All standard disclaimers apply.

All characters in the following story are entirely fictional. And any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental.

The author does not condone the actions in the story. A strict line must be maintained between fantasy and reality. It is morally neutral to fantasize or read about minors engaging in sexual activity, providing the fantasy or story is entirely fictional. In real life, adults and children should never engage in sexual activity under any circumstances.

In the real world, no one under the age of eighteen--or whatever the age of majority in your area happens to be--should be having sex. In the author's view, few people under the age of twenty-one are mature enough for sex.

If you are seriously considering having sex with a minor, please read no further. Instead, seek immediate help from a trained and licensed professional.

Remember to keep your fantasy life and your real life very separate!

This story may not be reproduced without the consent of the author.

The author may be contacted at: RaziHaze (at) Hushmail (dot) com.

-- CHAPTER I --

COUNTDOWN

(NO SEX)

"Yī . . . èr . . . sān!" Sifu Li counted out in Mandarin. On either side of a large, blue mat stood two boys: Wesley and Milo.

Wesley Rhodes was a few weeks shy of twelve. He was a short black boy with skin the color of honey. His hair was buzzed at the sides; it tapered to longer at the top, fading from black into a dyed, sunshine color. His eyes were a mesmerizing emerald.

Milo Hester-Morgan was also eleven, nearly-twelve. Milo was short and toned like Wesley, but their physical similarities stopped there. He was a white boy with shaggy red hair that contrasted oddly with tan skin devoid of freckles. His eyes were a deep brown.

Once the Sifu gave the signal, both boys began charging at one another. Milo launched into a jump kick which was promptly dodged by Wesley. No sooner had Milo landed back on the mat than Wesley swept his foot under the redhead's ankles, causing Milo to lose his footing.

Milo rolled back into a standing position and ran at Wesley again, this time throwing punches. Wesley dodged one blow and caught the other, twisting Milo's wrist as he countered with a kick to Milo's stomach. Once he recovered, Milo kicked Wesley; Wesley caught Milo's heel and flipped the boy backward.

The match continued in much the same fashion for another couple minutes: Milo attacking Wesley, and Wesley effortlessly dodging and countering each of Milo's punches and kicks.

The battle ended when Wesley went on the offensive. He grabbed Milo about the waist, swept the boy's legs, and pinned him to the blue mat.

The Sifu applauded. "Great job, boys!"

The rest of the class--about twenty-five boys and girls between the ages of ten and thirteen--applauded as well, though not as enthusiastically as the Sifu.

Wesley reached down and helped Milo to his feet. "That was an awesome jump kick." Wesley grinned.

"Thanks. You were amazing!" Milo shrugged. "Next time, though, I want to spar with my staff."

Wesley chuckled. "Good thing I won the coin toss. I'm not dumb enough to fight you when you have a staff!"

The Sifu approached the boys. "Alright, Wesley, you've advanced to the final round."

Wesley nodded. "Damn right, I did."

"Take a break," the Sifu continued. "But in five minutes, you'll be up against Jackson."

Sifu Li turned to Milo. "You get to choose how they'll fight."

"Staffs," Milo replied without missing a beat. "They can fight with staffs."

Jackson Poe--like Milo and Wesley--was a short, almost-twelve-year old boy. He had slightly curly, medium brown hair. And, in contrast with his Hispanic heritage, Jackson's eyes were a vibrant cerulean blue framed by thick glasses.

Jackson had been sitting on a nearby bench, watching the match between Milo and Wesley. He was recovering from a rough sparring match with Tyler Wilson: Both Jackson and Tyler had fought using a wooden practice jian. The two swords still laid on the bench next to Jackson.

Milo approached Jackson with a wooden staff just an inch or two shorter than either of the boys. "You ready? Your fight with Tyler was brutal!"

"I'm almost all better. I heal fast." Jackson smiled. "I'm ready to go up against Wesley."

"Good luck," said Milo. "You'll do great."

Wesley and Jackson positioned themselves on opposite sides of the blue, padded mat, each brandishing a four-and-a-half foot tall wooden staff.

Sifu Li stood in the middle of the mat, halfway between the two boys. "Yī . . . èr . . . sān!"

Wesley and Jackson eyed one another from across the room then started running at one another. Midway through his charge, Wesley planted one end of his staff into the mat while gripping the other end of the weapon firmly with both hands. The pole bowed slightly, and Wesley used its momentum to vault himself into a flying kick.

Jackson ducked under Wesley's kick and swept Wesley's staff out from under him. Wesley crashed to the ground, his fall cushioned by the mat.

"Ow!" Wesley shouted out before rolling back into a standing position. Wesley ran at Jackson again, aiming one end of the staff at Jackson's ankles.

Jackson looked down and jumped over Wesley's staff.

But Wesley kept swinging, spinning around and raising his staff as he did so. And, before he hit the ground after his jump, the other end of Wesley's staff struck Jackson square in the stomach, tossing him back a foot-and-a-half.

Jackson groaned, leaning on his staff as he stood back up.

Wesley charged at Jackson again. He swung his staff at the other boy twice.

Jackson knocked out of the way the first strike with his own staff, catching the second strike in the palm of his hand. He pushed Wesley's staff backward roughly thrusting it against the boy's shoulder and knocking Wesley to the ground.

Wesley dropped his staff as he landed on the mat. He growled as he launched himself back into a standing position. He didn't pick up his weapon. Instead, Wesley curled his hands into fists and ran at his opponent intent on fighting unarmed.

Wesley did not hold back. Without a staff in his hand, he found it easier to dodge Jackson's strikes and swings. He quickly gained the upper hand, kneeing his opponent's stomach, sweeping his ankles, and throwing Jackson to the ground.

"No fair," complained Jackson as he regained his balance. "We're supposed to be fighting with staffs!"

"Who says I can't ditch my weapon?" Wesley asked as he charged at Jackson.

"Fine, then!" Jackson tossed his staff at Wesley, knocking the other boy off balance. And, while Wesley recovered, Jackson ran to the nearby bench and picked up the swords he and Tyler had sparred with only twenty minutes prior.

Jackson ran at Wesley brandishing dual, wooden jians. He swung the swords together as if wielding a single weapon. He struck Wesley's sides with the practice swords.

"Ow," Wesley grumbled. He held his sides with one hand, while he punched Jackson with the other. His fist struck Jackson in the neck.

"The hell, dude!" Jackson swung both swords harder at Wesley.

Wesley ran backward at first, ducking below the swords, then uppercutting Jackson as he rebounded.

Jackson replied by striking Wesley hard, upside the head with a sword.

The two boys traded blow-after-blow at one another, neither seeming to gain the upper hand. And with each strike, their faces would redden. The match grew to the outer edges of the mat, each boy hoping to force the other out-of-bounds.

Jackson swung his swords again, aiming for Wesley's head. Wesley crouched to the floor and punched at Jackson's thigh.

"Figures the fag would aim for the dick," Tyler's voice boomed from the sidelines.

Wesley turned his head in the direction of Tyler's voice. Wesley turned just long enough for Jackson to plant his foot on the small of his back. Jackson descended until he was kneeling on Wesley and using his swords to pin the boy.

Sifu Li called the match for Jackson.

Jackson attempted to help Wesley to his feet, but Wesley launched himself into a standing position before Jackson could fully reach down.

Wesley ran at Tyler, his fists tightening, and his nose snarling.

"Dude!" Jackson yelled, running after Wesley.

"You take that back!" Wesley shouted.

"Take what back, faggot?" Tyler's chuckle ended when Wesley punched him square in the jaw. "You son of a bitch!" Tyler groaned preparing to punch Wesley back.

Wesley dodged Tyler's fist with ease.

"Woah!" Milo appeared from the crowd of students and tried to grab Tyler from behind.

Tyler turned around and tossed Milo as he approached.

Wesley pulled back his fist ready to strike again when he felt something hard against his neck: Jackson's wooden sword.

"Stop it!" Jackson shouted. "Don't be a bully!"

"He's the bully!" Wesley replied motioning at Tyler.

"Don't answer words with violence." Jackson admonished.

Sifu Li approached the commotion, "That's enough!"

Wesley's eyes reddened. He groaned and pushed Jackson away. He ran to the other side of the studio and exited into the locker room.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

"How're you doing, Chance?" Tammy Bluff, Chance's social worker, asked. "How's everything going?"

Chance shrugged and looked away, sinking further into the couch.

"How're the Studebakers? Treating you well?" Tammy continued.

"They're okay," Chance said.

"Not clicking yet?" Tammy asked.

"Yeah--maybe." Chance furrowed his eyebrows. "I dunno. I never had foster parents before."

"It's been almost six months, Chance. You should have some idea by now." Tammy folded her hands.

Chance said nothing.

"How's school going?"

"Fine." Chance replied.

"Have you made friends yet?" Tammy asked.

Chance shrugged.

"Can you tell me anything, Chance? Work with me here." Tammy pleaded. "I know it's hard, but talking about what you're going through might help."

"They died because of me." Chance widened his eyes, refusing to blink.

"No--no," Tammy said. "It's not your fault."

Chance looked away and wiped his eyes.

"Look at me, Chance," Tammy instructed. "It's not your fault. Coming out of the closet didn't kill your parents. What happened is--"

"--I miss archery," Chance asserted abruptly.

Tammy sighed. "Have you gone to that Kung Fu class I suggested?"

"No." Chance replied in a monotone.

"You know it's just for foster kids, right?"

"I remember," Chance answered.

"You might find it easier to cope if you can talk with another kid who's been through something similar," Tammy suggested.

Chance didn't answer.

Tammy breathed heavily. "There's a summer camp I want you to go to, Chance."

"I don't want to--"

"--I'm not giving you a choice here, Chance," Tammy cleared her throat. "It's for your wellbeing."

Chance focused a stare on Tammy but said nothing.

"It's volunteer-run; state-funded. Just for foster boys. I want you to make friends with other kids who are going through what you're going through." Tammy was firm.

Chance exhaled, "I don't--"

"--have a choice," Tammy finished his sentence. "I'm signing you up."

Chance just stared.

"You'll have a great time." Tammy forced a grin. "There's another boy I know who'll be going there: Milo. I think you'll get along with him."