Part 4 (1/2)

Girls were beginning to head into the locker room, so I couldn't stand there any longer. I hurried in and changed into a clean white T-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of soccer Umbros, put on my whistle, and went out into the gym.

In one hand I had the phys. ed. boom box. In the other were three handouts I'd photocopied on Watson's home office copier. One handout was a list of all the new exercises we were going to be doing and a brief description of how to do each one. The second paper explained the rules of soccer. The third noted how the teams would be divided.

As the cla.s.ses entered the gym, I handed each of the students the three sheets, which (with Karen's help) I'd stapled together.

Then Ms. Walden and Mr. De Young arrived. Like the last time, they hung back against the far wall, standing together. Today they were going to see a very different cla.s.s than they had on Monday.

I loaded a tape into the boom box. Sam had lent it to me when he came home the night before. It was called Jock Jam, and it had only high-powered, super-energizing music on it.

Before turning it on, I blasted my whistle. It was great for getting immediate attention. ”h.e.l.lo, everyone,” I said to the cla.s.s. ”You'll see on your first sheet that we're going to do a new warm-up.” ”How can it be new if we did it on Monday?” a girl with heavy eyeliner objected.

”This is a newer new warm-up,” I said with a smile. ”You can follow me. If you get lost, refer to your sheet.” There was a low buzz of conversation as the kids glanced at their papers. ”These are girls' exercises,” a boy protested.

”What do you expect? She's a girl,” Gary offered.

I ignored him. ”No. They're basic warm-up exercises taken from the most up-to-date work-out tapes,” I said to the cla.s.s, smiling at them. ”Before I put on the music, let's do some neck rolls. Follow me.... And to the right...” The kids didn't mind this. It was easy. ”This is my kind of exercise,” a girl said, and everyone laughed. I hoped Ms. Walden noticed. The cla.s.s was more fun already.

After neck rolls, we turned to stretching, then to bending. I asked the cla.s.s to do a light jog before I turned on Jock Jam. Now we were in for some heavy aerobics.

'All right, everybody!” I shouted over the pounding music. ”Kick your legs out.” I didn't see much kicking.

So I demonstrated. ”Like this, kick right, kick left.” Although umbros are shorts, they're loose fitting and not ideal for kicking your legs up without revealing your underwear. It was a problem I hadn't considered until that exact moment.

I had to keep my kicks low, and I saw that the cla.s.s was doing the same. ”No, higher!” I told them.

”You're not kicking high,” someone pointed out.

”Just kick!” I barked more forcefully than I intended to.

”Sheesh, what a grouch.” Luckily, I'd planned jumping jacks next. I could do those in my Umbros with no problem. As I jumped, I wondered what Gary was doing. From the corner of my eye I saw him doing jumping jacks in front of the cla.s.s too.

Amazing. Was he actually cooperating?

I should have known better.

In a second I realized that everyone in the cla.s.s was out of sync. They were b.u.mping into one another and slapping hands as they jumped. Why were they so spastic? It took me only a second to realize: Half of them were following Gary, who was not jumping in time with me.

”Hold it!” I yelled as I hit the STOP b.u.t.ton on the boom box. ”Hold it!” I blasted my whistle.

The cla.s.s stopped, breathless, and stared at me.

”What was that?” I asked Gary.

”Jumping jacks?” a girl offered.

”Not you!” I snapped at her. ”I was asking him!” Gary gave me a wide-eyed look, as if to say, Surely you don't mean me? ”Jumping jacks?” he asked.

”You were completely off beat. You confused the whole cla.s.s.” A seventh-grade boy called out, ”You were the one off beat.” ”Come to think of it, Kristin, you are sort of offbeat,” Gary joked, which caused the cla.s.s to laugh.

”Kristy, Gary,” Ms. Walden interrupted, walking toward us. ”This is going a bit long. Didn't you want to play soccer today?” I checked my watch. Wow! The fifteen minutes were nearly up and the warm-up was just starting.

Ms. Walden's words launched a stampede toward the door as the cla.s.s raced to the soccer field. A blast from my whistle stopped everyone in their tracks. ”Walk!” I shouted. ”And look at your team lists while you're walking. When you get outside, stand with your teammates.” Gary hurried after me. ”You didn't put all the dweebs on my team, did you?” he asked.

”I don't even know which kids can play and which can't,” I snapped. ”And don't call them dweebs. That's just the kind of att.i.tude that turns kids off to sports.” ”I see,” he said seriously. ”You think screaming at them and blowing that whistle in their ears is the way to go.” ”No! I don't blow it in their ears!” He rubbed his ear. ”Oh, you mean it's just my eardrum that's busted?” ”It gets their attention,” I insisted stiffly.

Most of the kids had left the gym. I couldn't stand there letting Gary fire off his witticisms. Whether he knew it or not, we had a cla.s.s to run.

I hurried out to the field, with Gary strolling casually behind me. I expected to see the kids standing with their teams, but they were scattered around in small groups. I blew my whistle and clapped my hands sharply. ”Get into your teams!” They didn't move.

A short, burly kid with a buzz cut pointed at another kid. ”There is no way I will be on a team with him, he shouted, pointing. ”He is my sworn enemy.” Sworn enemy?

The other kid sneered back.

”We're not having any of that,” I scolded them. ”You have to learn to work with your teammates.” ”Yeah, like you and Retlin do,” another boy called out. ”Smooth teamwork.” Everyone laughed.

”This isn't fair,” a girl whined. ”You separated me from my best friend. I'm always with Jennifer.” Jennifer then stepped up to me. ”That's right. Ms. Walden always lets us be together.” ”Everybody, forget those sheets and split into two teams,” Gary told them. Before I could object, the kids were running around and - amazingly - in minutes were in two fairly even groups. Gary turned to me with a snide smile. ”See? You just have to go with the flow, Kristin, and things work out.” ”That's your team,” I said, pointing to the right. ”And this group will be mine.” I have to make a little confession here. It had only taken me seconds to size up the two groups in terms of athletic ability. And my kids were definitely bigger and more athletic looking.

There wasn't any chance I would let Gary's team win today. He wasn't going to show me up with his sloppy go-with-the-flow att.i.tude.

”My team, over here!” I shouted. I was about to blast my whistle, but Gary had made me self-conscious about it. I waved to them instead.

”Okay, now,” I said, after they'd a.s.sembled in a half circle around me. ”We're going to win. Who here is a strong goalie?” 'Anson,” a boy said.

”Yeah, Anson,” a girl seconded. The other kids murmured agreement. They turned toward Anson, a large kid with white-blond hair, vivid blue eyes, and freckles.

After that, I made the decisions. I put the biggest kids in a defensive line in front of An-son. a.s.suming the kids with the longest legs were fastest, I positioned them closest to the kickoff line.

From the other side of the field, I heard Gary's team punching the air and chanting, ”Win! Win! Win!” Did Gary know what he was doing?

I doubted it.

The kids took their positions on the field. I blew my whistle to begin the game. To my surprise, the teams seemed more evenly matched than I'd thought. Some of the small kids on Gary's team were fast.

And aggressive! One skinny, wiry girl tripped a boy twice her size. I saw it clearly. She stuck out one bony leg and hooked it up under the back of his knee and dropped him. I wailed on my whistle. ”Penalty!” I shouted.

Gary, full of att.i.tude, barreled toward me, waving his arms. ”Give it up!” he shouted. ”Do you think a kid her size would intentionally try to knock a big guy like him down? You're seeing things! He tripped. Look at the size of her.” A girl from my team pointed accusingly at the skinny girl. ”She's a green belt in karate. All the kids on that team go to the same karate school in Stamford. That's why they all wanted to be together.” My jaw dropped. Gary grinned at me. ”You a.s.signed the teams,” he reminded me.

I lifted my jaw and put my hands to my hips. ”Tell them this isn't karate cla.s.s. It's soccer. If they try any rough stuff, they're in trouble.” ”Ooooh, I'm so scared of you.” Gary winced, pretending to tremble.

I huddled with my team. ”If anyone roughs you up, just stop playing,” I advised them.

”Those shrimps don't scare me,” said a boy. ”We'll show them. We'll make shrimp salad out of them.” My kids started punching the air, chanting, ”Shrimp salad! Shrimp salad! Shrimp salad!” The other team picked up the chant, changing it to ”Wimp salad! Wimp salad!” I blew my whistle to restart the game. The kids played hard. The ball flew, and kids batted it with their elbows and their knees.

Gary's team almost scored a goal, but Anson batted it back out with his head. He didn't seem to feel any pain either.

The ball was soon near our goal again and Gary's team gave Anson a run for it. One kid smashed into him. Sticking out his chest, Anson b.u.t.ted him back into one of his own teammates.

”Hey!” Gary shouted at me. ”Tell your goalie to chill out!” ”He's a goalie, you jerk!” I shouted back. ”He's doing his job!” The boy who'd been knocked back by Anson jumped up again. Red-faced with anger, he smashed the ball toward Anson but kicked too high and connected with Anson's knee instead of the ball.