Leaving Home In Search Of Another One

Peter barely held back a frown as he learned against the window of the Uber he was in.

Coming from an affluent family, with two doctors for parents and two geniuses for older siblings had really done a number on the 17-year-old's self-esteem. Being the star player for his highschool football team didn't seem like much when you compare it to the early scholarships his older siblings Hillary and Tiffany had by the same age.

No matter what tournament he won, no matter the recommendations and future promises about a big future in the sport...none of it seemed to be enough for Peter's parents.

Just being in that household was suffocating for the young blond. He wasn't stupid, by any mean. In fact, he was above average in terms of intelligence and was a solid A student in most of his lessons aside from a few where he got B+'s instead.

But compared to his siblings, he might as well be a knuckle-dragging caveman. At least in the eyes of his mother and father, anyway.

Peter had lost count of the number of times they'd said they'd come to one of his games, only to drop him a message shortly before the game saying they couldn't come and that they were sorry. Silently scoffing, Peter rolled his eyes - they did it so many times and yet Peter could only chide himself for getting his hopes up again and again, just wishing that for once they'd come and be proud of him.

Shaking his head, the teenager closed his eyes and rubbed at his eyelids - the flight from Sacramento to Los Angeles was anything but long and yet he felt so goddamn tied. He figured it must've been because of the argument he'd had before he left.

Just thinking of that argument boiled the blood in his veins and nearly sent him into a frenzy.

Some of the things his father said...irked him, beyond belief. Especially the holier-than-thou attitude of his sisters. His mother just watched on, silently. Indifferently.

Peter would say he was used to it and that it didn't hurt but watching his mother just watch on as he said he was leaving...stung in a different way to any other bit of pain he'd ever experienced. Way worse than taking a tackle off even the biggest of linemen.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts and the stinging sensation, but only succeeded in making himself look like an idiot.

Opening his eyes, Peter saw that the Uber was slowly entering the neighborhood where his grandparents lived. A real rich area where old retirees with stacks of money came to live or where rich families came to be separated from mingling with the middle and lower-classes--or whatever classist people are afraid of.

A few minutes later of absentmindedly looking out the car's window at the mansions and massive homes, Peter realized the car was slowly coming to a stop.

"This is your stop, bud," the driver said, peering over his shoulder and informing Peter who nodded with a polite smile.

"Thanks for the ride," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two ten dollar bills, "Here, a tip for not being one of those talkative drivers," Peter gave a half-playful, half-serious smirk as he spoke and the driver looked surprised at the action before smiling himself and accepting the cash he was being offered.

Peter understood that the guy was no doubt surprised a rich kid would think to tip someone - he couldn't blame him for that bias either. He knew neither of his sisters would've tipped the guy and half the reason he did it was for the morality-based one-up it gave him over his sisters.

Smiling at his little success, he got out of the car and closed the door before walking over to the trunk which was slightly open because the driver had popped it.

Opening it, Peter pulled out his first suitcase and then his second, and closed the trunk.

Easily picking up the two packed cases, he walked off the street and back onto the sidewalk where he put them down and gave a thumbs-up to the driver who smiled and returned the gestured before slowly pulling away, turning around and going the way he came. After he'd left, Peter was left alone on the sidewalk, looking over at the massive mansion where his maternal grandparents lived.

Giving a sigh, the 17-year-old picked up the suitcases again and began walking toward the door. He'd already informed them that he was on the way - no way in hell was he just gonna turn up at his grandma and grandpa's house without telling them.

Hell, partly the reason he was so confident in leaving his original home was because his grandparents had pretty much given him the go-ahead to come and stay with them.

Nevertheless, turning up at their house because of his own selfish needs left a bad taste in his mouth. He felt like a parasite, and even if they didn't see it like that and would love for him to stay, Peter couldn't shake the feeling no matter what he did. Not to mention that he hadn't been in consistent contact with them for the past few years because of his mother not wanting him to speak to them.

For whatever reason. Not that it mattered anymore, seeing as he was here already.

Putting the suitcases down again, Peter brought his hand up and knocked against the door lightly, wondering mentally, 'I wonder how grandma will react to seeing me?'. Before he could ponder his thoughts, the door opened to reveal a rather plump old woman of Hispanic descent. She had tanned skin and despite her obvious age, her hair was without any grey and kept it's raven black coloring.

Her eyes were similarly dark, being a dark brown that was very close in color to black. Her current expression was one of faint confusion, "Hello? Who might you be?" she spoke with a faint accent but years in America had obviously diluted it.

'I'd expected her to know it was me,' Peter gave a wry smile and answered his grandma, "Grandma, it's me...Peter," I told her and her eyes widened in shock before she charged him and wrapped him up in a tight hug.

Despite the height different - Peter being around 6'3" and his grandma being around 5'4" - that didn't deter the old woman in the slightest and she wrapped his arms around her grandson.

"Aww! Petey! You've grown so big and tall!" she cooed affectionately as she pulled back and lucked Peter up and down, who blushed embarrassed at being called 'Petey' like he was when he was younger. His grandma's eyes took on a more teasing light as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, "So, do I have to worry about getting any great-grandchildren soon? I bet with your looks, girls are chomping at the bit trying to get at you!"

Peter blushed even more, only now remembering just how straight-forward his grandma could be when it came to him, "Grandma," he groaned, "You know I'm seventeen, right?" he looked down at her and despite his embarrassment, he wasn't able to stop the smile spreading across his face because of the affectionate treatment.

"That didn't stop me and you're Abuelo!" she laughed unashamedly before lightly slapping my chest and looking up at me with an obviously fake look of anger, "And what did I say about calling me grandma? Call me Abuela like you did when you were young!"

"Okay...Abuela," Peter got out, knowing if his friends on the football team could see him now, he'd be in for the ribbing of a lifetime, "Happy?" he grumbled down at his grandma.

Said woman nodded happily, "More than ever," she pulled him in for another hug, though this time it was a lot softer and more gentle than the squeezing from before, "I know it must've been hard for you, Petey, but now that you're here, I'll do everything I can to make this feel like home. Okay?" she stroked his back and everything he'd been holding back came surging forward.

It took everything he had to swallow down the lump that was forming in his throat but even then, the love he could feel radiating from the woman in front of him nearly turned him into a bawling mess.

In the end, he just nodded, a slight grunt of agreement coming from his mouth. Peter knew he couldn't risk saying anything because he'd probably break down.

Grandma pulled back and looked up at him, smiling, "Then let's go in and I can get you something to eat! I'll cook you something to satisfy the spice needs in your life, my grandson!" she cackled and Peter felt a cold sweat travel down his back - his grandma's spicy food usually ended up with him having to sit on the toilet for quite a while afterward.

...And yet seeing her smile, he couldn't bring himself to deny her this small happiness.

. . .

(A/N - I'm unsure on whether I wanna go 3rd person or 1st person, so I'm trying out both of 'em.)

Standing in front of the somewhat rundown apartment complex, I raised an eyebrow and looked down at my phone and the map opened up on it just to make sure I had the right place.

...Yep, this is the right place. The place where my uncle lives.

Weirdly enough, despite their estranged relationship, dad had kept my uncle's whereabouts in a 'secure' folder on his computer. And when I say secure, I mean, 'basic password' followed by 'basic question that anyone who knows him can easily answer' kind of secure. On it, I found a few things.

One, my uncle's whereabouts, like I said. Two, my uncle's phone number - though it obviously wasn't up to date as I'd already tried it and it didn't go through. Three, a digital photo album of my father and uncle alongside their mother - my paternal grandmother. Looking through the photos, I've gotta say...I look a hell of a lot more like my uncle than I do my dad. My father has dark hair. Borderline black. I'm a blond, like my uncle, it seems. I'm just missing his nose and I'd probably look like a younger version of him.

...Kinda glad I'm missing that nose. It's a little big on his face.

Either way, I took down the address, even if it was wrong, and that was shortly before I left. Now I was here, standing in Reseda, looking to meet the uncle I'd never known.

And I'm pretty sure I could see him, standing next to some kid who looked around my age. My uncle looked like an aged version of the one I'd seen in those photos, with a few wrinkles here and there - especially the crow's feet on the outer edges of both his eyes. He definitely hadn't aged gracefully, that's for sure.

The kid was looking at my uncle with a sort of awed admiration in his eyes - I knew my uncle practiced Karate, so maybe this kid is his student? He looked a...well, he looked a little skinny. But maybe he was a new student or something and hadn't built himself up yet.

Shrugging, I made my way over to the two of them who were also heading toward me.

My uncle, a few inches shorter than me, looked over at me before looking to his student and gesturing to me. The kid looked at me, confused, and shrugged his shoulders to say 'I don't know him'. When I arrived in front of the two, I gave a polite smile, "John Lawrence?" I gestured to my uncle and his face soured a little.

"Yeah, that's me," he admitted before looking a little awkward, "But if you're gonna call me anything, I'd prefer you call me Johnny. I hate being called John," he mumbled the last bit but I heard it and fought back a smirk as he continued, "So, what d'you want, kid?"

I put out a hand and introduced myself, "The name's Peter," I said before smirking a little, "Peter Lawrence. I'm your nephew."

Johnny looked confused at first before realization dawned on him. He looked a little floored.

He leaned toward me, squinting his eyes a little before leaning back and exhaling pretty heavily out of his mouth, "I mean, I knew I had a nephew and some nieces but Jesus Christ...you sure you're Mikey's kid and not mine? It's like looking in a mirror. You know, except not as handsome," he arrogant said, waving his hand in gesture to his own face.

...You wish, old man, you fucking wish. That you were as handsome as you think, that is.

"Pretty sure," I laughed before looking to the kid next to Johnny, "And you are?" I quirked an eyebrow at the kid.

Startled, the kid stumbled a reply, "I-I'm Miguel and well, uh, I learn Karate from Sensei..." he awkwardly replied and I couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction. I put out a hand for a handshake and he paused for a moment before putting out his own hand.

He seemed like a nice enough kid.

"So," Johnny started, putting his hands up in a 'I don't know' gesture, "What're you doing here? I ain't got space in my place if that's what you're here for, kid," he said, and to give him some credit he did sound sincerely regretful that he couldn't help me out with my 'problem'.

"No, I didn't come here for that," I smilingly shook my head, "I just wanted to come and meet the big bad uncle my parents would hardly talk about, out of some fear you'd magically appear out of nowhere if they uttered your name. And honestly? I don't get where they were coming from. You don't seem half as bad as they made you out to be," I frowned, thinking of the times they'd said his uncle was borderline evil, before shrugging and settling back into a more neutral expression.

Johnny, however, didn't seem too surprised, "Well, Mikey's always been a bit of an exaggerator. Probably why he was such a loser, I don't know," he dismissively said and conversation went a little quiet before I took it in a different direction.

"Hey, you teaching Karate to more than one student?" I asked, curiously.

"...Yeah--well, I mean, I'm only teaching Miguel right now but I'm pretty sure more people are gonna join soon," he seemed to be bigging up his dojo but I wasn't one to care to much.

Smirking, I tapped my chest, "You think you could teach me?"

My reasoning for this was to get to know my uncle. And because, who doesn't wanna learn Karate on some level? Martial Arts are pretty cool, in my opinion. I'm not gonna pass up the chance to learn under someone who was the best Karate practitioner in the state* on a youth level. I could go on a play more football at the new High School I'm enrolled in...but I only ever did that to try and get my parent's attention.

Now, I wanna do something because I wanna do it. Not because I needed some way to gain attention from someone else.

Johnny had a surprised expression while Miguel actually looked a little excited. The former looked me up and down before nodding, "You sure you wanna do it? It ain't gonna be easy. My way of training Karate isn't just some martial art. It's a way of life. A code. You ready for something like that, Peter?" he asked before smirking and continuing on, "Also, nephew or not, I need money. Which means you'll be paying for your lessons."

"I'm cool with that," I nodded, "I'll get the money to you by the end of the week," I said and Johnny nodded. It wasn't an issue with me - I had plenty of money saved up and there was no doubt Abuela could pay for me if I asked. Or I could get a part-time job.

I had loads of options.

"It's settled then," Johnny stepped forward and rapped me on the chest before walking passed me and continuing, "Come and follow us to the dojo. You're a part of Cobra Kai now, kid."

. . .

"Jesus, kid...what the hell were your parents feeding you?" Johnny asked in disbelief as he saw the exercise I was doing to warm up. Calisthenics, basically. A few dragon flags, some superman push-ups, a nakayama planche, some handstand push-ups, a few phantom chairs--a pretty basic warm-up for me.

If my parents and sisters were mentally gifted, I was physically gifted. I was stronger, faster, tougher, more athletic and just physically better than most people. Even other athletes usually pale in comparison to my physical abilities.

I'm not bragging either. I'm just legitimately built different when compared to most people.

I gave a wry smile to my uncle, expecting a reaction like this as it'd happened a lot of times before, "I'm just physically gifted, I guess," I shrugged and stood up, continuing with stretching my arms and legs for the training that was about to happen. Miguel was off to the side, looking at me like I was some sort of superhero, so I decided to give him some motivation, "I can help you with a few workouts and if you work hard enough you'll be able to do the stuff I just did."

I left out the 'if you train for a few years' part from my sentence, not wanting to dash his hopes as he quickly nodded and got to doing some crunches. He was obviously still in the strength building stage most athletes have to go through before they learn technical skills.

I'd gone through the stage many years ago, and even though I was helped along by my potential and innate physical prowess, it's usually the time which separates the wheat from the chaff.

It shows those who have determination and those who don't.

Without the determination I had, even with all my talent, I doubt I'd have made it as far as I did with my willpower as high as it is.

I looked over to Johnny who'd gotten over his surprise and turned to the dummy nearby, "You don't need the physical training like Miguel so let's get the basics down, yeah?" I nodded, showing I was game and I walked over to where he was. He stood in front of the dummy and raised his fist to his waist level, his knuckles facing the floor before looking back to me, "There are two stages to the basic strike that's a part of Cobra Kai's style of Karate:

One, you move your entire body forward to give your punch the momentum needed to do some genuine damage," he quickly lunged forward in a fluid motion and repeated it a few times for me before moving on, "And two, you snap your fist out as soon as your momentum is at it's highest," he threw out a basic strike and it slammed into the dummy's face with surprising force, even without the lunge, "But you don't stop there," he said while pushing his knuckles into the rubber dummy, "You need to hit someone like you're trying to hit some dude behind the person you're trying to hit. Got that?" he asked and I nodded.

Basically, you have to follow through with your punch and don't stop just because you made contact with their face. A proper nose-breaker of a punch, no doubt.

"You hit here," he threw another fist - his left - and hit the middle of the dummy's face, "You'll break someone's nose. Here," he withdrew his fist and the other one blurred out in a synchronized and smooth motion, hitting the chin/mouth area of the dummy's head, "You'll knock out their teeth or maybe even break their jaw if you hit hard enough."

For some reason, a fire was burning in me as I listened to Johnny's explanations. A fire that had never been present when I was training for football or learning about it. I was great at the sport, mind you, but I never had the same fire some of my teammates had.

But right now, for the first time in a long while, I actually felt excited about learning something. Learning it for myself and not for someone else.

"Give it a go, kid," he said and backed off so I could take his place.

I nodded and stepped in front of the dummy, settling into a stance that was near picture-perfect of Johnny's own stance, my right fist down by my waist and the other raised higher in case I had to defend myself. I lunged and sent out a fluid punch, slamming my fist into the dummy's rubber nose and driving it in with every bit of force I had.

You see, I was used to explosive motion. After all, I was a football player, and a football player's bread and butter is explosive power. It would seem that my uncle's style of Karate was basically made for me.

The smack of flesh on rubber ricocheted around the dojo and the dummy skid back a little, rocking unsteadily back and forth.

Deciding I wanted to try the other strike, I lunged again and brought my right fist back, my left one flying out like a blur in unison with the retreat of my right fist. This push and pull complimented each other and allowed my strike to go even quicker as my fist slammed into the dummy's mouth/chin area.

I felt a rush with the successful punch and even an extra rush at the feeling of exerting my physicality in such a violent manner and I realized...

...I might have found a sport I loved.