BUY-KU-MAN...FIGHT!

BUY-KU-MAN...FIGHT! by Robert Pipkin

At 6:59am, Denise Jenkins practically threw herself through the school's lobby doors, a blur of navy polyester pantsuit, cheap duffle, and very cute lunchbag (pink with lots of kittens). She wasn't usually late, but when she was, she really made an entrance. All of the other teachers and staff had already taken their places in preparation for opening Southwest Elementary for the very first time.

Don't look at my shoes! Don't look at my shoes! she thought as she speedwalked to her classroom. She knew they'd be looking, though. She could already feel old Miss Burnham's eyes burning into her feet from high above those impeccable shoulder pads, and she was certain Mrs. O'Brien was already texting Mrs. O'Toole. Why, oh why, did she choose to wear these schoolmarm flats on opening day?

She burst through her classroom door and slammed it shut. Her phone buzzed from her jacket pocket. 7am. Through the window slit in her door she could see Burnham, O'Brien, and the others greeting a handful of students in the hallway. She exhaled slowly, trying to gather herself. They were off.

Her phone rang. As she lifted the receiver, she noticed a small, dark purple square on her desk. She didn't recognize it, but it looked like something that might belong with one of her son's toys. Ryan was always leaving her little gifts like this, but how did a five-year-old get it onto her desk at work without her knowledge?

She lifted the phone to her ear.

She reached for the square.

She touched the square.

She said, "This is Mrs. Jenkins. How can I..."

She, and the square, disappeared.

The handset and her bags hit the desk with a loud crash.

When she reappeared, she did not know where she was. What she did know was that her phone was not in her hand, she was outside, it was hot and bright, and there was a tall, bald, Asian-looking man with a long white beard standing right in front of her, looking angry and intimidating. His hands were motionless beneath the sleeves of his sand-colored robes, which he held together just above his waist. His head had so many spiraling tattoos it looked dirty.

"You. Are. Late," he growled.

Denise looked around, taking in the sand-colored, ring-shaped grounds surrounded by a sand-colored, ring-shaped wall. Even the sky was sand-colored. Even the sand.

"Um," she stammered. "This is not my room."

"HAH!" the man bellowed as he leapt into the air, did a very impressive somersault with his sand-colored robes flapping, and landed within an inch of her face. Petrified where she stood, Denise's eyes widened. He spoke with no emotion in his face.

"You are standing in the center of Buy-Ku dojo, the center of Buy-Ku City, the center of Buy-Ku-Ria."

"I am?"

The old man lifted one hand and snapped his fingers. From beneath his robes, three children sprang forth, yelling a clipped "hi" and landing in dramatic fighting stances.

The old man yelled, "I am Master Dang and you," and as his eyes flashed in the bright sunlight he whispered, "are here to train."

Denise stepped back, and was going to wring her hands in anxiety, when she discovered she was still holding the purple chit she'd found on her desk.

"Train for what?" she asked. "Why are you all acting so weird and dramatic?" She looked at the chit, turning it over in her hands. "And why does all this look so familiar?"

The smallest of the three, a girl, relaxed her fighting stance and took a step forward. She clasped her hands behind her back. She wore a blue gingham dress, white blouse, chunky blue hiking boots, and looked like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, except for her neon green hair in pigtails that stuck out straight behind her.