Chapter Eleven:
Raising the Bar
Mom turned our car into the huge parking lot of the gymnastics center. “Tuck your T-shirt into your shorts.”
Ugh. A dress code. “You’re not going to watch, are you?” She hadn’t stayed to watch golf or tennis, but that might have been because Chance was there. And that was before I got into trouble.
“No.” Mom tapped her hand against the steering wheel to the music playing on the radio. Her head swayed side to side. “I’ve got to buy some groceries.”
By groceries she meant tofu, bean sprouts, and asparagus. Yummy.
She pulled the car next to the main door for Tumble Time. “This is just a trial class. Dad told me not to spend any more money on classes unless you love them and commit to attending.” She squeezed my hand as I started to climb out. “I know you’ll love it.”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Bye, Twinkle Toes,” Christine called from the backseat.
I stuck my tongue out at her. Babyish, I know, but what could I say? I was taking gymnastics. After trudging through the main lobby, I entered a huge warehouse-sized room.
Trampolines lined the front wall next to a pit filled with sponge rectangles. Rows of balance beams stuck out from the back wall beside a bunch of bars all adjusted to different heights. The front part of the gym was empty—just floor space.
My chest tightened in excitement.
“Joey Michaels?” A man motioned me over. He had dark hair and an accent. And huge arms.
I stared at his rock-hard shoulders. Wow. I doubted Christine would dare call him Twinkle Toes.
“That’s me.” I walked over to a group of boys sitting in a circle.
One kid had a mischievous glint in his eye.
I sat next to him.
“Straddle stretch,” said my new coach.
The other boys spread their legs wide.
I pulled mine apart. Ow. I couldn’t even keep my legs straight.
“Pike.”
We swung our legs together and leaned forward. Again, ow.
“Tripod.”
The boys rolled to their knees, placed their heads on the floor, lifted their knees, and then rested them on their elbows. Toes touched together above their rears.
I rolled to my knees and balanced on my head. I could do it.
“Headstand.”
The boys lifted their legs straight to the ceiling.
I extended my legs. Awesome.
“Whoever holds it the longest, gets to jump on the trampoline first,” said Coach.
My face grew hot as blood rushed to my head. How long could I stay up?
The kid next to me landed on the floor with a thud. He didn’t seem to care that he was the first one to fall.
How cool was it that even though I was the new student, I had already beaten someone? That was probably how Chance felt whenever he played a new sport.
Swish. The other kid next to me rolled gracefully into a somersault.
Two down, three to go. My stomach muscles heated up as I maintained my balance.
Crash. Boom. A third kid lost his balance and knocked over the gymnast next to him.
It was down to me and one other boy. The top of my head felt as if it were caving in, but I didn’t give up.
“We’re down to two,” announced Coach.
I already knew that, but it was nice to be recognized.
One of my legs drooped toward the floor. All the pressure shifted into my right arm.
“One of you will get to jump on the trampoline first.” Coach walked between us.
His reminder worked. I snapped my leg back up to the ceiling and regained my balance.
“Hey!” A shout, then a thud.
“Joey wins.”
I clumsily dropped to my knees and closed my eyes until the stars and static faded.
“Not fair,” said the kid that almost beat me. “Eric pushed me.”
I glanced at Eric. He was the one I’d sat next to. I liked him even more now.
His eyes sparkled as Coach admonished him.
Did he ever get accused of causing a ruckus? It would be nice not to be the only one full of hijinks.
“Joey, you’re up.” Coach strutted over to the trampoline.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I couldn’t wait to do it. I climbed on the trampoline and sprung into the air.
Coach taught me how to stop by bending my knees, sticking my bum out, and holding my hands in front of me.
My legs absorbed the bounce and I was able to stay in place.
“Good.” Coach explained how to do a seat drop, back drop, and belly flop.
The belly flop was my favorite. I could land on my stomach, spring into the air with my arms and legs tucked in tightly, and twist around to land on my stomach facing the other direction. I could even go from a seat drop to a belly flop by straddling my legs and whipping them around from in front of me to behind me.
“Next,” said Coach.
I didn’t want to get off. I pointed to a harness-type thing suspended from the ceiling. “Can’t I try that out?”
Coach didn’t smile. Maybe he never smiled. “You must earn it.”
Usually that would be a bad thing, but if “earning it” meant more belly flops and headstands, I was totally in. The other boys had their chance to jump, then we lined up behind the foam pit.
I pictured myself doing a cannonball, but all Coach wanted us to do was stand with our backs to the pit, cross our arms, and free fall.
The kid who almost beat me—should have beaten me—in the headstand competition, got to go first this time. He threw himself backward. At the last second, he looked over his shoulder and buckled.
Coach clicked his tongue.
“It’s harder than it looks,” the boy muttered to me as he climbed out.
Okay. I lined up with my back to the pit, crossed my arms, and dropped straight back. Simple. Awesome. Simply awesome.
I wanted to do it again, but Coach ordered us to do somersaults. I rolled on the floor just as easily as I rolled my eyes.
Coach lined us up at the end of the floor and demonstrated a run, a jump, and a roll.
I ran. I jumped. I rolled.
Coach lined us up again. He had a couple of kids repeat the series, but when it was my turn he held up his hand. This time he ran, dove, and rolled.
Yes. I did my very first dive roll. Oh yeah, I felt like Superman. All I needed was a red cape.
For the remainder of the class, Coach ran us through an obstacle course.
I negotiated the setup as if I was being timed.
Coach shook his head at me. “Slower. Stronger. Legs straight. Point your toes.”
A little while later, Eric was showing me how to swing on the bar when a few girls began to trickle in. “They’re here for the next class.”
A couple girls practiced their splits and bridges. Then one stood and flipped over backward.
My mouth opened in awe. And envy. “I want to do that.”
Eric looked over. “Back handsprings are hard. They take a lot of practice.”
“Oh, yeah?” I didn’t mind risking injury in the attempt of a new trick. My blood pumped faster. I stepped away from the bars, took a deep breath, and threw myself backward. My hands touched the carpet, but my legs barely made it over. I landed in a frog squat. I stayed in the squat for a moment because my back felt as if it had been stretched through a taffy pull and my rib twinged.
“Wow.” Eric grinned.
Coach wasn’t impressed. “Joey,” he yelled, voice stern. “You may only do what I tell you to.”
He sounded like a dictator.
Maybe he was from Cuba and was used to all that.
“So?” a female voice said behind me. “You’re getting into trouble already, Joey?”
I spun around.
Isabelle stood with one hand on a bar. She had on some sparkly black outfit that looked like a swimming suit with shorts attached.
I
groaned. “What are you doing here?”
Isabelle tossed her ponytail. “I’ve been taking gymnastics since I was three.”
Barf. “You come every week?”
Isabelle nodded.
My stomach grew nauseous. I couldn’t very well tumble with a sick stomach. That was it. If Isabelle came to gymnastics every week, then I was never coming back.
The Water Fight Professional Page 15