Spitball, Part 1

Author's Note: I recently did a Word Association in the Collaboration area with about 10 other students, and Tightrope was one of my words I came up with. Immediately, I thought of a tightrope walker, leaning over a tall building for their first appearance in front of many people. 

         A blast of wind gusted through my brunette hair as I made my way through the door leading outside. I grabbed my pole, and told myself not to look down. Just don't think about the height- just balance. Balance. Balance. 

         "And now, introducing," the announcer paused, "the Amazing Balestica!" The crowd below me roared, jumping up and down. "Now, audience. Please quiet down so Balestica can keep his balance. We wouldn't want him to fall, now, would we?"

         The crowd immediately quieted. I could hear the shhhs of the adults to their young children. This was it. Time to Tightrope.

         But this is months, even years in the future.

         "Mom! I have to go! Can you just throw some Life cereal in a bag and pour in some milk? I can take it on the bus," I yelled down the stairs to my mother.

         "Just hurry up, Henry! You're going to be late!"

         I came rushing down the stairs, still fastening my belt.  I grabbed the bag out of her hand and kissed her on the cheek before I bolted out the door to catch the school bus, which was just starting to pull away.

         "Wait! Wait!" I yelled to the bus. To my surprise, it actually stopped. I sprinted to the door, and they flew open. The bus driver, Arnold, had an annoyed look on his face, giving me the idea he really didn't want to stop.

         "We're on a tight schedule, kid. Next time get out here earlier," he said with his raspy voice, throwing his thumb towards the back of the bus to gesture for me to get moving.

         I found a seat next to the craziest kid in high school- Travis Hukerman.

         "Whatchya got there, cereal in a bag?" He asked me as he pushed up his glasses across the bridge.

         I gave him a 'No-Duh' look, and said, "Yeah."

         "No spoon?"

         Dang it. I sloshed my cereal around in the bag and shook it a little. My mother didn't get the milk-to-cereal ratio right. Dang it! 

         I opened the bag about halfway, creating a spout. I then poured my breakfast into my mouth. Jimmy Houstchon turned towards me and giggled, nudging his friend.

         "Check out the geek," he said. His sidekick, Phil, shot me a pathetic look, pretending to feel bad for me.

         I just ignored them, as I have to do every day.

         We finally arrived at school after the long, boring bus ride.  First hour: Science. Yay! (Fake enthusiastic cheer)

         Mr. Pevchlonit (Not a name he expects you to be able to pronounce when you first meet him) passed out the quiz.

         "Class, first we need to take the pop quiz." There was a moan from the class. Mr. Pevchlonit sighed, "We need to get it done, so quit your complaining." He sounded bored and tired, along with the rest of the juniors, considering it was a Monday morning.

         I got a sharp feeling on the back of my neck and I almost fell over by the surprise. I felt around, and my finger touched a wet ball. I pulled it off, and turned to the moron sitting 3 seats behind me, one row to my right. Jimmy pulled the straw away from his mouth and was snickering as he did a knuckle-bump with one of the many people in his 'jockey', as he may  call it. 

         "I bet you couldn't keep your balance if you tried, klutz." 

         "I beg to differ!" Wow, I didn't know it was possible to sound so professional and nerdy at the same time.

         "Oh, really? Try to keep your balance with this!" He walked up to my chair and tipped me out of it.

         Mr. Pevchlonit looked up from his magazine and saw me on the floor. "Get up, Henry."

         I rolled my eyes. Really? He just came up and pushed me out of my chair. But, I got up anyways and brushed the humiliation off of me.

         I got home that afternoon, and my mother asked me the typical question.

         "How was school today?" She asked as she was drying off the last of her dishes.

         I completely ignored her question. "I want to be a tightrope walker."

         "Excuse me? Why is that?"

         "Jimmy told me I have no sense of balance, and I want to show him wrong. He thinks I'm just this pathetic geek with no goals in life, but now I do. And after this, he won't be able to just push me around, he'll be the one I'll be pushing around because I was right," I concluded. "Sorry for the dramatic speech, but I'm serious. Tightrope walking is for me."

         "You really think there is no other solution? Can't you just go do one of those mechanical bull things at the pub down the street?" I could tell she really didn't feel comfortable with the topic.

         "No," I denied, "I'm gonna tightrope." I said with a smile on my face.

         A couple of days later, we found a trainer online for beginning tightrope students. Mack Drang was his name, and under his profile, it said, "Call me Drangon. Not Dragon. Drangon." Strict and to the point. I like it. 

         We dialed up Mack Drang and told him that he has an inexperienced hopeless little soul coming for him to fix up. He said not to push our self esteem down to a minimum, but what have I to lose?
         The training started on Wednesday, from 4-7 pm. We went to an abandoned storage warehouse, the perfect place if this happened in a movie. Nets hung from the ceiling in case I fell, (I'm guessing I would) and ropes were tied from ledges built into the walls and were hanging over the nets. 
         "Call me Drangon. Not Dragon. Drangon," Mack echoed from his website in his booming voice. "What's your name?"
         "Henry," I answered. My voice sounded pathetic and squirrrely next to his low voice. "How are you going to train me for keeping my balance?" 
         "Practice. Determination. Pain. It's all it takes, but you have to be prepared to fail," he told me. He sounded like a Nike commercial. "We should start with some simple exercises. Do the splits."
         "What? I'm not even close to flexible, sir," I told him, and I could feel my eyes widen with disbelief.
         "One of the words in my motto is 'pain'. Now let me tell you again. Do the splits."
         I got down on the ground and attempted to do the splits, but my legs only made a 90 degree angle. He  pushed my shoulders down and made it a 180.
         "Ouch! I think you just dislocated my hip!" I yelled.
         "Stay down! Stretch!" he screamed, still holding my shoulders. Finally he let go, allowing me to feel my toes once again.
         "What did that have to do with me being balanced?" I snapped as I got up painfully.
         "You have to be able to catch yourself if you fall, making you be quick, sly and flexible." 
        "Do I get to actually tightrope today, since that's what this class is about? Not stretching yourself to the extreme limit until you can't handle it anymore," I told him.
         "Don't tell me how to run my class," he demanded. "Now, just bend down and touch your toes."
         Simple enough. I bent over and grabbed my toes. "Like that?" I asked him.
         "Yes, good job. Would you like to try to tightrope? There is a net underneath, just in case you slip. Actually, once you do fall, it is quite fun to land because the net bounces you back up, like a trampoline."
         "Sure, I'll give it a go. How do I get up there?"
         "The ladder," he answered quickly, and made me feel a little dumb.
         I walked over to the ladder and I climbed up the ladder. Each rung, it got harder and harder; I've never really climbed a ladder before. But, finally I got up to the top. I made my way over to the rope, and Drangon yelled out, "Just keep walking! Get to the rope, and just walk!"
         I followed his instructions, and just kept walking. Well, I didn't get very far, until my flexibility came into play. In other words, I fell. But, Drangon was right- it didn't hurt, and it was fun. But if I ever became a professional, (good luck with that one, Henry) there would not be a net there to catch me. Just a busy street.

        
TO BE CONTINUED...