Jessi's Gold Medal (9780545690492)

by Martin, Ann M.

  And he did a double take! He was so sure he’d win, he couldn’t believe Kristy had caught up with him. You could see the shock in his face.

  That was all Kristy needed. She kept her eyes forward, sped ahead … and they crossed the finish line together!

  At least that was what it looked like from where we were sitting. By the finish line, people were cheering wildly. They could see something we couldn’t from our angle.

  But what was it?

  The festival officials (teachers) were talking seriously with one another, looking at a stop-watch and gesturing toward the finish line. Kristy and Alan were circling around by themselves, huffing and puffing and ignoring each other.

  The officials nodded in agreement, then one of them signaled something to Mr. Taylor.

  “We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Taylor announced.

  I held my breath. Mal was clutching my hand and Stacey had a grip on my shoulder.

  “The winner of the first installment of The Great SMS Coed Obstacle Challenge is … Kristy Thomas!”

  Well, I yelled so loudly I thought my lungs were going to collapse. Stacey and I hugged each other and jumped up and down. Then we bent over and included Mal in our hug.

  As for Kristy — well, she was eating it up. She was leaping around in the end zone, pumping her arms and whooping. Not exactly modest, but that’s Kristy.

  I never thought I’d feel sorry for Alan Gray, but the look on his face was pathetic. He was crushed. His shoulders were slumped and his mouth was puckered as if he’d just bitten into a lemon.

  Then, with a grand sweep of her arms, Kristy snapped her fingers at Alan and pointed to a spot right next to her. Alan stared at her, stunned. Then he said something to her. But Kristy shot him a hard look.

  He fumed and sputtered, but I guess even he realized a deal was a deal. Red-faced, he stood at Kristy’s side.

  His week as Kristy’s servant had just begun.

  * * *

  The rest of the track and field events seemed to fly by. Before long Mr. Taylor announced that the swimming events would be starting in twenty minutes.

  It was Sweating Time for me. And I mean sweating — this was not glow and not perspiration. Kristy and Alan’s race had taken my mind off my own event, but that was over now.

  Half of me hoped everyone would just go home. Then I wouldn’t have to embarrass myself.

  But no such luck. The crowd, including us, filed through the gate and made a left turn toward the pool complex.

  “Hey, Jessi!” I heard Elise’s voice call.

  I turned around and saw her running toward me. “There you are!” she said. “I didn’t see you in the stands!”

  Boy, did I feel relieved. I introduced Elise to Mal and Stacey. Soon Mary Anne and Dawn caught up to us, then Claudia did — and finally Kristy did, with Alan tagging behind.

  Congratulations and hugs were flying around. People in the crowd seemed to swarm around Kristy especially. Everyone (except Alan) seemed so carefree — laughing and joking and talking a mile a minute.

  I felt ill.

  Stacey ran ahead of us, because the regular swimming events were going to take place first. When Elise and I arrived at the pool complex, we went straight to the locker room to change.

  I’m afraid to say I didn’t even see Stacey’s event. I was too busy pantomiming our routine over and over with Elise in the locker room.

  We were in the middle of what must have been the twentieth time, when Ms. Cox came in and shouted, “Okay, we’re next, girls! Let’s go for it!”

  Everyone jumped up. I froze.

  “Come on,” Elise said. “It’s almost over.”

  I exhaled. “It hasn’t even begun.”

  “Hey, I have an idea. If we’re awful, I’ll buy you an ice cream cone. If we’re just mediocre, you buy me one.”

  I had to think about that a moment, but it did loosen me up a tiny bit. “Elise, that’s pathetic!” I exclaimed.

  “But it made you smile.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said, getting up from my bench.

  “What about the deal?”

  “Sure!”

  We looked at each other for a second, then gave each other a big hug and ran to the pool.

  I gulped when I saw the crowd. It was standing room only! Since there were no stands at the pool complex, lots of folding chairs had been set up. But they seated only half the crowd. Off to one side, three teachers and Mr. Taylor sat at a table with clipboards and pens. They were the judges.

  “Oh, boy,” Elise muttered under her breath.

  Ms. Cox made a brief introduction, and all of us stood by the pool and struck our poses (basically, jazz dance positions). That was part of the show, and it was good for a round of applause.

  Then came the group demonstration. The music started, we all bounced for four beats, and then group one jumped in. Four beats later, our group jumped in.

  First we executed some tub turns, water wheels, somersaults, and swimming strokes. Then we performed a routine of floating and moving patterns: We formed two spinning pinwheels, which became squares and then star shapes. Then we all did a final salute with one arm as we sculled to the edge of the pool. Everything happened fast, and by the end, I hadn’t done any of the things I was afraid of: I hadn’t sunk, I hadn’t crashed into anybody, and I hadn’t ended up alone at the other end of the pool.

  It was a small triumph.

  People seemed really impressed by the demonstration. There was a lot of “oohing” and “aahing” and applause.

  “And now,” Ms. Cox announced, “the most creative part of our show, the pairs competition!”

  Elise and I sat with the others on a long bench, tightly holding hands. We were scheduled second.

  I don’t remember a thing about the first pair. My mind was going over and over our routine, step by step — until I drew a blank.

  “Elise!” I whispered frantically. “What happens after the corkscrew turn?”

  Elise gave me a bewildered look.

  “And now,” Ms. Cox announced, “Elise Coates and Jessica Ramsey!”

  “Yeah, Jessi!” I could hear my father shouting.

  There was no time to think. No time to wonder about the corkscrew turn. If I forgot it, I forgot it.

  We walked to the edge of the pool and stood there in our Nefertiti poses. The music began.

  We jumped into the water. My mind may have been blank, but my body knew just what to do. I rose above water and matched Elise stroke for stroke. We did our turns. We “planked” (a move in which one girl slips underneath her partner and comes up the other side). We executed the corkscrew turn and our Egyptian arms. We performed our ending, which involved my riding on Elise’s shoulders. Then it was over.

  How was it? I have no idea. How did I feel? Numb. What did people think of it? They clapped.

  Elise and I took a bow, then walked off to a bench on the side. We just sat there, staring straight ahead. I don’t know about Elise, but I felt as if every ounce of energy had been squeezed out of me. All this time, all this work … and now — poof! — it was over.

  Somehow it didn’t seem real.

  The other pairs performed, but I don’t remember much about them either. I just remember feeling glad when Mr. Taylor stepped up to the pool — because that meant we’d soon be going home.

  “That concludes the swimming part of the program,” he began.

  Everyone cheered. Elise and I stood up. I was beginning to feel cold and hoped to get into the locker room first.

  “Except for the awards …” Mr. Taylor continued.

  I started walking, then stopped. It would be rude not to applaud the winners.

  “Starting with synchro … well, it was a tough decision, as you can imagine …”

  Hurry up, I thought.

  “But the winner of the gold medal for the pairs goes to …”

  He paused dramatically. I was freezing and getting a little annoyed.

  “Je
ssica Ramsey and Elise Coates!”

  I thought he was joking. Then my eyes focused on the crowd, and I saw Mama, Daddy, and Aunt Cecelia standing and cheering. Then I felt myself being smothered by Elise’s arms.

  “We did it! We did it, Jessi!” she was screaming.

  I wanted to faint. I wanted to cry. But I didn’t do either. Instead I hugged Elise back, and both of us jumped up and down like little kids.

  Laughing, Ms. Cox gave us a gentle push to the left. I turned around and saw Mr. Taylor standing with the contest judges, holding out two gold-colored medals.

  As Elise and I walked toward them, I could barely feel my feet touching the ground.

  “Potato sacks stacked up?”

  “Yessss.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Alan Gray clenched his teeth. He wasn’t used to taking orders — and having to say “ma’am” to Kristy was driving him crazy. It was the morning of the Mini-Olympics, and we were working hard, but Kristy’s personal servant was working the hardest of all.

  “Bullhorn batteries replaced?” Kristy barked.

  “Yuzmumm …” Alan mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Good! Now go get the refreshments — on the double!”

  Alan slumped toward the house.

  “I said on the double!” Kristy ordered.

  Alan walked a teeny bit faster — and Kristy turned to us and grinned.

  “Kristy, you’re terrible!” Claudia said with a smile.

  Kristy shrugged. “Hey, he agreed to the challenge, right? Imagine what he’d have done to me if he had won!”

  Claudia nodded. “Good point.”

  From inside, we could hear Mr. Spier saying, “Hi, Alan! Everything’s on trays, ready to go. Want to taste-test this batch of cookies?”

  “Well, at least somebody’s being nice to him,” I said.

  Just then a familiar voice called out, “Hi, guys!”

  I almost didn’t recognize Elise in regular clothes, I was so used to seeing her in a bathing suit.

  “Hi, Elise!” I said. “Come on over.”

  My memories of the synchro competition came rushing back. After the award ceremony, I had felt stunned. Mama and Daddy had had a barbecue afterward and had invited Elise and my BSC friends. By nighttime my cheeks had hurt from grinning so much. I went to bed two hours early and slept through my alarm the next morning.

  Not till Saturday, the day of the Mini-Olympics, did I feel normal again. All that practicing had taken a lot out of me. I was glad not to have to worry about sculling and tub turns any more.

  As if she were reading my mind, Elise said, “Ready to go to the pool?”

  “Aaaaaagh!” I cried out. “Not the pool!”

  Elise laughed. “Just kidding. How’s it going here? Can I help set up?”

  “No, Alan’s doing it all,” Claudia replied.

  Alan came outside carrying two trays of cookies. There was a chocolate stain on his face — and a big grin.

  “Put them down and fill the kiddie pool!” Kristy commanded.

  “She’s really giving it to him, huh?” Elise said.

  “You bet,” Stacey replied. “Hey, you guys, can you help me set up the prize table?”

  “Sure,” I said. Elise and I helped Stacey move a picnic table to the side, where we would be giving out ribbons to the prize winners. And since everyone was going to be a prize winner, that meant tying lots of bows, and writing labels like MOST IMPROVED, MOST DEDICATED, MOST ENTHUSIASTIC, and any other “most” we could think of.

  I had brought Becca along with me, and she and Mal were putting down markers for the “sprints.” Oh, by the way, Mal’s ankle was healing great. In fact, she had come to our Wednesday barbecue using only a cane — and by Saturday she was limping on her own without any assistance.

  It was a fast recovery, wasn’t it? Sort of makes you think “Hmmm …”

  Oh, well. At nine o’clock A.M., an hour before starting time, Charlotte arrived with a stack of papers.

  Becca ran down the driveway to greet her, and Claudia called out, “The posters are here!”

  Charlotte, the anti-athlete, had become the official sign maker for the Mini-Olympics. She had been inspired when Mary Anne took her suggestion about working the concession stand at the SMS Sports Festival.

  Mary Anne and I followed Becca, and we helped Char fasten a sign to a lamppost:

  THE

  OFFICIAL SITE

  OF THE

  FIRST ANNUAL

  BSC MINI-OLYMPICS!

  10:00 A.M. TO 4:00 P.M.

  At precisely 9:45, the Hobarts and the Pikes arrived (in three separate cars), and the pandemonium began.

  It started when both sets of parents reached into the Hobarts’ trunk to pull out four bulky canvas bags. “Where do we put the weights?” Mrs. Hobart asked.

  “I guess by the garage,” Mary Anne said.

  “I want to practice!” said Nicky Pike, jumping up and down behind them.

  “No, I want to!” said Johnny Hobart.

  “I call first!” said James Hobart.

  “Wait a minute, guys —” Mary Anne started to say.

  “I said it first!” Nicky shouted.

  “But you didn’t call it!” James retorted.

  “No, me!” Johnny insisted, on the verge of tears.

  “Daaaad!” screamed Nicky.

  “Mommmm!” screamed James.

  It was fifteen minutes before starting time, and we had our first fight. It was going to be a long day.

  Next to arrive were the Rodowskys. Jackie Rodowsky, who’s seven, is known in the BSC as “the Walking Disaster” — and he proved his reputation right away.

  In the middle of the yard, Alan and Kristy had set up a kiddie pool for “sailboat” races. Contestants (two at a time) would put a toy boat in the water at a “starting line,” then blow through long plastic straws to provide the wind.

  Just beyond the pool was a big maple tree with a Velcro bull’s-eye for an archery contest. Unfortunately, that was the event that caught Jackie’s eye first.

  “Hey, I want to be Robin Hood!” he shouted. He ran toward the target. He tripped, and …

  Splaasssh! Guess where Jackie landed? Water splashed everywhere. Jackie cried out in surprise as he fell in facefirst.

  Mrs. Rodowsky rushed to him. Kristy rushed to him. Jackie sat up, looking confused. A sailboat was sticking to his collar. He smiled and shrugged.

  One good thing — Jackie had to go home and change, so we didn’t have to worry about him for awhile.

  In the next few minutes, Kristy’s family arrived, then the Hsus, the Prezziosos, the Kormans, the Newtons, the Braddocks … and then I stopped counting.

  At ten o’clock, Kristy blew a whistle. When everyone was quiet, she made an announcement, reading from an index card she had prepared:

  “Um, we’re about to begin the first annual BSC Mini-Olympics. Parent and BSC volunteers will be at each contest station throughout the day. The contest will run continuously, as long as we have enough contestants. Kids, if you see an event you want to enter, and no one is there to run it, just let one of the BSC members know. If you have to leave early, you may come back for prize announcements at four o’clock. Best of luck, everybody!”

  The kids started squealing and running around. There was a shoving match at the starting line of the sprints, but Watson took care of that in his quiet way.

  In a far corner, the Wiffle ball derby began. Lucky for us, Logan Bruno had arrived, and he said he’d be in charge of it all day.

  At least, I thought we were lucky to have him — until he started coaching the kids. Now, Logan was on the SMS baseball team, so he really knows what he’s doing. Before long, Wiffle balls began flying all over the place. Marilyn Arnold got bonked on the head while she was in a potato-sack race. Matt Braddock hit a home run that landed on Linny Papadakis’s chest as he was bench-pressing a barbell. He g
asped in surprise, his elbows buckled, and the barbell came down on his chest. Luckily Mr. Pike was spotting him and pulled the barbell up.

  “He loses!” David Michael shouted with glee. “I win!”

  “No fair!” Linny bellowed.

  Mary Anne had a long talk with Logan, and there were many more short pop flies the rest of the afternoon.

  But considering the chaos, everything went surprisingly well. Supplies lasted, parents co-operated, and there was a feeling of excitement in the air — along with the Wiffle balls, soap bubbles, and surgical-glove balloons.

  The kids had a blast. Most of them entered two or three contests, and some of them (like Linny) entered the same one over and over, trying to set a record each time.

  Then there was Andrew Brewer. A few weeks earlier he had vowed not to be in the Mini-Olympics. But he was running around and laughing, lining up for practically every single event. He entered the archery contest, and never once hit the target. He entered a sprint and came in second to last. He entered a potato-sack race and fell flat on his face. He tried the sailboat race but couldn’t blow hard enough, and gave himself a headache.

  At one point I saw him snuggled in his mom’s arms, sucking his thumb. My heart went out to him for trying so hard.

  Kristy supervised, going from event to event. And wherever she went, her butler tagged along behind. Alan picked up stray Velcro arrows. Alan tied shoelaces. Alan cleaned up spilled food. Alan refilled the lemonade and got more cookies.

  Then Jamie Newton had a little problem after a potato-sack race. It seems he had wolfed down about a hundred Oreo cookies just beforehand, and with all that jumping up and down — well, I don’t need to go into graphic detail. I’ll just let you guess who had cleanup duty.

  All in all, Saturday was probably not on Alan Gray’s list of top ten favorite days.

  The hours passed by in a blur. My favorite part was seeing my sister’s excitement. Becca didn’t participate in anything, but she loved watching! All day long she ran around, wide-eyed, as if the Summer Olympics had come to town.

  And that was the whole idea, wasn’t it?

  When four o’clock rolled around, a lot of kids were still left. By that time, the parents were moving awfully slowly. Kristy made Alan go inside and fix coffee. But judging from the looks on some of the parents’ faces when they took a sip, he must not have done it right.