Switch by A.S. King

Author:A.S. King [King, A.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2021-05-11T00:00:00+00:00

TWO NINETY

I look into the stands before I throw and Daddy is still standing, his right hand acting as a visor even though there is no bright sun. He’s watching, making sure I’m not making a fool of myself / am better off than a third grader singing “Baby Love.”

I roll my neck. Roll my shoulders. Throw one last time.

I hadn’t heard it before because I wasn’t listening. This is my first track meet. I am the last contestant—the way they wasted time arguing. My whole team—Carrie, Kevin, and John and all the sprinters and that kid who pole vaults and that high jumper who might make it to states again, and even Giselle Masterson, Kelly, and Petra—are standing on / around the bleachers and yelling my name. Go Tru! Throw it, Tru! Go Becker!

I’m not used to this / can’t make out if they mean to support me or burn me later under the scoreboard as an example.

My run is good / hops are good / form is good. I stop way short of the toe board because going over it scares me. My release is clean and I feel like maybe my dry-heave form is simply mine and I don’t need to be like Giselle-javelin-DNA.

The jav lands over the track again, this time beyond the shot-put area.

All the coaches are there. I hear Turner say that he’s called the AD. I don’t know what the AD is so I just ask the judge if I can go yet because my team is cheering and I want to be part of that even though I have no idea how to be cheered for.

Daddy is still standing. He is wiping his cheeks—either sweating or crying. Daddy doesn’t sweat.

“Stay,” Coach Turner says. “We’re fighting for this one.”

I stay.

I keep my eye on Daddy. He’s walking down, now, toward the team.

The field judge comes back with a distance. Two ninety / two hundred and ninety feet / impossible. They all argue.

“You’ll mark it,” Coach Turner says.

The field judge finally marks it in the book. I have officially thrown two hundred and ninety feet. I have no idea what this means, really. A man with graying hair and a Trojans track jacket extends his hand to me and says, “Congratulations, kid. You just set a new world record.”

AD means Athletic Director. I know this because he tells me as he puts his arm around my shoulder, grins wildly, and asks Coach Turner to take a picture of us together. Then Coach Turner wants one, so they switch places. Coach Aimee is already over with the team.

I thank the field judges and then walk by myself to the bleachers.

Daddy has been given / has purchased an official Trojan Track and Field windbreaker and a baseball cap. He walks out to meet me and hugs me / holds me by the shoulders and smiles / hugs me again.

“Happy birthday,” I say.

“Thank you.”

“You look like an American,” I say, nodding at his new hat.

“I feel like man of the world,” he answers.

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