Free Jumped by Rita Williams-Garcia

I know she loves me.
    â€œSweating is good, Moore. If you’d shake it up, you’d sweat. You sweat, you lose.”
    â€œWhat makes you think I want to lose anything? I want all this here.”
    Plus I have asthma. I do. I’m supposed to take my time and not exert myself. I’m supposed to take it easy.
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    Ours is one of the biggest gyms in the city. The wooden divider keeps two boys’ classes on one side while we have two girls’ classes going on this side—Gym Part A and Gym Part B. We’re both learning volleyball, except our class is a day behind Nunke’s class. I know that because they already did what we’re doing today. We’re learning how to pass it to each other. They’re smacking it hard over the net. It’s not that I care what’s going on in Part A, but it dawns on me when I look over there. Dominique is in Part A with Ms. Nunke.
    I don’t want to stare at Dominique too hard but I can’t turn away either. She wants Nunke to let her smack the ball but Ms. Nunke sends Dominique to the end of the line. It’s kind of funny, but I don’t want Basketball Jones catching me grinning. You know she used to carry her basketball—I’m not lying—to class, until AP Shelton made her stop.
    I face front. Who knows what sets her off. I mean, what did Trina do to her, besides skip by being Trina?And even if I saw what I thought I saw, maybe it’s over. A thing of the moment. Over and forgotten. Now all she wants is her turn at the net. She’s not thinking about Trina.
    I don’t know why Bea’s getting all excited. All You gotta tell her, Leticia .
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    Capito says, while our gym leader demonstrates, “Raise your hands with your elbows bent, forming a triangle. Cup your hands slightly, like this. Then release!”
    I look at the gym leader and do what she does. Hold my hands, fingers curved, then pop my fingers open for the release. We do that ten times in a row. Triangle, cup, pop. I’m not sweating so I don’t mind the finger exercises. I admire the shooting stars on my square-tipped nails while I cup and release my fingers.
    The gym leader pops and releases the ball up into the air. Capito runs under the ball, holds her hands up in the triangle, and then pops it back. The ball balloon floats between them. They stand in place, not even running for the ball. Not grunting or sweating. Just lightly popping the ball back and forth. I almost like it. It looks easy.
    â€œImagine the sun setting,” Capito says, “and it’s hot. You don’t want to get burned so you release it quicklywith your fingertips.” Then she pairs us with partners so we can pass the white floaty sun back and forth.
    I say to Anabel, “Look. I’m not running to get under the ball, so set it right.”
    Tall Anabel says, “I’m just gonna throw. Whatever happens, happens.”
    I make the triangle and wait.
    Anabel doesn’t even try to set the sun like Capito showed us. Instead she throws the ball over my head and I look at her, then I look at the ball sail by.
    â€œI’m not chasing after no ball.”
    Anabel stands there tapping her large sneaker. She’s not chasing after it either.
    Another girl kicks the ball to me and I kick the ball back to Anabel. This time when Anabel tosses it up, it falls just right. I don’t even have to move. Just cup my fingers into the triangle and tell myself, Here comes the sun. Don’t get burnt . And I pop my fingers to release the ball, like Capito showed us. Then—
    Pop!
    My nail! My silk-wrapped, hand-painted, custom-designed, three-quarter-inch, square-cut nail tip with the sparkling faux diamond flies off my finger and shoots across the gym. I am knocking down girls in white Ts and blue shorts to rescue my custom-designed nail. As I rushto my nail, all of those months of manicure appointments, fillings, and retouches flash before me. I dive