So I've been promising for while to post the story I've written for my creative writing class. So here it is. However, let me first give a disclaimer.

Kayla's character is based very much on a level 5 I currently work with (no, her name is not actually Kayla). Kayla's mother, however, is not based on the mother of my real student. I don't even think I have met the real Kayla's mother. So if the mother of the real Kayla or someone who knows her reads this, please understand that I am making no comment whatsoever on her as a person or a parent.

So, without further ado (sp?), here it is!

Kip

“Linda!” Bruce called out as a short woman in a bright purple coat walked past the make-shift desk covered in catalogues, springs of various sizes and nuts and bolts off various pieces of gym equipment. Her tall heels made a loud click, click, click sound on the unfinished concrete and Kayla began to wonder if this was the best idea.

“We’ve made some really good progress today and Kayla wanted to show you something. She’s a little tired now, but wanted to try and let you see it before y’all go home.” Bruce ran a hand through his silver hair. “She got her kip without spot today!”

“Well, it’s about time!” the woman exclaimed, rummaging through her bag and producing a camcorder.

Kayla stood, eyes focused intently on the wooden bar in front of her, trying to ignore the pit in the bottom of her stomach. Her mother stood a few feet away, smiling tensely over the camcorder viewfinder. “Come on now Kayla, let’s see the big move!”

“Pop your wrists over the bar instead of pulling it to you and you’ll have this,” Bruce said quietly.

Leaping forward for what seemed the millionth time that day, Kayla seized the bar and swung beneath it, pushing her toes forward until her body was straight and almost horizontal to the floor. Pulling her feet back towards the bar, she waited until her shins had almost hit it and then, squeezing every muscle in her body, she pulled the bar towards her. “Pop!” Bruce yelled and her mother let out a squeal.

Then something went wrong, and Kayla’s chest was slamming into the bar and her hands were in the wrong position. With unstoppable force, gravity was pulling her to the floor and no amount of effort from her shaking muscles would bring her back to the bar.

“Ok, ok. That’s good for today.” Bruce motioned her away from the bar. “You’ve worn yourself to a frazzle.” He turned towards the woman. “Mom, she’s going to sleep well tonight!”

Kayla winced at the sound of the camcorder snapping shut. “I did do it earlier,” she said to her feet. “Bruce didn’t even touch me and I got all the way up on the bar.” She looked up hesitantly.

“Well, that would have been a good step two months ago.” Her mother’s lips were pressed together in that way which always meant a chewing out was on its way. “But with your first meet this weekend, one time during practice isn’t going to cut it, don’t you think?”

“Now, Linda,” Bruce stepped in. “The kip is a very difficult skill and…”

“I know how difficult or not difficult a kip is,” she replied icily. “And I was doing my kip when I was eight. Kayla is nine now, and I expect her to get this.”
Bruce took a small step towards the woman. “Kayla, go change. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kayla hurried back to the locker room, not wanting to hear her mother argue with the coach again. Two rows of lockers lined a brick wall and a single, paint splotched bench ran down the middle of the room.

“Did you get it?” Brittan, one of Kayla’s teammates, asked. Brittan was a level 7, an optional gymnast, who could create her own routines for competition and could do giants on the high bar. Plus she was twelve, which made her very cool. “You did a really good job earlier in practice.”

“No, but I think I bruised my chest.” Kayla flopped down on the bench.

“Well, hey, that’s not bad. I mean, you’ve only been working on it for, what, three weeks?”

“No, more like four months. I’ve just been here for three weeks. I started working on it at Flip Gymnastics.”

“But I thought you came here from Top Form.”

“I did. I took classes at Top Form after we left Flip. We…well…I’ve been at a lot of gyms.”
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“I don’t care what that man says, she has to do a kip twice in that routine. And I’m not going to sit by in the stands while everybody sees my daughter scratch on bars.”

Kayla choked on her broccoli. Scratching meant not competing on that event at all! “But I’m not scratching on bars! I did my kip today! And even if I don’t have it I can still do my routine!”

Kayla’s mother glared down the table at her, her fork held like a weapon in her right hand. The table, jammed into the kitchen too small for its size, left Kayla’s seat shoved against the refrigerator and at times was almost claustrophobic. The house was silent, except for the sound of Jerry Springer coming from the television in the living room.

“I know how the competitions work, Kayla. I was level 7 state champion. And don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to your father.” She turned to the man sitting across the table. “Do you have any idea what people will say when they realize my daughter can’t do a kip? Maybe we should have her compete as a level four this year.”

Kayla blanched. “I was a level four last year! And Bruce said I should move on.”

“Kayla! I’m speaking to your father!” Mrs. Burns turned again to her husband. “I said, maybe she should be a level four again.”

Kayla’s father looked over the top of his Sports Illustrated. “But she did great as a level 4 last year, so why shouldn’t she move on? I mean, how else is she going to learn it?”

“Steve, maybe you don’t realize it, but the gymnastics community is very small. When she walks into that gym, everybody knows she’s my daughter. Everyone knows I was state champion, and they will expect the same from her. If she doesn’t look like a champion I’ll never be able to go to a meet again.”

Steve picked his magazine back up and muttered, “Well, maybe if she stayed with one coach for more than a few months she could learn something…”

His wife slammed her fork down on the table. “Kayla, it’s time for bed. Now.”

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Kayla was walking down a long, long hall. At the end, she knew, was the room where the meet was being held, but no matter how long she walked it seemed the room never came into sight. Every door she passed was closed, and those that had windows were frosted and only let in a little light. It was cold. Didn’t they have a heater in this building?

Foot steps sounded behind her, and another gymnast walked up beside her. She was dressed in black warm-up pants and a leotard and carried a gym bag over one shoulder. The girl smiled at Kayla.

“Hi, are you competing in the meet?”

“Um…yea.” Kayla smiled hesitantly at the girl. “Are you?”

“Oh yes!” she replied. “I’m so excited! Who do you think will be judging?”

“I don’t know…I just hope they’re nice. I don’t like grumpy judges.”

“Like Mark Troller? Did you ever notice that his name is almost Mr. Troll?”

Kayla giggled, and glanced over at the girl. She had a pretty face. “What level are you?”

“Oh, I’m a seven.” The girl tossed her braid over one shoulder. “I was state champion last year.”

“Oh.” Kayla said quietly. “I’m a five.”

The girl looked questioningly at her. “How long have you been a five?”

“Since this summer. How long is that?” Kayla tried counting off on her fingers from May, but couldn’t remember what came after August. The other gymnast was quicker.

“About five months. So, you can do your kip then, can’t you?”

“Well…” Kayla looked up and was surprised to see they were just outside the gymnastics room, and a small crowd of gymnasts had formed around them, staring intently at her. “You know, it’s my first meet as a level five and…”

“But, come on, you’ve had five months.” Now her voice was cold like the rest of the building.

“I’m working on it!”

“You mean you can’t?” The girl seemed taller now and her face wasn’t nearly as pretty. “But you have to do a kip!

“I’m working on it!” Kayla pleaded. “I got it once!

“Once?” the girl shrieked. “You can’t be a five! Mr. Troll! Mr. Troll!”

Mr. Troller stepped into the hallway, but he was a troll, with a huge ugly face and green slime on his teeth. He leaned forward and Kayla could smell his foul breath as he grabbed her left arm and began to drag her out of the building. “No meet for you today. You would be an embarrassment.”

“But I got it!” Kayla tried to tell him, though it seemed he didn’t hear. “Really, Bruce didn’t even touch me! I got it all by myself!”

Her bedroom was dark when Kayla woke with a start, trying to pry the troll’s fingers from around her arm.

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“And now the gymnasts from Thomson’s Gymnastics!” the announcer called out. Kayla walked robotically into the room behind her teammates, oblivious to anything but the set of bars that stood ominously by the far wall. The gym where the meet was being held was large, with bleachers set up downstairs and upstairs for the hundreds of parents with cameras. A large blue spring floor dominated the center of the gym, next to which were several competition sized beams. The vault was against the left wall, the long blue runway looking like a tongue coming out of the vault board set up at the end.

“So these are our level five gymnasts for today,” the announcer called out, while cameras flashed and the long line of competitors saluted. “Coaches, you can start warming up your students and get ready for the first rotation.”

“Ok people!” Bruce called out. “Let’s look alive! Get yourself warmed up and start stretching. We’ll be warming up on bars in about twenty minutes.”

Kayla sat down on the floor and reached for her toes. Her mom had said nothing on the drive to the gym, but the silence itself had been enough. Breakfast seemed to be caught halfway down her throat, where it had formed a hard knot that pushed on her heart and made breathing difficult. She wished Brittan were there, but the seven’s didn’t compete until the next day.

All too soon Bruce was leading his team to the bars, Kayla dragging along at the back. The judge’s seat was empty as the girls began warming up their routines, Bruce giving correction and advice to each student.

“Bruce, you’ve got 5 minutes of warm-up time left.”

Kayla looked towards the voice and froze. Sitting down in the judges seat was a tall, grim figure with a face that looked like it had just eaten several dozen crab apples. Mr. Troller. Kayla’s breakfast suddenly dropped to the bottom of her stomach, and seemed to keep on falling.

“Bruce!” she almost squeaked. “Can’t we switch rotations? Can’t we start on beam?” Frantically she looked towards the bleachers. Her mother sat upstairs, camcorder gripped tightly in her hands. “I can’t do bars right now.”

Bruce sat down on a mat and motioned Kayla to him. “Sit down Kayla.”

Kayla sat and stared at her feet. Breakfast was pushing on her heart again. “Bruce, I can’t do my kip,” she whispered.

“I know that, Kayla.” Bruce was quiet for a minute. “What did she say?” he finally asked.

“That if I couldn’t do it I might as well scratch.”

“Do you want to scratch?”

“No.”

Bruce pulled his glasses off and wiped them on his shirt. “Well, Kayla, if you don’t try something difficult, you’ll never know what you can do.”

“But she was level 7 champion! She knows what she’s talking about, and she knows I’m not good enough!” Kayla’s throat hurt and she blinked hard to keep her eyes dry.

Bruce was quiet for a while again. “So she knows what she’s talking about because she was a champion, and she thinks you aren’t good enough?”

“Yea.”

Bruce sighed. “Kayla, your mother was a great gymnast. I always loved watching her compete. It made me proud.”

Kayla looked up at her coach. “You knew her then?”

Bruce laughed. “I was her coach for 7 years! She was my first state champion.”

“You coached my mom?!”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Kayla looked at Bruce’s gray hair. “You’re old!”

He laughed. “Kayla, when I watch you, it’s amazing how much you are like your mother. You’re a great gymnast and don’t you let anybody ever tell you something different. Now get up and warm up your routine.”

Kayla stood up in shock and walked to the bar. Bruce had coached her mother. The level 7 state champion.

“Wait, Bruce!” she turned back to her coach. “If mom was your first state champion, how many have you had?”

Bruce grinned. “Thirteen. So far.”
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Kayla jumped and grabbed the bar, stretching her toes forward, trying for the millionth time to do a kip. But this time it didn’t matter. Bruce Thomson, who had coached thirteen state champions, thought she was great. Who cared about kips?