Forget Green Gables

A Lucky Break

The smell of the mats welcomes me. I love school, I love learning, and I love the energy the building hums with during finals, but I need to blow off some steam that has been accumulating through all the extra studying and lack of movement from class to class. Hitting the mats after my warm-up run, I launch myself into round-off back-handsprings across the gym balcony where the team practices. Coach Hill looks up from the paperwork for our upcoming first tournament and calls me over.

"Something bothering you, Strait?"

"No, ma'am. Just wound up from finals."

Coach Hill nods "Those springs are looking better and better every day. How are they feeling?"

I grab my foot, hold it to my butt, and stretch out my leg. "They feel good. I got that Arial just about down. I'm only planting every ninth instead of every third. So, I hope by the end of Winter Break I'll be more consistent."

"Very good. You're leading heel stretches today."

During the second round of competition, we hold a left heel stretch in unison for a count of ten. This means that no one can move, drop their leg, or otherwise break the uniformity if we want full points. Because Coach thinks this is an excellent way to show off the squad's skills, the heel stretch stays regardless of how much our team hates it. Every day in practice, we spend half an hour or more on heel stretches. One team member, usually a senior, leads, meaning they do the counts, they call out members who are not holding the proper position, and get to decide any consequences for not making it either as an individual or as a squad. I've had to run stairs for dropping my foot; Jessie's had to do fifty push-ups (ten for each time she dropped her foot), and we've run many miles as a group for not holding heel stretches. The worst, however, was when Coach led and we did heel stretches for an entire three-hour practice. No matter how hard we tried, we could not hold three heel stretches as a group. I had not been able to move my legs properly for two days after that practice.

As we stretch to start practice, Coach Hill runs through her usual announcements: who has not paid their sock money yet (we are penalized for not having matching socks), who is close to or flat out ineligible because of their grades (Jessie and I never come up here), and who the leader of heel-stretches will be. This is the first practice all year that one of the freshmen is in charge, and the squad turns to look at me in unison. I pretend I do not notice, as I am in a straddle stretch, lying flat on the floor. My center splits are just about the whole way down. They hurt today.

Maybe it is the stress of finals, the pent-up energy from not moving all day, or the desire to get home to study for the next day's finals, but the squad's first three heel stretches are perfect. No one budges, our counts are on, the slap-down sounds loudly throughout the balcony. "Um...great job! We're done with heel stretches, Coach!" I call. Coach Hill nods her head slowly.

"Go get a drink," she tells the squad. "Cheyanne, come here."

"What's up?"

"We want to add another stunt group to the third round. How would you feel about being group captain of an all-freshman stunt group?"

"Um...I'd love to but...why me?" Typically the stunt-group captain is the back-spot or the flyer.

"Because you work hardest," Coach Hill answers. "You work harder than some of my seniors. I think it will work well."

"Well...okay. That sounds great. Thanks, Coach!" I cannot help but smile. Maybe things at home are lousy, but things at school are looking up. I guess the Universe really always seeks balance in all things.