My Tae Kwon Do instructor stood in front of me, the board held tightly in his hands. “Just tell me when you’re ready,” he said. I had to break it. That thought was ringing around inside my head, inside my stomach. Break it. BREAK IT! You have to break it. I stepped back for a practice kick. I got in a good stance, clenched my fists, and then I spun around backwards, doing a complete turn, and brought my heel up lightly on the edge of the board. Just to make sure that I was lined up, I practiced again. The old, thin brown carpet was rough on my bare feet as I pivoted. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling filled the room with light. Everything was silent, waiting for me. My martial arts classmates sat Indian-style in a row on the floor to my left. In the back of the room, my mom and dad sat in chairs. I could feel everyone’s gaze boring through me like so many tiny lasers. I had never broken a board before, although I had tried several times. Even a boy in my Tae Kwon Do class who was two years younger than me (and a lower rank) had broken one, and he always made sure that I knew it. My loose white uniform made snapping sounds as I lined myself up once more, but the baggy pants and jacket didn’t keep me from sweating. I felt as hot as if I were wearing sweatpants and a turtleneck. I paused to pull the knot in my deep-blue belt tight. “Through the board, through the board,” I chanted to myself “OK,” I whispered, and with one last deep breath, I swirled around, the room blurring before my eyes. Then I kicked my heel against the hard wood. I stepped back. The board was still in one piece. “You stopped,” my instructor said, smiling. “You have to go through the board. Try it again.” I was getting sick of people telling me to “go through the board.” As if I wasn’t trying! “Through the board, through the board,” I chanted to myself. I took another practice try and then flew around again, my long, blond braid swishing around behind me. But again, I couldn’t break the board. I hadn’t even cracked it! I felt tears of frustration welling up in my eyes and tipped my head back to get rid of them. I wouldn’t disappoint everyone by being a quitter. I wouldn’t disappoint myself. “Almost,” my instructor told me. “You still stopped. Try it just one more time.” One more chance. That was all I got. Suddenly, I remembered my instructor sticking his tongue out once and waving his hands by his ears. “That’s what the board’s doing,” he had said to me. I closed my eyes and pictured myself cracking the board in half. “I’ll show you, Mr. Board. I’ll do it,” I whispered, and the words “I’ll do it” echoed inside me. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” “OK,” I said quietly. I spun around. My foot snapped out and collided with the board in just the right spot. I heard a distant CRACK! and then my foot fell through the board and my instructor was holding up the two jagged pieces and grinning. “Knowing that you can,” he said. “That’s all there is to it.” Ann Pedtke, 12East Lansing, Michigan Sarah Dennis, 12Nashville, Tennessee
Sports
A Connecticut Yankee Visits the Bronx
As I stepped out of Byron’s family Suburban, I could feel the powerful presence of Yankee Stadium. Coming from a small town, just being in the city was exciting. Today was Byron’s birthday and he had invited Matthew, David and myself to go to this game. We were really hyped up. I remember Byron saying to me, “Get your mitt, Coop!” At that moment, standing there with my best friend in the shadow of Yankee Stadium, decked out in my Yankee cap, I felt like a real fan. We threw the ball around for a few minutes in the parking lot before heading to the ballpark. Soon we were walking through the tunnel to the stadium. I could hear the fans shouting, smell the hot dogs, and feel the anticipation. The whole experience was intense. In the Bronx, you are a Yankee fan or you’re dirt. It was stunning. At the end of the tunnel the magical field sparkled. We found our seats. Byron and I were excited and talked about the game. Of course, in our minds, there was no question that the Yankees would win. Byron, his dad, Matthew and David went to get drinks and hot dogs. Miles, Byron’s little brother, wanted me to stay with him, so I did. Little did I know that the rest of our crew wouldn’t return until the middle of the first inning. The concession lines are long at Yankee Stadium. We were seated very close to the bullpen where Irabu was warming up. “Hey!” I shouted leaning over the rail, and incredibly Irabu acknowledged me, before the security guards pulled me back. Byron returned with our hot dogs and we sat on the hard seats with the sun beating down on us, eating and watching the game. Soon the spirit of New York captured us, and we were jumping up and down, roaring with the rest of the crowd. “Hey!” I shouted leaning over the rail, and incredibly Irabu acknowledged me It was hot. We decided we needed a break and went back through the tunnel to the concession stands to buy cold drinks. We had earned them with all of our hard cheering. By the time we got back to our seats, the score was 10-4 Boston. It looked as if the Yanks were going to lose. Since we had a long drive home, we decided to call it a day. In spite of the inevitable loss, I knew this day would remain in my memory for a long time. We left. As soon as we got in the car we turned on the radio to check out the score. The announcer said the Yankees had made a huge comeback. The score was now 10-9. We were so mad. We were even swearing. I think all of New York heard us. We felt like fools for leaving the game. We heard the announcer say that the Yanks had hit a home run, right to where we had been sitting! We sat through three nail-biting innings in the car listening to the radio. At the bottom of the ninth with two runners on and two outs, Bernie Williams came to the plate. Williams is an intimidating batter for any pitcher. The count went to three and two. There was silence in the car. The whole game led up to this moment. The tension was crazy. We hung on every word. The pitch was good—the announcer said, “It’s a swing, a hit, and a line drive to center field—back-back-back. . .” But the center fielder jumped up and robbed the ball from being a home run. He didn’t catch it—he “captured it,” said the announcer and brought it in to his chest. Boston had won. Everyone in our car was yelling and swearing. People in other cars were beeping their horns. That was the moment when I realized I really hated the Boston Red Sox, and that I loved this game with all my heart. Cooper Oznowicz, 12West Cornwall, Connecticut Devon Hoffman, 11Utica, New York
Basketball Free-Throw
Taking the basketball from the referee in my raw, steamy hands, I felt the gym getting chillier when I stood still. This was the very first time so many people were depending on me—l wasn’t used to it. My face, blood-red after running and jumping for an exceptionally long time, had broken out into a cold sweat, as had the rest of my body. Funny; I had been scorching hot a few seconds before. With veins throbbing violently in my throat, my eyes darted down to the flaming orange ball that I held in my shaky hands. I wanted it to stay there perpetually, never to leave and try its luck making it into the hoop. I had never really paid attention to all the billions of tiny little bumps which coated it. Today, they were starting to make me feel especially dizzy. It seemed like an eternity for everyone to get lined up, but at last, they did. Anxiously, my gaze lifted up toward my teammates’ faces. Unmistakably written all over was a mixture of hope and belief. I was hypnotized by their eyes, waiting eagerly for the moment that would come soon. Too soon, if you ask me. I wasn’t sure I was ready. It was only one shot, and no more—no second chance. I gulped as these thoughts rushed through my head like an express train, one after another, moving so rapidly they seemed like a blur. My coach’s eyes were fixed on me, like a hawk watching its prey’s each and every move. Her clipboard in hand and whistle around her strong neck, she didn’t seem to be distracted by anything, as if in a trance. She bit her lip and appeared to be waiting with hopes rising in her heart. After our team had come this far, the least I could do was attempt to win us this game Instantly, all the moisture drained away from my throat as I caught a glimpse of my opponent; the girl who had been watching me all throughout the game like a bloodthirsty wolf. As hard as I tried, I could not tear my eyes away from her. Even though she wore a blinding white shirt like the others on her team, she stood out—at least to me. Her vicious sapphire eyes had sparks of ice dancing in them, and were as frosty as the expression on her face. A chill slithered over me, raising goosebumps on my legs and arms, and I shivered as I tried to gain control of my body again. The soft, whispery voices of the crowd above were echoing through my head. I began to feel dazed, and felt like pinching myself with my clammy hands to make sure that this wasn’t a dream. No, a feeling making me this apprehensive could only come in real life. The basketball now seemed ponderous in my weak hands, so I gripped it firmer to make sure it wouldn’t fall and cause a scene. At last, I knew the time was right. I couldn’t stall any longer, no matter how much I wished to. This one shot was worth a thousand words to me . . . How much I always wanted to be the one actually helping my team, not just running around trying to catch the rebounds, which I never really succeeded in. Always, a longer arm would shoot up in front of me and grab it for her own. But now it was my turn. I felt the power that the others had, but not the courage. I gripped the glowing ball harder and let it go, waiting for it to hit the ground and bounce. BOOM!!! It made such a noise, it seemed like the world had awakened from the dead. I did it once more, and got into the shooting position, trying not to tremble. Suddenly, I realized something. The basket seemed smaller, farther away. My arms seemed to weaken, giving up on me. I wasn’t sure I could throw the ball that far. I began to wonder how all the other players had made it. What was the difference between them and me? They were all brave enough to at least try, my mind said, and if they were, so are you. I had to agree. After our team had come this far, the least I could do was attempt to win us this game. I did my best to balance myself on my insecure knees, and jump, throwing the glistening orange ball with all my might as far and as high as I could manage . . . Inci Atrek, 11Sunnyvale, California Fraser Poorman, 9Weston, Florida
