“Uh, Mal,” I said. “You know, I have a feeling you’re attracting more attention by doing this.”
“I don’t want anyone to see me!” she whispered sharply.
Ms. Walden’s voice boomed out from behind us. “Okay, girls, stand in a line by the pool!”
We did. Now we were all facing the boys. By then some of them were whispering to each other and laughing. Mal was dying. Benny Ott, a true goon, was doing a really dumb imitation of a girl’s walk, swinging his hips from side to side and making some of his dorky friends laugh.
“Ott, get over here!” the boys’ teacher yelled.
“They are so immature!” Mal whispered.
“I know,” I agreed.
“I’m freezing!” Mal said. “Look!” She held out her arms, which were covered with goose bumps.
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool out,” I agreed.
“We shouldn’t have to get our hair wet! We could catch pneumonia and die!”
“Mal, I don’t think it’s that —”
Ms. Walden’s voice interrupted our conversation. “Now, I know you must be at different levels of swimming,” she said. “And I’m aware some of you may not swim at all. But don’t worry. Today I’m going to give you each a swimming test, and then divide the class into groups. I want you to feel comfortable. Let’s go alphabetically …”
Mal just stood there, stone-faced. I felt awful for her.
Ms. Walden began testing us, one by one. When Mal’s turn finally came, she dived quietly into the water and did a pretty good backstroke, breast stroke, crawl, and dog paddle.
“That was great!” I said as Mal climbed out of the pool.
“Thanks.”
Ah-ha! A smile! I actually saw one. I guess Mal was loosening up a little.
“Jessi?” Ms. Walden said. “Come on, your turn.”
Suddenly I realized I’d been so concerned with Mal I hadn’t thought of myself. I wasn’t such a great swimmer. How foolish was I going to look?
I dived in and did whatever Ms. Walden asked me to do, which was all the strokes Mal did. I did them my way, slowly and carefully. At one point I saw Ms. Walden whispering with another woman, who looked at me and nodded.
Oh, great, I thought. They’re trying to figure out if there’s going to be a group slow enough for me.
But when my test was over, Ms. Walden took me aside and said, “Jessi, could you see me after class?”
“Sure,” I said.
Remedial swimming. Those were the first words that popped into my head. Ms. Walden — or maybe that other woman — was going to tutor me personally.
Now it was my turn to feel awful. I plopped down on the edge of the pool next to Mal. Neither of us said a word.
Finally, when class was over, I approached Ms. Walden. The other woman was standing next to her. She was thin, with short, darkish-blond hair and a wide smile. I tried to smile back.
“Jessi, this is Ms. Cox,” Ms. Walden said.
Ms. Cox held out her hand and I shook it. “I was watching you swim before. Have you had dance training?” she asked me.
That wasn’t the question I had expected. “Uh-huh,” I said. “I take ballet lessons.”
Ms. Cox smiled even wider. “I thought so. I could tell by your form in the water — very lyrical and smooth.”
“Thanks.” Now I really couldn’t tell what she was getting at.
“Jessi, I wondered if you had ever thought of synchronized swimming,” she said, looking much more serious.
I drew a blank. “Uh …”
“You don’t know what it is,” Ms. Cox said with a laugh. “That’s all right. Most girls don’t at first. You see, I run a program in synchronized swimming here at the pool complex. Basically it’s a team of girls, all ages, and we perform routines in the water — sort of like dance routines. I’m always looking for strong swimmers, but most importantly, I need girls with good form. I could use someone with your ballet background.”
I looked from Ms. Walden to Ms. Cox. I felt an incredible rush of relief. “Um, well, it sounds like fun,” I said. “When are the practices?”
“Fourth period,” Ms. Cox replied. “The one right before this.”
“Oh, that’s my lunch period,” I said, disappointed.
“It’s all right,” Ms. Walden said. “You could take your lunch fifth period, instead of regular gym. That would be easy for me to arrange with the administration — if you want to do it.”
Swimming with dancing — and no gym class? It sounded too good to be true. How could I say no?
“Sure!” I said to Ms. Cox. “I’d love to try it.”
“Wonderful!” Ms. Cox replied. “Our next practice is Thursday, right here. See you then!”
Well, Thursday came.
I felt more excited than nervous. But still, when I showed up at the pool complex during fourth period, my stomach was rumbling.
It was a little embarrassing, I have to admit — and I couldn’t figure out why it was happening. After all, I’m used to performing in front of crowds.
Then I realized my poor stomach was being faked out. Usually fourth period meant lunch — no wonder it was complaining.
I saw Ms. Cox running toward me (maybe she heard the rumbling). “Jessi, hi!” she called. She had a huge grin, and seemed full of energy.
“Hi,” I said.
Ms. Cox turned around and said in a loud voice, “Girls! We have someone new in the class — Jessica Ramsey. Jessi, this is Abby, Monica, Hannah …”
She mentioned fifteen names altogether, and after she was done I didn’t remember a single one. I guess I was nervous.
“Hi,” I said again and again. I was really showing off my vocabulary, huh?
“Oh, this is wonderful,” Ms. Cox went on. “We finally have an even number in the class. You see, Jessi, we do a lot of work in pairs. With only fifteen girls, that means someone is always switching around. Right, Elise?”
A pretty, raven-haired girl smiled and said, “Yup.”
“Elise Coates has been partners with just about everyone in the class,” Ms. Cox went on. “But not any more. I’m going to make you two a permanent pair, okay? I think you’ll work well together. Take a few minutes, get to know each other, and then Elise can catch you up on some basics.” She turned to Elise and said, “Go over the side stroke and the crawl, and show her the standard scull, the tub position, and maybe the tub turn and the back tuck somersault if you have time. I’ll be around to help you out.”
Huh?
Tub turn? Back tuck somersault? What had I gotten myself into? This was nothing like my first ballet class, where all we did was first and second-position pliés for an hour.
Ms. Cox must have noticed how I was feeling, because she gave me a confident wink and said, “It’s not as hard as it sounds.” Then she shouted, “Come on, girls. Let’s do some warm-ups!”
Elise smiled, her dark brown eyes warm and friendly. “It’s really nice to meet you. Have you ever done any synchro?”
“Uh … what?”
“I guess you haven’t,” Elise said with a laugh. “Synchro is short for synchronized swimming.”
“Oh.” Boy, did I feel stupid.
“Don’t worry,” Elise said. “I only started a couple of weeks ago. I’m, like, one of the worst in the class — so just think, with my help, you can be, too!”
I laughed. Thank goodness Elise was so nice. She put me right at ease.
“I have an idea,” she said. “This will start to give you a feeling for synchro. Can you do a side stroke and a crawl?”
“Yes!” It felt so good to know something.
“Good. Let’s do two laps of side stroke and two laps of crawl together. Try to stroke at exactly the same time I do.”
“Okay.”
Elise stood at the edge of the pool. I stood next to her. “Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.”
She jumped in, feet first. So did I.
We swam our four laps, and I was able
to match strokes with her pretty well. The trouble was, she was a stronger swimmer and kept getting way ahead of me.
“That was good,” Elise said as we climbed out of the pool. “Your presentation is fantastic!”
“Presentation?”
“That’s Ms. Cox’s word for style. She’s always trying to get us to move gracefully. Her big saying is, ‘Work hard, but make it look easy.’ That’s my weak point — but you do it naturally.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “I guess that’s because of my ballet classes. I wish I could swim as fast as you, though.”
“Oh, sorry,” Elise said with a guilty grin. “I shouldn’t have gone so fast. It’s just that I’m on the SMS swim team and I’m used to racing.”
“You’re on the swim team?” I said. “But you said you were one of the worst —”
“Synchro’s much different than racing. I have strength, but no style.”
“And I have style but no strength,” I said with a sigh.
“See? It’s perfect! That’s probably why Ms. Cox put us together. We can coach each other.”
I could tell Elise and I were going to get along — and I was right. The rest of the hour was fun. Exhausting, but fun. First Elise showed me how to “scull.” That’s the way you support your body in the water. While you’re lying on your back, you sort of sweep your arms away from your body and then back in, keeping your fingers together. To move headfirst, you keep your wrists “hyperextended” (bent upward). To move feetfirst, you keep your wrists “flexed” (bent downward). It’s actually a little more complicated than that, but that’s the basic idea.
Anyway, we practiced sculling for a long time, until I got the hang of it. Then Elise taught me the “tub” position, in which you lie on your back and draw your knees up close to your chin. It’s like a sitting position, only you’re facing upward. Sound easy? It’s not, because you have to scull at the same time, to keep your body near the surface.
We never got to the somersault, but it didn’t matter. I was hooked on synchro — and I had a new friend.
Ms. Cox could tell, too. She came over to us three times during the hour. At the end, she said, “Jessi, you look fabulous. You’re going to be ready for competition in no time.”
I started to say “competition?” but the word stuck in my throat. I mean, synchro was fun, but I was just beginning. I learned ballet movement fast, too, but I didn’t have my first recital until after a year of classes!
Before I could say anything to Elise, Ms. Cox was making an announcement to the class: “Girls, I have some good news! I just got word from the school. It’s official — we’re going to be a part of the SMS Sports Festival!”
“Yay!” screamed Elise (and all the other girls).
“We’re going to do a demonstration in two eight-member groups,” Ms. Cox continued, “and then pairs will compete with each other for medals.”
There was another burst of happy screaming, and everyone started talking excitedly. “Isn’t that great, Jessi?” Elise said to me.
It was great. I honestly did feel excited. I also felt like I was in over my head. “I guess,” I answered.
Elise looked concerned. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that, well, I’m so far behind everybody.”
“Oh, Jessi, you are such a perfectionist!” Elise said with a laugh. “The way you learn, you’re going to have no problem being ready. I can tell.”
“You think so?” I said.
“Think so? I know so! Jessi, this’ll be so much fun!”
You know what? I believed Elise. Her energy was so positive. And to tell you the truth, deep down inside I feel pretty confident when it comes to anything physical. (I get that confidence from ballet lessons — dance is similar to sports in many ways.)
I knew it would be a lot of work for me — and for Elise, too. But there was something else I knew. I knew we could do it.
* * *
When I returned home after school that day, I couldn’t wait to tell everyone the news. The first person I saw was Becca, curled up in front of the TV. A car commercial was just ending.
“Becca, guess what?” I cried.
“Ssshhh!” Becca said. “Watch this with me, Jessi! It’s the Olympic trials.”
I sat down and watched some incredibly fast women running a hundred-meter sprint.
“Wow!” Becca exclaimed. “They look so muscle-y!”
“Fast, too,” I said.
“I wish we could go to the Olympics! That would be fun.”
After the race, the announcer started blabbing some boring statistics, so I said, “Guess what, Becca?”
“What?”
“I’m going to be in the SMS Sports Festival!”
Becca’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
I told her about the class and Elise and Ms. Cox. She listened with a big smile and said, “I’m going to sit in front during the show and say, ‘Yay, Jessi!’ ”
“You better!”
“And then,” Becca went on breathlessly, “when I’m in sixth grade, you have to come and cheer for me, because I’m going to be in the festival, too!” She paused. Then added, “Maybe.” (Becca is sort of shy.)
“All riiight!” I said. We gave each other high-fives, low-fives, and as many different kinds of fives as we could think of.
Another race was starting, so we sat back and watched. Becca was staring so hard her mouth was hanging open. I almost laughed.
We watched and watched until another commercial came on. Then Becca sat up straight and said, “Jessi? They have the Olympics in a different place each time, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are they ever going to have them in Stoneybrook?”
“I doubt it.”
“Not even if, like, the mayor calls up way, way in advance, and says they can use the new high school track?”
I smiled. “No, Becca. They always have the Olympics in bigger places then Stoneybrook.”
Becca slumped back in the couch. She looked crushed, as if I’d just told her there was no Santa Claus. “That stinks. I wish they would have them right here.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said sympathetically.
I began walking toward the kitchen. But I kept thinking of what Becca had said.
The Olympics. In Stoneybrook.
Maybe it wasn’t such a far-fetched idea.
Maybe there was something I could do about it.
The idea rolled around in my head all night. Actually it was more than just an idea. It was a project, the kind of thing Kristy would think up. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I was dying to bring it up at a BSC meeting.
Luckily I didn’t have long to die, because the next day was Friday. I arrived at the meeting early, figuring I’d talk it over with Kristy the Idea Genius first.
But I couldn’t. Not while she was belly-down on Claudia’s carpet.
That’s right. Belly-down, fanning her arms and legs inward and outward — and Stacey was doing the same right next to her.
“Let your hands meet in front of your face,” Kristy was saying, “then push against the water. See? Push … Push …”
I nearly cracked up. The two of them were doing the breast stroke on the floor. Claudia was sitting on her bed, eating an Oreo cookie. When she saw me, she smiled and shrugged. “Welcome to BSC swimming camp,” she said.
Stacey sat up. “Oh, hi, Jessi!” she exclaimed, her face turning bright red.
Kristy glanced over her shoulder. She looked sort of like a turtle.
Claudia burst into giggles, smacking her hand over her mouth to stop the Oreo crumbs from spraying out.
Stacey started giggling, too. Finally I gave in.
Kristy sat up and brushed herself off. “Well … hrrmph,” she said, clearing her throat (I could tell she was fighting back a smile). “I guess it’s almost time to start.”
“What were you doing?” I asked.
“Stacey wants to do the breast stroke in the Sports Fes
tival, so I was coaching her,” Kristy said.
“Kristy’s much faster than I am,” Stacey added. “We practiced a little in gym class.”
“But Stacey has great form,” Kristy said.
That sounded familiar.
“Hey, I was enjoying the show,” Claudia chimed in. “Keep going.”
“Oh?” Kristy said with a mock-angry voice. “And what event are you going to enter? Speed eating?”
Claudia pulled another Oreo out of the bag and examined it. “Oh, something track-orientated, I think.”
“Track-orientated?” Kristy repeated.
We howled with laughter.
That was when Mary Anne and Dawn entered the room. “What’s so funny?” Mary Anne asked.
“Kristy and Stacey were swimming on the rug,” Claudia said.
“Claudia was being strange,” Kristy said.
Mary Anne and Dawn gave each other a they’ve-just-gone-nuts look.
Then Kristy looked at the clock, which said 5:29. Quickly she put on her visor and sat on her chair. I could hear footsteps running down the hall. Mallory appeared in the doorway, looking guilty. “Am I —?” she began.
“Order!” Kristy barked.
Mal slipped in, relieved she wasn’t late.
“Any new business?” asked Kristy.
Shrugs and head shakes around the room.
I was getting ready to tell everyone about my new idea, when Mal asked, “How did your synchronized swimming class go?”
“Fine,” I said. “We’re going to be in the SMS Sports Festival.”
“Really? You must catch on fast, Jessi.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied. “I have a long way to go.”
“That’s okay,” Stacey said. “You saw how bad my breast stroke was, right? That’s going to be my event. I don’t care if I come in last. I just want to have a good time.”
“Me, too,” said Dawn. “That’s why I’m going to enter the javelin throw.”
“Javelin throw?” Claudia remarked, as she pulled a bag of potato chips from a drawer in her night table. “Are you serious?”
Jessi's Gold Medal Page 3
