Sports

Now she sat helpless, her days of freedom just a memory “Just take it easy, Jenna. We don’t want you to fall.” Jenna gritted her teeth and took a step. She gripped the walker in front of her so hard her knuckles were white. The pain she expected didn’t occur, and she looked up with a smile. “Mom, do you think I…” Her leg collapsed underneath her and she thudded to the ground with a cry of agony. Tears were wrenched from her eyes against her will, but it wasn’t the pain. She was used to pain. Pain was her constant companion. It had been with her ever since she had fallen off the stone wall by the creek while chasing her cousin and shattered her leg. The surgery to implant the stabilizing rods had gone wrong, and Jenna was left with a useless leg. No, she was crying because of the hopelessness of it all. Every day she tried to exercise, to strengthen her leg, but she still couldn’t take a single step. Her mother was at her side, but she wasn’t aware of it. At that moment, her world consisted of the walker on its side with its wheels still spinning, her throbbing leg, and the tears that streamed down her face and soaked her shirt. *          *          * Jenna had PE first period, but it wasn’t physical. Usually, PE was just sitting in her wheelchair reading or doing homework. Today she watched the other kids. They lined up at the edge of the jumbo track, the mile-long course they ran each day. Mr. Heket blew his whistle, and they were off. Alexa was far ahead, her long legs pumping gracefully. But then, reflected Jenna, she always was. It hadn’t always been that way. Jenna could still remember the days when another slim girl had been out in front, by far the fastest, the strongest. I ran like the wind, thought Jenna bitterly. I was the wind before. Then a twinge in her leg reminded her that things were different now. Now she sat helpless, her days of freedom just a memory. The doctors pretended she could make a miraculous recovery, but Jenna could see the truth behind their fake smiles: you will never heal. You will be crippled for life. Alexa was nearly finished with the run, and Jenna listened intently for her time. “Well done, Alexa. 5:33.” Jenna sat upright in shock. The record she had set before her fall still stood, but not for long now. It had been 5:32. Alexa smiled breathlessly. Now along came Daniel, always second. Jenna tuned out again. Soon, the slower runners were arriving. As fashionable Sasha finished, she ignored Mr. Heket and continued chatting with her friends. “Hey, you know? I hate running. Sometimes I wish I had, like, a broken leg or something.” Jenna spun the wheels of her wheelchair, intensely angry all of a sudden. Skillfully maneuvering over to the group of kids, she planted herself firmly in their way. Sasha looked at her, surprised. “Excuse me,” she said in an overly enunciated tone, as if Jenna was stupid as well as wheelchair-confined. Jenna remained still. “Believe me, Sasha. You don’t want a broken leg.” Sasha shot a glance at Jenna’s leg. “Oh, yeah. Oops.” She shoved past Jenna, who made no move to stop her. Jenna felt tears stinging in her eyes, remembering days past. Sasha had been her friend, before the accident. Now Sasha found her own friends, and Jenna was alone. Wind before, thought Jenna, watching Sasha’s retreating back. I was wind before. *          *          * “Guess what, Jenna?” gushed her mother as Jenna was lifted into her car. Her face was glowing. “Doctor Johnson says there’s some different technology he can try, and he thinks it can help you!” Yeah, right, thought Jenna. Like anything can help me now. “It’ll mean more surgery. Do you think you can handle that?” Jenna wasn’t sure. She had been suspicious of surgery since hers had gone wrong. Her uneasiness came from the voice in her subconscious that asked, “What if it happens again? What if you’re paralyzed, or even killed?” “I don’t know… What’s the different technology?” “Well, they tried inserting rods before, but Dr. Johnson says they could try metal plates. He also said they might have to re-break the bone… Do you want to do this?” Do I? Jenna asked herself. If there’s even a small chance I can run again? “I… Can I think about it?” “Of course.” Jenna retreated into the recesses of her mind for contemplation. The surgery could fix her, she knew that. But, persisted that tiny little voice, what if… “No!” Jenna declared, defiantly. “But, Jenna…” Her mother’s voice was sad. “I… No, I didn’t mean it that way, Mom. I meant, like, no to not doing it. I mean, yes. I’ll do it.” Jenna was babbling. She was determined not to live in fear and let that voice win. Her fears and doubts intensified, but she mentally shoved them away. I could be wind again, Jenna reminded herself. *          *          * It was deathly cold in the waiting room. Jenna was only half-awake. Why did I have to get up at three in the morning? she thought. She vaguely glanced around the room, taking in the cold plastic chairs and the walls that were so white it hurt to look at them. A side door opened and a nurse stepped out. “Jenna Rakashashov?” Jenna became slightly more awake as adrenaline coursed through her. She slid her wheelchair into the next room, where a nurse helped her onto the gurney. Lying back, she gazed up at the white ceiling tiles that looked like they were made of cardboard. The gurney began to move slowly, and Jenna could feel her leg throb with the same rhythm as the clicking wheels. Ha, she said silently to the voice of doubt inside of her. I win. I’ll be fixed. Then she

Dan scouted up ahead and saw the steep uphill climb before him. He took in a deep breath, looked left and right, and vowed to reach his destination in one piece. Keeping low in the tall grass, his eyes barely cleared the blades. He needed to keep his focus. He needed to remain silent to avoid detection. Slowly and skillfully, he maneuvered through the obstacles, making a point to not make a sound. The wind was picking up, but the whistling through the treetops would not cover many mistakes. He scanned the area and located two of his buddies, crawling slowly through the brush. They all had the top of the hill in their sights. The time was ticking away, but they could make it, if they all hung together. Out of the corner of his eye Dan caught a blur of color. Was it an animal? Was it the enemy? He paused for one moment and took out his binoculars. He located a person near the river, dipping his hands in the dancing water for a drink. As he watched, he swallowed hard. Droplets of sweat ran down his forehead, blurring his vision for a moment. In the hot afternoon sun, the water would taste so nice. But he didn’t dare chance the risk. Was it safe? Should he proceed? One more step and the victory was theirs He inched forward, then bounded behind the large boulder to his right. Like a snake slithering along a hot desert he laid his hands on the boulder and slid around to the other side. Now he had a clear view of his target. He crouched down in a tiger attack stance and pounced up the hill. Taking the run as quickly as possible, he could feel his lungs hurting from the sharp intake of air. His heart was pounding. He felt as if it would jump out of his chest… but he ran on. The goal was too important, to him, to his buddies, to his alliance. He had to succeed. One more step and the victory was theirs. Reaching out as far as his fingertips could go, Dan grabbed the flag and held it high. His buddies rang out a chime of “Yays” to go with his yelp of joy. His team had won in the camp’s game of Capture the Flag. Ryan Traynor, 12Emerald Hills, California Isabel Won, 12Belle Mead, New Jersey

“Jonathan, Erica, the lot of you, get on the field,” called Coach Mike Even now, three years later, I remember that vague understanding of what it meant when my parents told me we were moving to Chicago. I had five friends in California, and they were all a little bit older than me, though I was taller. I remember thinking that I needed to remember this place, since I wouldn’t be coming back for a while. Even at seven years old, I understood the curse of the concept “moving.” When I visited Chicago, the trees were bare, gloomy, and gray. The grass was flat and dead, there were no flowers, no trees, none of the hills I was used to. Everything was flat and gray with concrete. The houses were large and foreboding, made of an ugly brick. The house I was staying in was drafty, gray, and cold. I didn’t realize it was just the edges of winter. The first phone call in our house in Chicago, however, was for me, and it was from Vivian, a girl I didn’t know that well since she had changed schools when I still lived in California. But she was nice, and I liked her. I immediately wrote letters to some of my other friends: Rachael, Katherine, and Zoe. I gave them to my dad to mail. Then, oh then, the Chicago summer came. It was 100 degrees, hot, sticky, and humid. The heat seemed to shimmer, and if you touched metal, you would burn. I went to an outdoors sports camp, where I was informed by a curly-haired girl with black hair that two of our counselors had a crush on each other because they were teasing one another. I watched two girls, one chubby-cheeked with pale skin, the other black-haired with almond eyes. They treated each other as sisters but they couldn’t be; they looked too different. The chubby-cheeked girl, whose name was Olivia, turned out to be my best friend two, three years later. Zoe and Katherine wrote back, but Rachael didn’t. I figured that Dad had lost the letter, though he denied it. So I waited for letters. I unpacked, played tennis, cried that I left my stuffed animal in California—and to my parents I must have looked like a happy little seven-year-old who just moved and is content with her new home. Sure, I knew that they knew I wasn’t as happy as I could have been, but they didn’t know that I cried myself to sleep or that I choked up when I saw the last name of one of the teachers at my old school on the wall at the university swimming center. I wrote back to Zoe and Katherine about what Chicago was like and how much I missed them. It had been two months and still nothing from Rachael. At that point I began to question just how bad could the mailmen mess things up. Actually, Rachael hasn’t written to me to this day, though I wrote her two letters, and I’m sure the second one made it to her because I slipped it in her dad’s suitcase when he came to Chicago on a work trip and was working with my dad. Then, one day at the sports camp, we started our unit on soccer. Now, I loved—and still love—soccer. Not meaning to brag, but I was really good. (Don’t you love my seven-year-old modesty?) Whether or not because of me, my team won most of the games. At a particularly hot and sticky soccer game, a boy on my team came up to me and said, “If you gain possession, pass to me and I’ll score.” (Even then I would admit I did not have the best aim.) I shrugged. “Sure.” The boy had long black hair, coal black eyes, and was one or two years older than me. His name was—if I remember correctly—Jonathan. “Jonathan, Erica, the lot of you, get on the field,” called Coach Mike, waving the off- sides flag impatiently. I jogged over to the coach, a big man with dark skin, the sun attempting to strangle me as I ran. “Coach Mike, do I switch to midfield since Rachel’s not here?” I panted. Coach scanned the group of hot, sweaty grade schoolers. “Wait a minute, why’s Rachel not here?” “She sprained her ankle in track and field,” called Kylee, an explosive defender with hands the size of footballs and who could run like a deer. “Sure, but do you really want to?” “Yeah.” “Fine,” he said, “Everybody ready? In position—Leo, what are you doing? You’re defense!” I heard Coach’s ear-splintering whistle, and the other team kicked off. Now, if I were a writer, I would describe the game, make it exciting and all that, but there is really nothing to describe. We won. Jonathan (or was it John?) scored six times. After the game, I ran with the other kids to the water fountain. I flopped down on the grass and splashed water on my face. Sitting up, I poured the rest on my head. Jonathan walked up to me and held up his hand for a high five. “To teamwork.” I gave him a good, hard high five. He smiled. “Most girls I know barely even touch your hand when they high-five. I like your spirit.” “Most boys I know—well, used to know—would rather eat scat than be caught talking to a girl,” I replied, flattered. Jonathan threw his head back and laughed. It was a warm and friendly laugh, and it made me all tingly inside. “Wait, what do you mean, used to know?” he asked. “I just moved here from California.” “Well, welcome to Chicago.” “Thanks.” “Hey, do you want to join my soccer team?” he asked. “It could be fun. Each week two kids are picked to be team captains. If you come, I’ll know who to pick first.” “Yeah, I want to.” “I think I’ve seen you around before—do you