Girls Only! (12 page)

Her hair prickled on the back of her neck. Her father would say to ignore the boy. Better yet, turn the other cheek—the Bible way.

“Almond eyes,” he scoffed.

She took a deep breath. In her imagination, she turned around and slapped him silly. Somehow, just thinking that way really helped. It was the same way she was able to focus on her gymnastic moves. Think it through,
see it
, then make it happen.

The only difference between imagining that she’d
bopped the jerk a good one and actually doing it was the leftover feeling of frustration. And knowing it was the
wrong
thing to do—imagination or not.

Had she laid into him for real, he might never make fun of her again. And she’d feel better . . . maybe. But hitting him was not her style. Still, it was all Jenna could do to keep her attention on the math assignment.

When the teacher called on Chris, she had to stifle a laugh.
He’s toast now
, she thought, watching him drag his feet to the chalkboard. Anybody could see he wasn’t prepared. Probably hadn’t even done his homework. Probably hadn’t for a long time.

Secretly, she was glad. Maybe now he’d back off and give her some peace. Till English class, anyway.

She wished Livvy was in more of her classes. But two out of seven was better than none. She wondered how Livvy would act toward her today. Yesterday she had been thoroughly ticked off—didn’t even eat lunch with Jenna. Didn’t hang around the locker much, either.

Jenna couldn’t blame her friend. After all, it was Jenna’s own fault for hanging up.

Would Livvy ever forgive her?

Only the Best

Chapter Six

During P.E., Jenna tried to strike up a conversation with Livvy. But Livvy didn’t seem too interested in hearing about Chris and Jamey and their racist remarks. She kept leaning into her gym locker, away from Jenna.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Jenna demanded. “Do you even know who I’m talking about?”

Livvy cast a painful look her way. “Oh, so
today
you’re talking to me?”

Jenna nodded. “I know you’re probably furious about the other night, and I don’t blame you.”

Livvy slammed her P.E. locker. “What was wrong with you, anyhow? You seemed so . . . so out of it. So angry.”

“Yeah, I was.” She didn’t want to get into it. Not here in the middle of gossip city. “I’m sorry, Livvy. Can we talk later?”

Livvy stared at her feet, then slowly nodded. “I’ll save a table at lunch,” she said without looking up.

“Thanks, Livvy. I’ll see ya.” She hurried back to her own locker to towel dry her hair, thankful that she’d had it cut chin length before school started this year. Waist-length hair had become a major problem with all the extra hours at the gym.

Quickly, she pulled on her jeans and a soft blue sweater for her next class—science. Unfortunately, Chris and Jamey were in the class, too! She tried not to think about their insults. But she was more upset than she wanted to admit.

After brushing her damp hair, she hurried off to science just as the bell rang. The best part about showing up nearly late was getting to sit at the back of the classroom—far removed from the likes of Chris and Jamey.

She got seated at the desk and took out her folder. When she settled back to look at the teacher, the boys did that ridiculous slanty thing with their eyes. Two girls behind them poked them good, and they turned around.

Jenna congratulated herself on arriving almost late to science. Maybe she should do that in every class from now on. For the rest of the year!

She listened to every word Mr. Rahn was saying. All about plant phyla—species—and boring stuff like that.
She doodled on a clean sheet of paper, mostly drawing symbols for the different gymnastic elements. Like the double salto forward—two loops moving to the right.

When the teacher called on her, she hadn’t exactly heard what he’d asked. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “Can you repeat the question?”

“Please see me after class, Jenna.”

Her heart sank. She couldn’t afford to get herself in trouble at school. She’d always gotten pretty good grades—high
B
s and some
A
s—all through grade school. And now this year, too.

When the bell rang, Chris and Jamey walked past her desk and whispered, “Sing a sad, sad song, Jenna Song.”

“Stay away from me,” she said not so softly.

They kept strutting by, pretending they hadn’t heard.

When everyone had cleared out of the room, Mr. Rahn motioned for her to come to his desk. “May I see your class notes?” he asked.

She swallowed hard. “My notes?”

He nodded, standing behind his desk. “You were taking some during class, weren’t you?”

She was caught. “Uh, no, I wasn’t, Mr. Rahn. But I
was
listening.”

“Very well, but next time, it might be a good idea to sit closer to the front,” he pointed out. “It seems you were a bit distracted today.”

There was a good reason for that. And she almost told him about Chris and Jamey’s constant insults. She was that close to blowing the whistle on them when in walked Livvy Hudson.

“Oh, sorry,” Livvy said when she saw her friend and the science teacher talking.

“No . . . no,” said Mr. Rahn. “Come on in, Livvy.”

Her face turned instantly white. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“We’re almost finished here,” the teacher replied. Then he turned back to Jenna. “Is it possible you’re preoccupied with news of the baby . . . the one your parents are hoping to adopt?”

His question took her off guard. How could he possibly know?

“I . . . I don’t understand,” she muttered.

Mr. Rahn was actually looking like a proud father himself. “Well, if you ask me, I think it’s terrific,” he said, his arms folded across his chest. “Your dad and I keep running into each other at the library. Both of us are doing research on different things, of course. But we got to talking about your parents’ plans to adopt a Korean baby. It’s something my wife and I have discussed for years.”

“Oh,” was all Jenna could say. How many other people knew about the adoption?

The bell rang for lunch, and Mr. Rahn waved Jenna and Livvy out the door.

“Wow, that was weird,” she told Livvy when they arrived at their locker.

“What was?”

“Mr. Rahn made me stay after class so he could tell me he knows about my parents’ plan to adopt a baby.”

“That
is
weird,” said Livvy, piling her books into the lower section of their locker.

“I came that close to telling him about Chris and Jamey,” Jenna said, lowering her voice.

“Why didn’t you?” Livvy popped up to check her hair in the mirror attached to the locker door.

“If they keep it up, I’m going to the principal. Mr. Seeley can handle them,” she said. “But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want it to get around.”

“Like the news of the baby your parents want to adopt?” Livvy piped up.

Jenna shrugged. She couldn’t deal with any of this. Not here, not now, and not with her best friend!

The whole idea bugged her—especially the possibility of having to miss out on the gymnastics meet. She
had
to attend the event in Colorado Springs. There was just no way she’d let an alternate gymnast take her place! Not so she could go off to some child-placement agency. Not for
anything
linked to a baby brother!

Only the Best

Chapter Seven

Jenna wasn’t surprised when Tasya asked her to work in front of the mirrors. She scurried over to the far end of the gym. “I’m not smiling today . . . right?” she said.

“You are not smiling, yes,” replied Tasya. “Why do you look completely miserable?”

Because I am
, she thought.

“Things are not all right with you?” asked Tasya, who wore a white shorts set and a concerned frown.

Jenna shrugged. She wouldn’t lie. “Let’s put it this way—my life’s never been so messed up.”

“Well, we cannot have that.” Tasya squatted on the floor next to her. “Do you want to tell me about the mess?”

“Not really, but thanks,” she said, turning and forcing a fake grin at the mirror. “I’ll get over it.”

If I can
, she thought.

“Well, remember, if you do need someone to talk with, I’m here . . . Coach Kim, too.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.” Jenna turned and finished her stretches at the barre. As best as she could, she centered her thoughts on the work at hand. The attitude of a gymnast had a lot to do with getting high marks. She knew she’d have to work very hard at pulling up her confidence level. It was important not to crumble under the pressure of the upcoming meet.

Cassie and two other teammates worked the uneven parallel bars at the other end of the gym with Coach Kim. Jenna headed toward them, watching Lara Swenson, the youngest girl on the team. Lara’s dismount was a perfect twist and clean stick. Not the slightest bobble.

She breathed deeply, wondering how
she
would do today.

Coach called to her, “Jenna, come! Let’s work your floor routine first thing.” He motioned her over to the large floor mat. “I want you to focus on composition today—each individual skill is a building block. Remember that. Let’s start with your tumbling pass.”

She felt like a beginner all over again. It was so humiliating. Especially in front of her teammates, some younger and more advanced. “My aerial cartwheel was lousy last time,” she admitted, taking her artistic stance at the edge of the mat.

“Now . . . Jenna, you must focus on what you came here to do,” he stated. “And never, never give in to distraction. Push . . . push for perfection!”

Push for perfection
. One of his favorite expressions.

She pushed, all right, hard as she could. Focusing, pointing, twisting, rolling, tucking, springing . . . flying through her routine. But on the aerial cartwheel, she lost her momentum and landed poorly.

Again and again she worked the move, always off on either her timing, height, or landing. Frustrated and concerned about her status on the team, Jenna was given a time-out.

Coach Kim strolled over to her at the drinking fountain. “Something’s not working for you, Jenna,” he said softly.

She couldn’t deny it. “I’m freaking out.”

“I can see that.”

Still, she held back, not telling the reason for her frustration and lack of concentration. She recited aloud the key words to her floor routine just as Coach Kim had taught her and his girls to do. “Pose, speed, leap, twist, pike, double back.”

When her ten-minute break was up, her coach led her to the vault area instead of the floor mat. “A change of apparatus might do you good,” he said with an encouraging smile. “Just enjoy yourself, Jenna. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“That-a girl!”

Gripping her hands together, she stood at the end of the mat. She made a mental note of the masking tape mark on the floor, the springboard, and the horse beyond.

“Just have fun,” she said to herself and ran hard down the runway. But her feet overshot the springboard by a fraction of an inch. Hardly any bounce. She toppled clumsily onto the soft pile of safety mats. So much for the first vault.

“Try again,” Coach Kim called to her.

The second attempt was even worse. She didn’t have enough speed, and the bounce wasn’t high enough. A limp front handspring on the vault led to an imperfect stick, not straight and clean with both feet firmly planted on the mat.

Discouraged after practice, Jenna hurried home to shower and change clothes for supper. Her mother was picky about her coming to the table all sweaty or wearing a leotard. Jenna wondered what it would be like to have a laid-back mom. From the time she’d started gymnastics, Mom had expected only the best from her. Nothing less.

“If it’s not worth doing one-hundred-and-ten percent, it’s not worth doing at all,” her mother would often say.

Only the best . . .

Jenna had adopted that standard for her life—ballet and gymnastics, especially. And Coach Kim and Tasya definitely promoted the vigorous approach. She wondered if they were thinking of dropping her from the team. After today’s pitiful workout, she wouldn’t be surprised.

“How was practice today?” her father asked as they were seated in the dining room.

“Pathetic.” She fingered the lace table covering and stared at the cloth napkin under both forks.

“Well, tomorrow’s another day,” he replied. “Things will improve, you’ll see.”

Her mother carried a tray of serving dishes—rice, chicken,
kimchi
, and bean sprouts sautéed in sesame oil. “Did you tell Coach Kim and his wife about our baby?”

“Not yet.” She thought of her science teacher but didn’t offer to share the story. Jenna wasn’t up to being scolded for doodling in class.

“Your father and I have discussed the upcoming meet,” Mom said, still standing near her chair. “You’ve never missed a single competition, Jenna. Not even for illness.” She sighed. “Not since your preschool classes began years ago.”

Jenna knew what was coming. “But, Mom—”

“Just listen, please, Jenna,” her father cut in.

Mom continued. “Even though it isn’t a good idea
to cancel so close to competition, we feel you can miss, just this once.”

“I told you how I feel!” Jenna blurted. “I won’t skip out on the team . . . just so you can go off and adopt somebody’s baby!”

“Jenna Lynn Song!” Her father stood up. His napkin fell to the floor. “That is quite enough.”

She felt the stain of shame on her face. But nothing more was said about her outburst or her poor posture at the table. She picked at the soggy rice and the garlic-flavored kimchi.

When will Mom start cooking like an American?
she wondered, overflowing with anger.

After supper, Jenna slipped away to her room with Sasha, who seemed
purrr
fectly delighted to see her. “Hello, prissy kitty,” she said, burying her face in the soft, golden coat. “I missed my sassy girl today.”

Mew
.

Sasha wasn’t one for being fussed over. She liked to be petted and stroked, sure. But all this cooing and baby talk, well, enough already!