"A Friend Like You"

As the shutters over the gym windows slowly opened, a grainy shaft of light passed over the folded bleachers and shone directly on Marisa's strawberry blonde hair, freshly flat-ironed. Once again, I was feet from the light. The remixed music from years back blared through the speakers above us, the local techies cringing in pain at the poor sound quality. I didn't care much for out-of-tune Evanescence, myself, but it was more of the beat that I was worried about. Taking care as to not throw a punch to the air with my injured wrist, I followed the directions of the kickboxing video offered to my gym class during last week's Workout Wednesday.

The people on the screen, the coaches repeatedly told us, were professionals in their sport and knew what they were doing. This, of course, prompted the two coaches to survey the students taking the challenge and help them hone their skills. I was given a bye for standing front and center with a hurt arm, and I doubt my technique was at all correct. One thing that I was certain of, however, was that I was the only student in the room of eighteen remaining in time to the song. Three cross-punches with my left hand, skipping beats where my right would have struck, then stepping with the opposite foot between beats to deliver a kick. Bouncing in my tennis-y fashion, I read the teleprompter as the (obviously Australian by accent) man announced the next exercise.

"Alright," he panted, "We're going to keep that up, just like we were, but then adding a jump kick into it!" I stopped in my tracks. If there was one kick that I couldn't time nor complete, it was the jump. I'll say now that I'm not a P.E. perfectionist, but if I can do all of one thing but one portion, then I must learn how. The first jump kick or two didn't work, and I nearly fell over. (Typical me.) As I returned to regular push kicks, a short Asian boy - the immensely popular Jordan - slid on his shorts a few feet in front of Grace, the girl to my right.

"Come on, Grace!" he exclaimed, putting a smile on her face. She delivered. I tried to hide in my shadow, hoping not to be humiliated by the boy who everyone loved.

"You, too, Red!" he called out, "Come on!" I laughed uneasily at this, but I gave it another try. Near-failure. That did mean success, however. Jordan stopped his routine and walked up to me, giving me a high-five. I never again made the jump kick, but the adrenaline from making a single blow kept me going.

When the program had ended, I walked with the rest of the group towards the courtyard outside of the locker rooms. The girls and boys parted from one another. Jordan had been walking nearby, so I walked up to him.

"Hey, man," I said, "Thanks for the boost. I'm really grateful for friends like you!" I turned towards the locker room, triumphant in my words. I think that Jordan turned and reached back.

"But Red," he called out, "I barely even --" Before I could hear the end of Jordan's sentence, the door shut behind me.