Free Sammy Keyes and the Psycho Kitty Queen by Wendelin Van Draanen

says, “Fifty says she can.”
    The Marine calls, “I'm in!” and before you know it, lockers are slamming and Tony's collecting money, jotting down notes on a scrap of paper.
    “They're
betting
on me?” I whisper to Dave.
    He grins. “The pressure's on, kid.”
    “Why? Someone's gonna lose either way. And it's not like
I
get anything out of it.”
    “Hmm,” he says, then calls down to Tony, “Hold back ten percent.”
    “You takin' a cut?” Tony asks.
    Dave shakes his head. “She is.”
    Everyone seems to freeze for a split second, and then Tony says, “She can't do that.”
    “Hey, who's runnin' the show here, huh?” Dave asks, like there's no way he's going to let his
janitor
call the shots. “Front bump or fail, she gets ten percent for trying.”
    Tony shrugs and says, “Whatever you say,” and gets back to collecting bets.
    Now in my head I'm thinking, Wow! If all these guys bet fifty bucks each and I get ten percent… that'll be a
boat
load
of money for me.
    So when they've got the money all squared away and Slammin' Dave says to me, “Ready?” I say, “You bet!”
    It was too late to back out when he showed me what I had to do.

A front bump is nothing like a back bump. Well, except that you land flat on your back on the mat. A front bump is basically an airborne somersault. No hands, no shoulders, you just launch yourself forward through the air, tuck your head in, and land BAM! on your back.
    The whole ring shook when Slammin' Dave demonstrated. Then he broke it down for me and demonstrated again. And my face must've been looking pretty chalky, because he took me aside and said, “Don't freak. There's really nothing to it.”
    “Oh right,” I choked out.
    “Listen. As far as I can tell, you've got no fear of the mat.”
    “Well… no. It's not
soft
, but it's got springs—”
    “Shhh,” he said, grinning. “So it's not cement, right?”
    “Right.”
    “So in your mind, make it a trampoline. See yourself flippin' over—” He noticed me eyeing the guys lined up ringside and El Gato, pacing around behind them. “Hey,” he said, blocking my view, “concentrate.” He moved me so my back was to the wrestlers and said, “Close your eyes.”
    I closed them.
    “Think of the mat as a trampoline. You ever been on a trampoline?”
    I nodded.
    “You ever been
hurt
by a trampoline?”
    I shook my head.
    “Good. Now picture yourself… you're taking a step, your arms are swinging back as you tuck your chin and flip over. And then,
slam
, you land loud, but not hard. Your arms are out, your head is up.”
    I stood there with my eyes closed, going through the steps, seeing him do it, seeing me do it. Visualizing just like Coach Rothhammer taught us to do about hitting home runs in softball.
    He talked me through the steps about five times. Finally he said, “You got it?”
    I nodded.
    “Good,” he said. “If I were a betting man, I'd put my money on you.” Then under his breath he added, “Just don't land on your head.”
    Tony got a nod from Slammin' Dave and called, “Time to rock ‘n' roll!”
    “Don't I get even one practice try?” I asked.
    “No!” Benny said. “The bet is first try.”
    Slammin' Dave nodded. “Give it your best shot, kid.”
    It always irritates me when someone calls me kid like that. It's like they don't give me credit for knowing anything, or how to
do
anything. And maybe Slammin' Dave didn't mean it that way, and maybe I did look totally scrawny standing next to him. But him calling me kidreminded me how I was back to being twelve again, and I don't know—it made me more than irritated. It made me
mad.
    But instead of snapping, I am
not
a kid! like I normally would've, I just glared at him. And before I had time to doubt myself or get scared, I took a step, hurled my body forward, and BAM! I hit the mat on my back.
    At first I was stunned. The backside of my arms had hit hard, and even though I wasn't seeing stars, there was a little, you know,