowed to train with a weapon after they reach Black Belt level, and only then if I feel that they are ready," Michonne answered.

"Do we get belts?" someone wanted to know.

"You have to earn each belt. Everyone is going to start as a no-belt. If you pass the first test, then you become a white belt, then you test for your yellow belt, and so on," Michonne explained.

She took a few more questions, and then made another announcement.

"We have time for one more demonstration," Michonne said, "I need a volunteer."

Everyone raised their hands to volunteer, myself included.

"Carl, will you help me?" Michonne chose me.

I got up and stood in front of my jealous classmates as Michonne showed me what to do. She brought out a small wooden board. It was rectangular and about half an inch thick.

Michonne showed me how to stand and hold my arms up. I tried my best to mirror her stance. Then she stood in front of me and held the board out in front of her with her arms straight, legs apart to brace herself.

"I want you to punch the center of the board. Don't hold back! Picture your fist going all the way through the board," Michonne instructed.

"Okay," I said, feeling confident.

I've never broken a board before, but my dad's already taught me how to throw a strong punch, something that one person in this gym already learned the hard way a year ago.

"Ready?" Michonne asked.

I nodded, holding my fists closed tightly, ignoring the watching eyes of the rest of the class.

"On three. One...Two...Three!"

I put all my strength into my punch and CRACK! my fist went right through the board, splitting it in half.

Michonne held the two pieces up to show and everyone started clapping in appreciation. I smiled proudly.

Michonne handed the broken board to me and sent me to sit back down with the class.

I was met by a chorus of, "I want to do that!" "That was so cool!" and "Good job, Carl!" Someone actually patted me on the back.

"I want to see!" the boy next to me said, so I held up the pieces of wood, showing how they fit back together.

Soon it was almost time for our next period, so we all rushed to grab our permission slips and stuff them into our binders.

The rest of the school day passed unusually quickly. By the end of the day I found myself thinking that maybe gym class won't be so terrible any more. I still think most of the boys in my class are huge jerks, but they didn't say a single mean thing today, even their leader was too distracted by the prospect of Karate to bother me.

The thing is, it's not really fair to call him a bully, considering that I've done plenty of mean things to him too. I guess the only difference is that he's popular and I'm not.

But now I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, I can give him another chance. Maybe we don't have to hate each other forever.

Besides, after I become a Black Belt, no one will ever mess with me anyway!