“That goes for all of you,” Ms. Jackson continues.
I wave off the comment, but then I suddenly realize, If she called me out, then that means we made the cut! I quickly jump to my feet. “Does this mean my team is in?”
Ms. Jackson hesitates a moment because she didn’t intend to start the announcements that way, but she knows she let the cat out of the bag. “Yes! You guys are going to the regionals,” she confirms.
We all go crazy! Ms. Jackson knows she has to continue announcing the competing teams or jealousy might get out of hand. So she runs off the team names. “Triple Double Trouble! The Loosey Gooseys! Jumping Jacks!” Ms. Jackson yells over the crowd, and several more teams scream as the gym continues to erupt. As she finishes with the list, Ms. Jackson looks over her clipboard to find a few sad faces. She doesn’t look too closely or else she might get emotional herself, since she knows how badly all the jumpers want a shot at the big dance. Lastly, she announces that parents are welcome at the competition. Maybe both my parents will come for once, since it will be my first real competition. I quickly throw the idea right out of my mind because I know my parents will find some excuse why they can’t make it. Kayla, honey, not today. I’m so tired and I have so much to do. Maybe next time, my mother will say, and my father, well, if the sport doesn’t involve a ball, then it must not be serious. But double Dutch is serious to me. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane. Then, suddenly Ms. Jackson is in my face.
“Remember what I said, Ms. Kayla. Don’t let that little ego of yours get in the way of your success. Being good and proud is one thing, but arrogance will only invite enemies and distractions,” she says, sealing her speech with a piercing look, as if she can see my soul.
“Why are you always chastising me? You ain’t my mother,” I tell her.
“And you’re so lucky I’m not. Now, I know your mother, and I know she didn’t raise a disrespectful, rude child,” she says sternly, but I stand defiant. Did she really have to go there in front of my friends? I am not a child, and she shouldn’t be talking to me that way. The only reason I keep my mouth shut is because I don’t want to mess up our chances of making it to the Garden.
“Are you finished?” I ask. Ms. Jackson is on my last nerve now, and I’m on hers.
“No,” Ms. Jackson continues. “As your coach, it is my duty to tell you that I think you have great potential and that I can see you going far in this sport or anything you set your mind to. But if you don’t check that rough-and-tough attitude of yours, you’ll never see what I’m talking about.”
I still stand there with my arms crossed, staring at her as if to say, Can I go now? My friends walk off and act like they weren’t listening, but I know they heard Ms. Jackson checking me. Finally she moves out of my way, and I catch up with my team. Ms. Jackson doesn’t really know me, so…whatever! She can’t tell me how to act. I’m my own boss. My team made it to the regionals for the National Jump-off, our first real tournament. Nothing can stop us now!
After practice, it’s still hot out and we’re so hungry. We’ve been jumping for three hours straight, we made up a whole new routine, and we need something to eat—and fast. Normally we’d go to the pizza shop, but it’s a few blocks away. So we make a quick stop at the bodega, aka the corner store hangout. The storefront is oddly visible, since the boys who are usually standing there are gone. Probably out doing bad boy stuff. I know that not all the boys in Brooklyn are bad, but the ones hanging out around the stores usually have nothing else to do except get into trouble. As we devour our snacks on the way home, the Jets can’t stop talking about the big news. We’ve all heard rumors about the competition at Madison Square Garden, but none of us have ever been.
“I heard the Southern teams are incredible,” Drea says in an intimidated voice.
“They jump double Dutch in the South?” I ask. “What do they know about jumping double Dutch?” I mean, really.
“What? Are you kidding? Almost every state in the nation—every country on the planet—has a team,” Mimi interjects. “I thought you knew that.”
“Even Japan and Denmark. Denmark! Come on!” Eva adds.
“I knew about the foreign countries, but the South?” I question.
“I heard the coaches talking about some of them, and they said the Southern teams are really good,” Drea adds.
“So what? That doesn’t mean they can beat us. We’re the best in the world, right?” I ask, hoping for agreement but hearing only soft yeahs. “We’ll just have to practice hard. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. On time, I promise,” I say as we reach my front steps.
Before anybody says another word, we hear a commotion coming from inside my brownstone. I look at my friends, who share a knowing look. Oh my gosh, not again! It’s my parents. They’re yelling like they want the whole neighborhood to hear them. They’re so embarrassing! My friends give the peace sign and quickly say their good-byes. I think I even hear Eva say, “Good luck with that.” Ugh! Why do my parents have to be so loud? I run up the stairs past Cameron, who is very much into his tablet.
“What are they fighting about now?” I ask, frustrated.
“Daddy just got home…since yesterday
