Read Online Jumped by Rita Williams-Garcia - Free Book Online

She remembers she’s the adult here, excuses herself for laughing, and fixes her face.
    â€œHaven’t you ever felt good after doing something really difficult?” She has the nerve to ask me this, wearing a cashmere cardigan she didn’t buy on a guidance counselor’s paycheck.
    â€œNo,” I tell her outright. “I avoid doing difficult things. Difficult doesn’t do me any good. And really difficult?” I don’t bother to finish. “Really difficult” isn’t up for discussion.
    â€œCome on, Leticia-a-a,” she sings. “When you do something really hard, you feel accomplished. You take pride in your work. Your potential. Think of how good you’ll feel when you pass this class after all your hard work. Don’t you want to feel good about your work?”
    â€œI honked like a goose in class today with Madame LeCoeur’s hand on my throat. Would that make you feel good?”
    She pushes out her chair, stands, and opens her arms. “You need a hug?”
    I say, “No. I need a class change. All you have to do is turn on the computer, pull up Leticia Corinthia Moore, sophomore. Click ‘no’ on French I, click ‘yes’ onSpanish III, third period, Señora Roberts.”
    She steps toward me, away from her desk, away from my file folder and the computer. I get the hint, get up, and say, “If my grade average goes down, it’s your fault, Miss Olenbach.”
    She says, “Your average won’t go down, Leticia. Not if you work.”
    â€œAnd if my schedule for next semester says zero-period French, I’m dropping out of school.”
    â€œYour parents won’t let you drop out, Leticia.” As if she knows Bridgette and Bernie Moore.
    She places her hands on both my shoulders and steers me out of her office, singing, “Leticia-a-a. What am I going to do with you?”
    It doesn’t matter how many notes she sings, if they’re high notes or sinkers. She wants me out of her office. End of song.

15
Turn It Around
DOMINIQUE
    â€œH EY , T INY . Why ya cut out last night?”
    â€œYeah, Tiny. What’s up?”
    Only teammates call me Tiny. Not Shayne, not Viv, not Scotty. Reese slugs my shoulder. Bishop slaps my butt. Power center and star forward. Both seniors. Both stars. I’m good but they’re trees skimming the rim. Six-one and six-two. Big, broad shoulders. One going to UConn, one going to Rutgers. Next stop, no stopping. They could go pro. I could turn on ESPN2 and be watching them battle. They’re just like me. All-ball girls. See, I’m good. Real good. But without them there’s no team. No wins. Without Reese and Bishop we’re just girls in shorts running up and down the hardwood.
    Even though I fight it, I’m smiling like a bitch in love. I tell them, “You all don’t need me. You got Ellen.”
    They start slapping me around. Just playing like we do. Reese says, “Ellen’s all right, but Tiny, you’re a guard.”
    That feels good, real good, but I don’t suck it all down. They’re starting this Thursday and every game this season. I’m benched.
    I say, “Tell Coach that. Tell Coach to put me back on the floor.”
    Yeah, see. One minute I’m a guard. Big love for Tiny. The next second there’s silence. No one says a word.
    â€œCome on, Reese. Bishop. You know I feed you. I take care of you on the court. The ball in my hands means the ball’s in your hands. Come on.”
    Reese says, “You know Coach.”
    Bishop adds, “And Coach’s rules.”
    You’ll break before I bend the rules. Yeah. Heard it a thousand times. Coach’s thing. Her saying.
    Reese gives me a nice little shoulder slug. She says, “Just fix it, Tiny. You can do it. Turn it around.”
    Â 
    I see him through the door’s window. All alone in his hole. Little brown mouse. Hunched over in a curve, grading