Yolanda waved to her parents as well, then asked Randy, “Is your dad coming? I know he never misses a big tournament if he’s in town.”
Randy replied, “No, he’s still in California, but he told me to tell you to jump pretty and kick butt!” Delia glanced at Randy, but said nothing.
The president of the American Double Dutch League, who always showed up dressed in a classy hat, welcomed each team. After singing the national anthem in several languages, representing each country there, she led the jumpers in the recitation of the Double Dutch Pledge.
Delia repeated loud and strong with the voices of six hundred other jumpers:
“I promise to do my best to:
• report for practice on time;
• work cooperatively with my coach, teammates, and Double Dutch officials;
• strive to encourage good citizenship, always setting a good example;
• practice good health habits-promising to be drug free;
• demonstrate my best with daily school attendance, assignments, and home responsibilities.”
It was time. The trophies sat ready on a table at the far end of the gym—gleaming and ready for the winners. The buzzers sounded, and the competition began.
twenty-one
“THE FEELING IS DIFFERENT TODAY,” DELIA TOLD RANDY, who was handing out water bottles to the girls. “It’s like electricity—it will give you a buzz if you touch it. That’s how the air feels.”
“You’re just nervous,” Randy replied. “Relax. Concentrate. You can do this.”
“I know. We’re ready,” Delia said, then she joined Yolanda, Charlene, and Misty, who were stretching on the sidelines while the first set of jumpers began. All five of the qualifying third-grade singles teams were on the floor at one time, with several judges, dressed all in white, stationed at each position.
“This is gonna move so fast today,” Misty commented. “With five going at a time, they’ll be ready for us before we have a chance to go to the bathroom.”
“I’m never going to the bathroom away from home again!” Yolanda joked.
The director of the tournament, with the excitement and power of an announcer for the Olympics, roared into the microphone, “Turners, check your ropes! Jumpers, check your laces. Judges, check your timers!” He paused for effect. The gym, filled with hundreds of people, was absolutely silent. “Jumpers, are you ready?” Five very small hands were raised to indicate they were ready to begin. “Judges, are you ready?” Five more hands were raised. “TIME!”
The buzzer sounded, shattering the silence as the third-grade girls began their compulsories.
“Their voices are so tiny,” Delia whispered to Yolanda as the third graders chanted the rhythm of the routine.
“Yeah, but they’re good for being so young. They’ve been jumping less than a year.”
“Not one miss—they’re dynamite!”
When the buzzer sounded and the third graders scrambled off the floor to be replaced by the fourth graders, Delia and the others grabbed them and hugged them fiercely. Bomani’s grin was massive. “Big smiles—big hearts. That’s what I like. Good job, Little Bees,” Bomani told them as they sipped their water bottles and waited like professionals for the next round.
The competition progressed quickly. When the eighth-grade teams singles were called, Randy yelled to Delia, Yolanda, and Charlene, “Remember what my daddy said-jump pretty and kick butt!” Misty gave the three of them a hug and whispered a quick word of encouragement. They smiled and waved to Randy, but when they got to their positions on the gym floor, their faces turned stony, tight with concentration, as they waited for the signal to begin.
They jumped smoothly for their singles routine, but Delia missed twice during the speed jumps. Each time she missed, she could hear the crowd sigh, “Oh!” as she scrambled to get back in the ropes and regain her momentum. Even with the two misses, however, she managed to jump a 340. She left the floor, a little out of breath, feeling proud nevertheless.
“Good job, Delia,” Randy said with a grin. She smiled back and sat with relief on the hard bleacher bench.
“What did the other eighth-grade teams look like?” Yolanda asked Misty.
“One team really messed up—the girl missed during her speed jumps about seven times. I felt sorry for her,” Misty replied. “The rest of them were really good—and the team from South Carolina made no misses at all, but she jumped a lot slower than you. You get bonus points for speed, so I think you three are still in the running.”
As they sipped their water, Yolanda whispered, “Did you see them?”
“Who?” asked Delia, glancing around.
“The Tollivers!” Yolanda said with excitement. “They’re in the stands—sitting in the top row of the bleachers, way in the corner at the far end of the gym.”
Delia looked up in amazement, and there they sat—unsmiling as usual, sitting together, watching the rhythmic frenzy on the floor below. “You got the power, girl,” Delia told Yolanda. “What are you gonna do now?”
“I don’t know,” Yolanda said, giggling. “I’m thinking about asking them to be my personal bodyguards. What do you think?”
“I think you’re trippin’!” Delia laughed.
By the time Delia, Misty, Charlene, and Yolanda were called for their doubles freestyle routine, the tension in the gym seemed to be even tighter. The results for the entire tournament would be announced in less than an hour. They took a deep breath, picked up the ropes, and the buzzer blared loudly once more. Freestyle competitions were judged singly, so all eyes were on them as they began the complicated routine.
Delia and Misty did leap-frog jumps over the heads of Charlene and Yolanda, who turned the ropes wide and low so they could complete the complicated trick without getting tangled up. They moved then to a wheelbarrow, where Misty jumped on her hands while Delia held her feet. Another jumping twist and Yolanda flipped into a bouncing back flip and handed her end of the ropes to Misty. Delia grabbed the other end of the ropes, so that Charlene and Yolanda now jumped in the center where the other two girls had jumped just seconds before. The four girls worked in unison—two turners and two jumpers—while the ropes continued to twirl, then Charlene did a reverse turn and managed to make it look like a karate kick. They finished with several high can-can jumps, tossed the ropes deftly to one side, and landed in splits together in front of the judges’ table, their heads resting on their crisscrossed arms. The audience exploded in cheers; they recognized a good routine when they saw one.
Delia, Charlene, Misty, and Yolanda took one last bow and bounded off the floor, breathless with excitement and success. All of their team members ran to hug them, from the youngest to the oldest—that routine had made them all look good.
“Awesome!” Randy roared as he gave the four of them a huge hug. “You did it!”
Delia grinned with pride. It doesn’t get any better than this, she thought. Even though they were sitting on opposite sides of the gym, her parents were in the stands, cheering for her. Her friends were close by, helping them win today. And there were no worries about stupid school stuff, like reading or tests, for weeks, at least. And maybe they’d go home from here with big, fat trophies and red champion jackets.
Then she glanced at Randy and sighed. She felt so bad for him. Right now he didn’t have anybody except for his Double Dutch friends and Bomani. What would happen if the police caught his father? What if Randy had to move away? Was that why he’d told her he was moving to California? He was better than a boyfriend—he was a good friend—and she would really miss having him around.
Then she felt Yolanda poke her in the side. “That team was awesome!” she said, pointing to the girls leaving the floor. Delia forced her concentration back to the tournament.
She and her teammates watched the last few freestyle routines, then there was nothing to do but wait while the judges tallied the scores. They huddled over computers and conferred with one another in little groups, while th
e teams sat nervously in the stands. Kids in matching T-shirts walked quietly together around the gym, too tense to sit down. A three-year-old casually pushed his own stroller across the gym floor, while his five-year-old sister pretended to jump the way she’d seen the teams do all day. Very few people left the gym, which was hot and stuffy by now, filled to capacity with sweat and dreams and nervous anticipation.
“Ladies and gentlemen! We are proud to announce the winners of this year’s World Invitational Championship of the American Double Dutch League,” the announcer began. “Would the five finalist third-grade teams please come to the floor!”
Cincinnati’s Little Bees hurried to the floor. They joined hands with the members of the other teams, all of them waiting in anticipation so intense, they could not stand still. They wiggled and shifted their feet and waited in silent expectation. “In fifth place,” the booming voice announced, “are the Beanie Babies from California! Congratulations!” The Beanie Babies, looking a little disappointed at being selected fifth place, walked to the table to receive their small trophies.
“Let’s give these young ladies a special round of applause!” the announcer reminded his audience. “They have been jumping for only a few months, and already they have reached championship level! For everyone who competed today is a champion!” The audience cheered loudly, knowing that building self-esteem was as important as winning. The little girls held their heads a bit higher as they marched off the floor clutching their trophies. Cincinnati’s Little Bees took a respectable second place, and they ran off the floor with their trophies, feeling very proud of themselves.
When the results of the eighth-grade singles teams were announced, Delia, Yolanda, and Charlene also took second place.
“This is good,” Delia told Charlene as she glanced at the trophy.
“Yeah, really good—almost excellent,” Charlene agreed. Both girls sighed.
“We wanted first place, didn’t we?” Yolanda said honestly.
“Yeah, but we’re proud of what we’ve done, aren’t we?” asked Delia.
“Yeah, really proud,” Charlene and Yolanda answered together. But their voices were quiet and subdued.
By the time the announcer got to the doubles teams, eighth-grade level, Delia’s hands were clammy with nervous excitement. The Cincinnati fourth- and fifth-grade singles team had each taken a first place. The rest of the Cincinnati teams had taken seconds and thirds.
“I really want one of those bright red champion jackets with the words ‘Double Dutch World Champion’ on the back!” Delia whispered to Yolanda as they took their place near the table of trophies, waiting for the director to announce the results of the eighth-grade doubles competition.
“Yeah—me, too. I look good in red!” Yolanda whispered back.
They joined hands and listened while the fifth-place team was called. They sighed with relief as those girls moved out of line. The four remaining teams rejoined hands and waited for the next announcement. The director called the fourth- and third-place teams, each receiving an increasingly larger trophy. Only two teams remained.
Delia was finding it hard to breathe. The announcer paused for effect because whenever the second-place team was called, the other team knew it was automatically the first-place champion. “The second-place team is . . . the Rocketeers from Virginia!” The Rocketeers moved to receive their awards with a mixture of pride and disappointment, while Yolanda, Charlene, Misty, and Delia hugged and jumped in place, screaming with excitement. “And now, ladies and gentleman, may I introduce the world champion eighth-grade doubles team—the Queen Bees of Cincinnati, Ohio!” Every single Ohio jumper, and most of the people in the huge audience, stood and whooped with delight, some of them holding their own trophies or clutching the coveted red jackets. Delia could see her mother jumping in the stands like a teenager. Charlene’s grandmother stood stiffly but proudly as she waved to the girls. Misty’s younger sisters looked like little jumping beans. Yolanda’s mother looked like she was crying. Even Yolanda’s dad looked pleased.
Delia, Yolanda, Misty, and Charlene bounded to the table, almost too excited to stand still long enough to have the red jackets placed on their shoulders and the huge golden trophies placed in their shaking hands. Cameras flashed, pictures were taken, and they were suddenly back on the bleachers, a giggling, bubbling group of winners. Bomani snapped pictures like crazy—he took photos of the trophy, the jackets, the girls, the rest of the team, Randy, and even a close-up of himself grinning into the lens of the camera. He couldn’t stop hooting and cheering.
Randy touched the soft satin of Delia’s red jacket and the incredibly golden shine of the huge trophy. “Awesome!” he whispered.
“You deserve a trophy, too, Randy,” Delia said with feeling. “We wouldn’t be able to do what we do without you and Bomani.”
“Yeah, I know,” Randy answered with a grin. “Just as long as you appreciate me!”
The director of the tournament announced the rest of the results over the next few minutes, with excited, triumphant kids accepting their acclaim. In an unofficial parade of champions, Delia and her team and a few other red—jacketed girls marched around the gym, waving to the crowd and wearing those red jackets in spite of the heat. Delia even waved to the Tolliver brothers, who, to her surprise, waved back.
As the gym gradually cleared of exhausted jumpers and observers, Delia noticed Yolanda talking quietly to the Tollivers, who quickly disappeared into the crowd as her parents walked over to give her hugs and congratulations. Delia’s dad and Jillian had hugged her and left quickly, a procedure they usually followed at events like this so that her mother would not feel so stressed. Delia appreciated that. She knew her mom would be waiting in the car.
Randy checked the bleachers for empty water bottles and potato chip wrappers, making sure their area of the gym was clean. Delia joined him, silently tossing trash into the can and picking up forgotten items.
“Look what I found,” she said. “A watch, a book, and a Barbie doll—these third graders crack me up.”
Randy said nothing. He was sitting on the top bleacher, looking stunned, an unfolded sheet of paper in his hands. Delia recognized it immediately.
“This fell out of your gym bag,” he said quietly. “I thought I was doing you a favor by picking up your stuff, and look what I find,” he continued, trying to explain away the confusion on his face. “Why did you hide this from me? I gotta find a phone and call this number right away!” He jumped up and started down the bleachers, smoky anger covering his face.
Delia’s heart beat faster. “Wait, Randy! Don’t call yet! Let me explain.”
Randy glared at her. “I don’t want to hear nothin’ from you! Where you get off messin’ in my life?” He bounded down the bleachers, two at a time.
twenty-two
RANDY, CLUTCHING THE FLYER DELIA HAD FOUND, RAN across the gym and headed to the pay phone in the corner. Delia knew it was out of order, because she had tried to use it earlier that day, but she was afraid to say anything else to Randy. She had never seen him so angry. She watched with dismay as he slammed the phone to the floor.
Bomani came back into the gym then, and Randy ran to him, talking quickly and rattling the flyer in this hand. Delia couldn’t hear the conversation, but she figured that Randy was telling Bomani what a low-life friend she turned out to be. Bomani glanced at her, and she lowered her head in shame. He carefully read the sheet of paper, then spoke quietly to Randy, who seemed to calm down. Delia was afraid to move as she saw Randy walk back over to where she sat. He did not smile.
“I gotta go. Bomani said I should call the number on the flyer from his house, ’cause its long distance.” He turned and headed toward the door.
Delia was near tears. “I’m sorry, Randy. I didn’t want to upset you. I was going to tell you after the tournament that I found that flyer. I knew you’d be upset to know that criminal posters about your dad were hanging around. It’s got to be embarrassing for you to know y
our dad is wanted by the police.”
Randy turned suddenly. “Criminal?” Randy roared. “Are you crazy? My father is no criminal!”
Delia jumped back a little from the power and anger of Randy’s reply. “What do you mean?” she asked in confusion. “The poster ... the police . . .” She hesitated.
“This is the first clue I’ve had in months,” Randy explained. “My first real hope.”
“Randy, I don’t understand,” Delia admitted. Her brain felt fuzzy. “I thought you said your dad wanted you to move to California?”
Randy took a deep breath. “I guess I should have told you the truth. My dad has been missing for the last two months.”
“What do you mean ‘missing’? You told me you talk to him all the time.”
“I didn’t want anybody to find out, so I’ve been covering for him. Every day I figured he’d come back. But he didn’t. I haven’t heard from him since he left on a long-distance haul.”
“Oh, Randy, you’ve been all by yourself?” Delia gasped.
“That’s why I’ve been so hungry all the time, and so hard up for cash.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought he’d deserted me, like my mother did,” Randy replied quietly. “But this flyer tells me different and you hid it from me!” Randy’s anger was returning.
“So what does the poster say?” Delia asked hesitantly. “He’s not wanted by the police?”
“Can’t you read, Delia?” Randy asked, looking at her as if she were one of Yolanda’s Martians.
Delia sat on the bleacher and finally released the torment of the last few years. She cried loud and long, ignoring the stares of the few remaining people in the gym. “No, Randy,” she said finally. “I can’t read. I’ve been faking it for years.” She repeated for emphasis, and the words seemed to echo in the almost deserted gym: “I do not know how to read.”
“How is that possible? Everybody knows how to read!” Randy answered in disbelief.