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

better than the “Oh, shnikies.” Better and deeper. I could die right here and now, with my artwork the last thing I see, and I would die happy. Like I filled in thatblank Ms. Bauer wanted me to complete in my journal.
    Now, Mami wouldn’t appreciate me leaving her all alone, but I would be like a dead saint and she would keep my room like a shrine and gaze at my artwork and miss me.
    Oh, look. Mr. Sebastian gave me my own nameplate.

17
Damaged
LETICIA
    I DON’T SEE THE PURPOSE OF GYM . You go down to the lockers. Three minutes. Take off your street shoes and take off your clothes. Three minutes. Remove your earrings, bracelets, chains, and rings. Two minutes. Put on your shorts and T-shirt, stretching the neck wide to protect your hair. Two minutes. Then put on your sneakers. Add it up. A lot of time already, right? Then you go to the gym, find your spot, and squat on that dirty floor a mop hasn’t touched because there’s only one janitor in this whole building. You watch Ms. Capito if you’re in Part B, or Ms. Nunke if you’re in Part A, demonstrate how to hit a ball, throw a ball, kick a ball, block a ball, catch a ball, and then for the next fifteen minutes it’s your turn. You hit, throw, kick, block, or catch whatever ball it is. After, Ms. Capito blows the whistle and you run down to thelockers, throw yourself together in six minutes, and be in the hallway fresh and ready for the next period.
    My point is, you spend more time changing than getting exercise, and if you care about your hygiene a little bit, you have to push some girl out the sink so you can splash water where you sweat, towel off, and roll on Secret. We have showers but my naked piggies aren’t touching those mildewy tiles while that hard, rusty water hits my delicate skin. One janitor, remember?
    Gym is one inconvenience on top of another. It might be a big-girl thing but I don’t like to sweat. Nothing good comes from hard work and sweat dripping off your body. For one, you stink and you don’t want stink-dried stains under your arms when you sit next to Chem II James in eighth period. All because you put effort into catching, kicking, and running after a ball. Leave that to Dominique and the gym leaders. Leave that to folks who care. All I have to do to pass this class is get dressed, line up, bounce whatever ball we’re bouncing once, then get back into my clothes. That will get me a 70 and enough credits to move on to the next round.
    Today we’re all lined up, six girls by six girls, doing arm raises. I’m hiding behind Anabel Winkler because Anabel stands out with her long arms and legs. If Ms. Capito focuses on Anabel, she’s not focusing on me. Myarms are sort of up. Not over my head, but you shouldn’t be able to see that. I’m chilling, not sweating.
    Just when I think she’s not paying me any mind, Capito snags me anyway. “Come on, Moore. This is good for you.” She strolls between the rows with her whistle and clipboard. Ms. Capito is cute with her Dutch boy haircut, those tight little muscles on her pencil legs and arms. But don’t let that little lady fool you. Ms. Capito doesn’t mess around. Ms. Capito demands all-out participation, which is why I hide behind Anabel.
    â€œI’m doing it,” I say. “See?” This time I raise my arms a smidge higher, making a wide V. All the way up and all the way down makes you sweat. This is only one of the warm-up exercises. I’m pacing myself.
    â€œAll the way. Come on, Moore. You can do it.”
    â€œHow’s this good for me, Ms. Capito? You know I’m sensitive to sweat.”
    â€œYou’re fat. This will break up that lard.”
    Ms. Capito will snap on you without smiling. Lucky for her this isn’t a new conversation. No one laughs or waits for my reaction. Instead her snap sounds weak, like she’s saying, “How ya doing, Leticia?” I don’t stress.