Chapter 2
A Boy Jump Roper?
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Violet wasn’t usually right, but she was accurate when she said that our class fell short of a ten on the nice-o-meter. We had been together in the same class for seven years because our school had only one teacher at each level. This made us quite the rowdy family. Our reputation apparently caught up with us in our senior year.
Sixth graders always have special jobs to do for the school, like raising and lowering the school’s flag, leading the younger kids to their classes in the morning, and sitting with the little kids at the monthly assembly to make sure they behaved. At present, we had all our duties revoked.
Mr. Weir, the art teacher, said we were too chatty. He added that we never closed our mouths. Our PE teacher, Mrs. Garner, was always telling us that we needed to have more self-control. Oh, we weren’t so bad each on our own, as Ms. Wells would say, but together we just couldn’t seem to keep in check. I even wrote my first chant about the sixth grade.
Who is the best? Who is the worst? Sixth
graders, sixth graders come in first. First is the worst, but don’t tell the
nurse. She’s scary, she’s hairy, and her husband’s name is
Anyway, that’s the long and short of it. We weren’t even allowed to mix girls and boys on the playground. Mrs. Smith forbade it. The cause of this was quite clear. We didn’t play well together. Our separate groups had totally different interests and whenever we mixed and matched the end result was a fight.
From my point of view the girls were plain and simple pests. They always interfered with our games. They were loud and bossy. They chased us around the parking lot during recess. Getting away from them was like being in the Pamplona Bull Run. Truth is I was relieved when Mrs. Smith finally broke us apart. Now, though, it was a huge inconvenience. Creeping onto their side of the playground was against the rules.
So, what I was about to do was going to be risky. Mr. Benton supervised us at recess, thankfully, and I was confident he wouldn’t raise an eyebrow if I quietly imposed myself upon the group of jump ropers. However, if others started following me then it might get harder to be inconspicuous. We would see.
I brought my notebook to school with me that day intent on continuing my studies. Mr. Benton was not in, which was a rare circumstance. Some of the kids were already up to no good by the time I made it to class. That is until the yardstick came down on the desk.
“Hurry to your seats, children,” the woman screeched.
“We need to get ready for the day,” Hector braved.
“Then do it without the shenanigans,” she snapped. “This is not a tea time. We have work to do that doesn’t include ritual gossip and obnoxious horseplay.”
This woman did not appear very happy to be in our company. Perhaps they had warned her about us. She was draped in a baggy black dress and had silky black hair. Her eyes resembled two shiny black pearls that I dared not stare into for long. I was thinking about how well her outfit matched her features when she announced her name as Miss Mack and then quietly began taking attendance.
The only incident during the calling of names was with Mary Williams. Whereas most of us responded, “Here,” when called, Mary decided to go with an atypical and equally disturbing, “Yeah,” reply.
Miss Mack paused and directed her menacing eyes upon Mary without lifting her head. “It would appear that you and I share our first names in common.” She continued to glower at Mary from across the room. “I expect you’ll be minding your manners today, young lady.”
Mary didn’t answer her, which said a lot because she hardly ever shut her trap and always seemed to get the last word. If she wasn’t blaring her bugle of a mouth then she was poking or teasing someone. On top of it, she didn’t jump rope well at all. She was the one who liked to always turn.
It wasn’t until lunch that we were able to shake free of the verbal vice Miss Mack had put us into, which made it hard on the lunch supervisors because we had a lot of pent-up energy to release.
“What is up with this lady?” Hector asked. “Did you see the earrings she was wearing? If I didn’t know any better I would say there were a skull and crossbones.”
“What about the gaudy silver buttons that trailed down the back of her dress?” commented Stan Ferris. “She must have rented it from the Smithsonian Institute.”
“She reminded me
of
“I hope Mr. Benton isn’t planning on an extended vacation. I can’t take this woman for more than a day. She’s the worst substitute in the history of substitutes.”
“Did you know that if you were rich during Civil War times you could hire a substitute to fight for you after the draft was imposed?” Stan interjected.
“What if the substitute died?” I asked.
Stan shrugged. “I think they had to buy another one.”
“Well I got a feeling that if Miss Mack was hired as a warrior substitute she would have beaten the Confederacy single-handedly.”
I went to take a big bite of my sandwich when Matti Bernhardt sneaked up behind me. “Boo!” she said.
Mary was behind her smiling as usual. “She got you good. You almost fell off your seat.”
“No,” I said. “She almost pushed me off my seat. I’m trying to eat here.”
“Yeah,” Hector said. “We’re trying to eat so scram.”
Insulted, Matti slapped me on the shoulder before stealing off with
Mary in tow. They knew they had no time to linger. Mr. Korbel
was a shark. We had assigned tables and were expected to stay at them until
dismissed. The prisoners on Riker’s
I didn’t see them again until recess. By that time I had decided I was going to begin my gradual transition from football to rope jumping. I hadn’t told the boys my plan until they were assigning teams. They were more than surprised.
“What do you mean you’re not playing?” Hector said. “Are you sick?”
“I have other plans,” I announced. “You’ll just have to find a replacement.”
“There is nobody else,” Stan said. “Charlie and Sal are the only ones that don’t play and for good reason. They’re fat and can’t run.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said, supporting the black sheep. “I’ll play tomorrow.”
They shouted after me, but I didn’t pay them any mind. I strolled over to the spot where the girls had started jumping rope and sat down on the ground with my journal. Terri and Matti eyed me suspiciously. The others didn’t seem to notice. I glanced beyond them where the boys were playing football. Whenever they broke between plays I saw them peek over at me. Hector was laughing and pointing.
I wasn’t there two minutes before Mary saw me. “Hey,” she said. “What are you doing over here?”
“I want to watch you jump rope,” I said. “I want to write down some of the songs. Is there a problem with that?”
Leigh, Riley, and Carrie joined the other two girls in a semicircle around me. I felt like an animal at the zoo. I suppose it would take a few days for them to get used to the idea of me joining their group.
“Why are you writing down the songs?” Riley asked.
“I’m going to learn them,” I said. “I’ve made some of my own too. One day I’ll show them to you.”
“You don’t care about those songs,” Mary said. “You’re up to something. Something sneaky, bold, and bad.”
“No, no,” I reassured. “Really. It’s the songs. Now show me some so I can write them down.”
“How about you try to jump?” Matti suggested. “I bet you can’t. It’s harder than it looks. Leigh is going to win the tournament this year. Cynthia is going to lose the crown after two years. It’s going to be so sad for her.”
Cynthia wasn’t listening She was jumping. Jump. Jump. Jump. “Shhh,” I said. “I want to hear the song.”
A horse, a flea, and three blind mice, sat
on a curbstone shooting dice. The horse, he slipped and fell on the flea. The
flea said, “Whoops, there's a horse on me.”
Cynthia jumped out as the song ended. For her it was like a walk in the park. “Leigh’s turn,” she announced. Leigh jumped in as Bo-bae and Terri began turning the rope.
They repeated the chant as Leigh bounced in rhythmic motion to the lyrics. In the middle of the jingle she did a 360 in midair and never missed a beat. I was so enraptured watching up close that I hadn’t jotted down the lines. Some of the girls clapped for her as she stepped out, quietly bowing. She caught my eye and smiled, but didn’t bug me.
“Do Red Hot Pepper!” Mary shouted. “Look who’s here,” she pointed me out to the other girls who hadn’t yet noticed.
Riley took the center. “I have to see it coming so don’t start it behind me.”
Like robots, the
girls started the twirl. Red hot pepper
in the pot gotta get over what the leaders got. 10,
20, 30, 40 . . .
I scribbled and watched. The rope snapped against the concrete each time it came around and whirred like a hovering UFO. The turners counted by tens to 100 nearly four times over before Riley tripped.
“380!” she shouted. “That’s the best all week.”
“It’s only Wednesday,” Terri reminded.
“I can get to 500,” Cynthia said.
She jumped back into the middle as if she had been touched with a hot poker and the cycle repeated. Much to Cynthia’s disappointment she only achieved a 250. “That’s not fair. You did a highwater. Riley didn’t get a highwater. It has to be fair. This is stupid.”
While Cynthia was yapping, I called up to Leigh. “What’s a highwater?”
“It’s when the rope doesn’t touch the ground. She’s lying though. There wasn’t a highwater.” Clearly Leigh was used to Cynthia’s outbursts.
“I heard it hit the ground each time,” I agreed.
“She’s a poor sport. I have a handbook we made in fourth grade with all the moves if you want to see it. There are a lot of things to know.”
“Really?” I asked. “That’s great. Can I borrow it for the weekend? I want to see it.”
“I guess,” she said. “You don’t have to bother writing all the words because the songs are in there too. Why aren’t you playing football?”
“I want to do this,” I said. “Maybe one day I’ll give it a try.”
She looked at me cockeyed. “Why?”
I had to be careful. I was talking to the girl who was expected to take the crown from Cynthia.
“What do you think about there being a king this year instead of a queen?” That wasn’t exactly subtle.
“A boy jump roper?” she smiled. Her teeth were as white as pearls.
I stood up to meet her face to face. “You bet. My father tells me that boys were jumping rope long before girls.”
She laughed. “Let’s face it, Geran, even the king of jumping rope would still be a queen.”
She threw back her head and ambled away. I misjudged her prior to that comment. Perhaps she felt threatened. Why would she feel threatened of me when I didn’t know the first thing about jumping rope? Might she sense my limitless potential?
On the way back in the boys came over to me to assess the situation. “I’m going to start jumping rope.”
All at once they laughed at me. I only smiled. “Isn’t that cute. The Geranium is going to learn how to jump rope.”
“You should really check your parts, man.”
“Do you need a jock strap to do that?”
“Can I sing the wittle whymes with you?”
I shook my head as the heckling continued. I didn’t care. I had less than one year to try something different and I refused to let anyone stop me from pursuing my new interest.
Back in class Miss Mack was up to her old tricks. While discussing elephants as part of our science unit she decided to tell us this crazy story from her childhood that seemingly scarred her for life.
“I was six years old when my sister took me to the zoo with her boyfriend. He was a real punk—the type who wore earrings and leather. When we got to the section where all the elephants were, he told me if I gave him fifty cents he would show me how elephants jumped over fences. I remember looking from him to the elephants, considering this idea but not fully trusting him. In the end, I gave him my two quarters, and do you think I saw an elephant jump over the fence?”
No one answered. We were too frightened.
“Yes!” she shrieked. “He revealed an elephant figurine he had purchased in the gift shop and tossed it high over the fence. When it finally came back down it landed in a pile of elephant flop. I laughed until I realized he wasn’t going to give me back my money. Then I was mad. That event made me the woman I am today. Every time I think of an elephant I could scream!”
By day’s end, Miss Mack had officially made us the people we were going to be when we were older.
©Copyright
2006 Thomas Styles. All Rights Reserved.