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o'clock and one o'clock, the way he had seen gymnasts do on television.
He looked at her for approval and she applauded.
"Tens?" she said. "Hell. Thiiteens. Twenties. You're a perfect twenty, man." She ran over and hugged him, but it was a different hug from the one she had given him earlier by mistake. This time he put his arms around her and hugged her back. Then he kissed her and for a moment her mouth was soft and yielding, but suddenly she stiffened and pushed away from him. He did not loosen his grip but instead held her at arm's length.
"I'm sorry," she told him haltingly. "I guess I'm just not very experienced."
"My fault," he said, letting his hands drop. "I shouldn't have done that." He did not like the way he felt. He was like a schoolboy with a crush. He turned back to the beam to mask the confusion on his face. "Why don't you do a routine for me and let me watch?"
"After what you just did? I'd feel like a cluck."
"Lesson number one," Remo said. "Don't think about anything except what you're doing. What were you thinking about when you did your last routine today?"
She looked sheepish. "I was thinking I needed a nine-three to qualify."
"Right. And that's why you almost didn't get it. From now on, you think about now. You don't even think two seconds ahead when you're on the beam." Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie and the wrong advice. He was trying to give her the art of Sinanju which required such a deep ingraining of technique that technique was never thought of consciously. One didn't think at all. Physical things were best when they flowed instinctively from one's body without thought. That was Sinanju and Chiun had given it to him, but it had taken more than ten labo-