“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 morning,” says Cameron, barely distracted from his game.
Being the big sister and now a referee, I push through the heavy wooden doors and practically race down the hall to the kitchen, where it seems like round twelve of a yelling match is taking place. Before I can say a word, my mother fumbles to her bedroom and starts throwing stuff into the hallway. It’s my dad’s stuff. Maybe today is the last straw for whatever he did. I don’t think my dad’s good looks are going to save him this time. Today something is really wrong.
I want to jump in, but I’m too afraid. They’re so angry. My mother’s face is a beautiful mess of tears and makeup. Even as she fusses with my father, her husband of thirteen years, anyone can see how much she still loves him, and my dad has always been proud to have a beautiful woman like my mother; I think it’s what keeps him putting up with their tumultuous relationship. Maybe everyone in the neighborhood is right about my father. Maybe he is a “ladies’ man” who can’t seem to keep his hand out of the cookie jar; in other words, people think he’s a player. I hope the rumors aren’t true, but I’m no fool. There are a lot of single mothers around my neighborhood who would love to have my father as their man.
Instantly my eyes begin to well with tears. When my mother cries, I cry too.
“You want to stay out all night?” my mom asks through her rage. “Then take your clothes with you and get out!”
“I told you, I was working!” my father yells back.
“Right! Work! How many times are you going to use that excuse?” My mom continues to throw stuff from the closet. “I’m tired of it, Johnnie! And you can tell ‘work’ she can have you!”
“Sarah!” my dad pleads.
“Get out!” my mom yells at the top of her lungs.
“Stop! Stop! Please, stop it!” I yell at them, as if they are the kids now. Miraculously they stop. My mother plops onto the bed, sobbing.
“You’re impossible to deal with!” my dad screams.
“Daddy, please stop!” I say with as much respect as I can muster up.
After calming himself with a few deep breaths, my dad realizes the mess they’ve made. He quickly gathers whatever shirts and pants he can and practically levitates with anger. He heads for the door at full steam. He passes Cameron on the way out, barely noticing him.
“Bye, Daddy.” Cameron looks up from his game with sadness in his eyes.
“Son, we’ll catch up later, all right?” Daddy says, trying to conceal his own disappointment. Cameron doesn’t make a move. Sadly, my little brother seems to have lost confidence in my father at that moment, and he concentrates harder on his game. After Daddy lets out a big sigh, he runs out to his shiny car. I go to the living room window and watch him d
rive away. I can’t help but wonder where he’s going. Tears fall and disappear in the sweat on my T-shirt from double Dutch. I cover my face as I run to my room. I don’t want Cameron to see me cry. He doesn’t need to see everyone falling apart. Just like me, Cameron is probably wondering: Will Daddy be back?
It’s the first day of regionals on the way to the National Jump-off, and some kids are milling about nervously as if it’s Judgment Day. Well, it is, but some aren’t too confident about their double Dutch skills, unlike me. Even though I’ve been dealing with the drama at home for a week, I still believe my team is ready. I just push my issues at home to the back of my mind and arrive early to jump about a thousand times with a single rope. But no matter what I do, no matter how much I try to forget what’s going on, I constantly think of my mom and dad. I wonder how two people who supposedly love each other can fight so much. When things were good, they’d hug and kiss all the time. Now I just don’t understand. Maybe I’m too young to understand. If this is what marriage is about, I don’t think I’ll ever get married. For now I have to get focused. With all this anger and sadness, I am so ready to smash any competition!
“Hey, Kayla, is your mom coming? Maybe my mom can sit with yours?” Nikki breaks my concentration.
“Oh, um, my mom…couldn’t make it,” I lie. “But it’s only the local competition, right? So, you know, she’ll make the next one.” This is not the place or time to air my family’s dirty laundry, although I’m sure everyone’s already smelled it. Nikki suspects grief, but thankfully she doesn’t pry. When my parents fight, they completely forget about me and Cameron. So asking them to take time out of their busy day to show up to my silly double Dutch competition would be like trying to take a toy from a baby. They’d just whine about it.
* * *
—
Whistles sound all around, and thank goodness the competition gets everyone in game-time mode. There are mostly girls, ages six to fourteen, jumping carefully in the compulsory test. In compulsory, teams have to show they can make two turns to the right on the right foot and two turns to the left on the left foot, do two crisscross jumps, both with each foot crossing over once, then ten high steps, and exit the ropes, all without making a mistake. It sounds complicated, but it’s easy-peasy, especially since everyone does it slowly and carefully so they don’t mess up. The Double Dutch Jets sail smoothly through compulsory. Speed is up next—my favorite. Other kids stop to stare at me. I think I’m maybe one of the—if not the—fastest speed jumper they’ve ever seen. Not bragging either. I’m just saying.
Before entering the ropes I keep my head down. My concentration is on the ropes and only the ropes. As they spin close to my chin, I glance at my teammates as if to say, You guys know what to do. Let’s go! In less than a second, my feet float between the ropes and I find my groove. I hope the quick pitter-patter of my feet isn’t too fast for the judges to count every time my left foot hits the floor for the points. The ropes seem to disappear as they move in a circular motion. I know Drea’s and Eva’s arms are tightening up by now, but my girls are making it happen. As I look down at my clean white sneakers, they appear to flicker like a flame.
“Come on, Kayla! One-two, one-two!” Drea cheers. No one has any idea that I am imagining that all my parents’ issues are under my feet. The problem is, I don’t even know what their issues are. I have my suspicions, though. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap! My feet are on fire! The faster I jump, the better I feel.
Time! Two minutes felt like two seconds. I exit the ropes as easily as I went in. “Three hundred and thirty-two steps,” the judge calls to the panel. It’s a new novice record! My teammates and I celebrate.
“If we don’t get to the finals with that number, those judges are crazy!” Mimi says reassuringly.
“I counted three hundred twenty-nine,” Eva adds. “But whatever they say counts, right?” I grimace at her a bit with my hands on my hips. Did she really just say that?
“That’s right,” Drea says in a huff. “We’re in!”
A smile shows up on my face for the first time this morning, but it doesn’t last, since neither of my parents is here to see me. Even Ms. Jackson has sort of a grin on her face while still popping her gum.
“That’s how you do it, girl. Keep your eye on the prize, no matter what’s going on around you,” Ms. Jackson says. What does she mean by that? Does she know something I don’t? But before I can catch my breath to ask, Ms. Jackson moves on.
* * *
—
After the competition, I quickly grab my stuff and run home as fast as I can to tell my parents the good news. Maybe it’ll change their moods and make them forget what they’ve been fighting about. I can only wish. I enter my house, and the door hits something behind it. Why are there suitcases in the hall? I don’t see or hear anybody. What is going on?
“Ma? Anybody home?” I call.
Finally I find my mother in the kitchen having a cup of coffee. She doesn’t seem very happy, but maybe I can cheer her up.
“Ma, guess what—I made it to the next round!” I say, beaming with excitement, hoping she’ll at least smile. Nothing. “I mean, me and the rest of the Double Dutch Jets, but you know.” I grab the orange juice out of the refrigerator. “I’m the one who put us on the map.” I’m joking, but Mom still isn’t laughing with me.
“That’s nice, baby,” she says, withdrawn. “I’m going to need a favor from you and your brother, okay?”
“Sure. What’s up with the luggage in the front? I mean, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Daddy, but…” I pour myself some juice, trying not to panic.
“I need you and Cameron to spend the rest of the summer with Aunt Jeanie,” my mom blurts out, cutting me off.
“No! Aunt Jeanie? In North Carolina? Ma, I hate that place! I just told you I made it into the next round in the double—”
“MaKayla!” my mom says as she stands quickly. “I don’t need this right now, okay? Just go! Go to your room and pack your things.”
“But, Ma, I have a chance to make it to Madison Square Garden! I can’t leave now! Ma, you gotta…” Tears quickly flood my eyes.
“Your father and I are talking about divorce!” she yells over me. I’m suddenly breathless. “Now, I didn’t want to tell you that, but it’s…Things are not good right now. I am sorry.” Her voice quivers. She sits quietly. Although I want to fight to stay, I don’t want to make my mother feel any worse than she already does.
“This isn’t fair!” I cry uncontrollably, and stomp all the way to my room like a five-year-old. I can’t help it. How could this be happening? I’ve worked so hard! Cameron opens his door, only to shake his head at me. What does he care? He’s a kid.
When morning comes, I can barely open my eyes. They’re swollen shut from crying so much, and getting out of bed is like pulling teeth. I just don’t want to do it. Unfortunately I don’t think staying in bed is going to change my mother’s horrible decision to send us down south. She doesn’t care that I hate everything about it. It’s like time stands still there, and it’s so darn quiet! And to top it off, my cousin Sally and I may be the same age, but we just don’t get along. Ugh! My parents are fighting, and Cameron and I are the ones who have to pay by having our lives turned upside down.
I stuff my last pair of sneakers into my bag and head downstairs to wait for my dad. Wait! My double Dutch ropes! I stop to think. If I take them with me, they will probably sit in some corner collecting old country dust, since I’ve never seen anyone playing double Dutch there. I mean, my cousin used to, but my mom tells me she’s a ballerina now. Figures. Bringing my ropes would only remind me of what I’d be missing back here in Brooklyn. So I just grab my diary off the dresser and sadly leave my ropes behind. At least I’ll have plenty of time to catch up on my entries. As for my double Dutch dreams, they’re done.
Mimi and Eva come by to see me off, bu
t I think there’s more to it than that.
“I’m so sorry you have to leave.” Mimi hugs me.
“I think it’s going to be fun.” Eva joins in the hug. “If I was leaving Brooklyn for the summer, I’d be ecstatic!”
“That’s because you’ve never been to North Carolina. You guys don’t understand. My cousin is a snooty little princess, and I hate being someplace where I don’t know anyone.” I can’t help how I feel. The South just sucks to me. I’m a city girl, born and bred, and that’s how I’ll stay for the rest of my life.
“I’m sure you’ll make new friends. Maybe even meet a boy,” Mimi says as she nudges me with a smile. I know she’s trying to cheer me up, but I just give her a crazy look and continue to pout. Really? Like a boy is better than jumping double Dutch.
“Well, uh, since you’re going to be gone, uh, we’re going to have to replace you,” Eva says hesitantly, then, “Oooh, I think I know someone!” I look at her like, I haven’t left yet. I’m still standing here. Hello?
“Whatever. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do,” I say as they stare at each other. “I mean, yeah, you should. Make sure you find somebody good. Even though I’ll be gone, I am still a Jet.”
“Of course you are,” agrees Mimi. “It won’t be the same without you.”
“Yeah, she won’t be here to boss us around all summer,” Eva mutters under her breath. Mimi shoots her a look. “What? I’m just agreeing with you,” Eva says, cleaning up her comment. “I mean, who’s going to push us to make it past the semifinals?”
“No worries. You guys can make it without me,” I say truthfully. “It’s our—well, your—big chance. If I were you, I wouldn’t blow it either.”
“We won’t,” Mimi responds.
I somehow get the feeling Eva is honestly happy I’ll be away for the summer. She probably hates me for making her turn all the time, but the other girls are just better jumpers than she is. There’s nothing I can do about that. As captain of the team, I have to call the shots how I see fit. I just try not to dwell on the negative and instead “accentuate the positive,” as they tell us at school. Or maybe Eva is really glad she won’t have to deal with me bossing everyone around. I can admit, I’m bossy at times. That’s just me. And my real friends accept me that way. It’s probably my bossiness that got us closer to the competition at Madison Square Garden anyway, and if they make it without me, I’ll be happy for them. They’re my girls and I’m going to miss them, including Eva.
Love Double Dutch! Page 2
