The air, saturated with condensation, hung thick and cold as I stamped my foot. Trying to warm up, I glanced toward the head of the line and gulped nervously. This being my last jump, the coach had advised me to move forward around six inches and I started estimating how far back I should begin.

Hmmm… Maybe around that rock would work. No… wait, where am I right now? I checked the tape measure next to me.

107 feet. Yeah, I should probably slow down a little.

When I had reached the right distance, I stopped moving forward even as the kids in front of me shuffled ahead. Being long jumpers, the competitors behind me understood and didn’t complain, for which I was grateful. Then it was time. Reaching an imaginary climax, I pictured an orchestra next to me playing suspenseful music as I started sprinting. There was the crescendo… And I jumped.

Without warning, the harsh sound of the electric bell suddenly blared through the overhead speakers, startling me out of my flashback. Choking on the lump of gray cardboard the cafeteria called food, I sped up my chewing. Luckily, I had experience with speed-eating and after a gulp of chocolate milk had managed to shovel down an entire carton of mystery meat. Stuffing all my papers back into my backpack, I began walking out of the classroom.

    “Good luck!” my teacher called. I waved back and smiled.
    “Take me with you!” my friends called. I waved back and smiled.

I was leaving school during 5th and 6th period because I was representing Cennedy’s 6th grade boys at the Psanta Klara County Finals at Gillow Wen, but the way my heart was pounding, I might as well be attending the 2016 Olympics in Rio. I had been thinking about my success at league finals, where I had gotten a 13 feet 9 inches and first place. Of course, that meant I would be fighting for best long jumper in the county today. No pressure, am I right? At least I get to skip language arts and social studies.

Outside, students streamed into their fifth period classrooms and I felt a little weird being the only one leaving. I spotted my mom’s car outside the school gates, and after double checking I had all my stuff, trotted toward the gleaming Lamborghini Aventador. Just kidding. Anyway, my mother came out as I approached her, and she helped me put my backpack into the trunk. Wordlessly, we both got into the unfortunately ordinary Acura RDX and drove off.

The car-mobile, as I like to call it, shot into Gillow Wen’s parking lot as I held on to the car door for dear life.
    “MOM. THIS IS EXTREMELY HAZARDOUS TO MY HEALTH. DO YOU MIND SLOWING DOWN?”
   

My mother, apparently fixed on setting the world record for highest speed ever achieved in high school parking lots, ignored me. We raced by empty parking spot after empty parking spot, and I wondered if my mom was awake. For the sake of my well-being, I really hoped so.

After what felt like half an hour of continual driving, we finally screeched to a stop under a shady solar panel as I clutched my heart, breathing in huge gasps. My mother, squinting at her phone, finally turned around.
    “Woah,” she grinned. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

    “That’s because… I probably… will,” I managed to choke out.
    Without a second thought on my near seizure, she simply glanced down at her glowing mobile and continued. “Anyway, is this the right place? Gillow Wen High School?”

    “Oh I don’t know,” I rolled my eyes, finally recovered enough to talk in complete sentences. “There totally wasn’t a huge sign that was flashing ‘WELCOME TO GILLOW WEN HIGH SCHOOL, HOME OF THE NARWHALS’ right in front of the parking lot. You might have seen it if you weren’t driving, oh, around 5 times faster than the speed limit.”
    “Okay, okay, no need to be so sarcastic.” My mom turned back around.
    “I’m always sarcastic.”
    Since we had arrived early, I decided to start on my math homework. And my friends say I procrastinate. Anyway, after speeding through a worksheet packed with permutations and combinations, my mother glanced at her uPhone and started.

    “Alex! Time to go!”
    Boxing the last answers in my pre-algebra homework, I shoved it into my binder (so I’m not the neatest guy in the world. Sue me) and threw it into the trunk. I grabbed my knapsack, opened the car door, and jumped out. Or at least that’s how it should have happened. Reaching over to grab my knapsack, I fumbled with the straps as my mom waited impatiently outside. Suddenly, all of the contents abruptly tumbled out of the bag. Just great. After shoving the tiny water bottles and occasional candy wrapper back into the satchel, I was finally ready to exit the car. This is not a feat to be taken lightly. First, I ineffectively tugged at the handle before realizing I had to unlock the door. Second, I banged my head against the roof as I stood up. Finally, I tripped and landed on my face when attempting to leave the car-mobile. My mother, being the kind and caring parent she is, just sighed and rolled her eyes.

As the sun glared down on that blazing summer afternoon, I trotted across the turf of Gillow Wen High School while the crowd roared around me. Milers raced past me on the springy rubber track, and off in the distance I saw a discus shoot through the sky. I spotted the long jump pits on the far side of the field and nervously headed toward my coach, a stocky old man named Mr. Snevets.

“Hey Mr. Snevets,” I tried for a cheerful approach.
“Howdy! How’re you doing?”
“Good! You?”
“Oh I’m fine, thank you. I have to say though, the competition at County Finals this year is pretty tough. You ready?”
“Yeah!” That statement certainly didn’t help my nerves. “So I was wondering, like, when does the 6th grade long jump start?”
“Oh, it’ll be a while. You can just wait here and warm up a little bit, get the blood flowing, y’know, relax. I’ll tell ya when you start competing.” He gave me a reassuring smile and yawned.

“Thanks!” I responded, and he gave me a cheery No problem! as I sat down on the turf. I laced up my spikes, then jogged in place a little before taking a few practice jumps. Pretty soon, after my muscles were loose and warmed up, all that was left for me to do was sit down and wait.

I took a deep breath as I bounced up and down on the spongy mat leading to the sand pit.

    Breathe in. Breathe out.
    A little bit ahead of me, also from Cennedy Middle School, my friend Alberto looked back and grinned.
    “You ready, Alex?”
    “Man, I was born ready,” I replied with a smirk.
    “Well, we’ll see,” he chuckled as he turned back toward the pit.

    The line crawled along, with each competitor taking at least a minute for their jump. To put it bluntly, I was bored. And hot. And itchy. And did I mention I was bored? Jumping up and down, I looked around for entertainment. I watched an over enthusiastic parent scream at her son as he ran the mile. I stared at my hands. I pondered the meaning of life. There was just nothing to do. Eye’s glazed over, I decided to just use my imagination. That worked. Just as I was about to deflect a rocket with an airblast from my Pyro’s backburner, I was jolted back to reality.

    “Hello? Anybody home? It’s your turn,” a kid from John Doe Middle yelled.
    I sheepishly nodded and turned to the front. Woah. There was nobody in front of me. Apparently using your imagination does work. Anyway, I checked to make sure I was at the correct distance from the pit and watched the judge.
    Breathe in. Breathe out.
   

He gave me the thumbs up, and I surged forward, sprinting toward the sand like my life depended on it. My feet slammed into the edge of the mat and I leaped, straining to jump as far as possible. When I landed, my jump was measured and recorded. I received a 13 feet 3 inches. A little disappointed, I headed back to the end of the line. On my way, I told Alberto my score and we high-fived. He currently had a better score at 13 feet 7 inches, which only spurred my determination to win. At the back of the line, I made small talk with some other kids as we waited. Before I knew it, there was nobody left in front of me.

    Breathe in. Breathe out.

    Suddenly, I was running, and I felt good about this jump. But when I left the ground, I abruptly sensed that something was wrong. Confirming my doubts, the judge told me that I had scratched. No score. This wasn’t good. Mr. Snevets advised me to move back 6 inches.

    Breathe in. Breathe out.
    I told Alberto about my misfortune, and we shared a laugh. As I took my place at the back of the line, I gave myself a pep talk.
    This is your last jump, Alex. You gotta make it count. Use Mr. Snevet’s advice. You can do this. I’ll ask Mom for ice cream if we nail this.
    6 inches. Just 6 inches? That’s gonna make me win?
    6 inches is a lot in long jump. You won league with 6 inches. Now stop doubting Mr. Snevets and just do it!
    Ha. I just quoted Nike.

    Once again, I was the first in line. I moved back 6 inches, and squinted at the judge. He gave me a thumbs up. I started to run, spurred by the thought of sprinkles and waffle cones.

    Breathe in. Breathe out.
    I jumped.
“14 feet 2¼ inches”

    My eyes widened in shock as I gaped at the judge. 14 feet 2¼ inches. That was my best score yet, and I had reached the 14 foot mark! I gleefully jogged over to where Alberto was standing and shared my good news. He was obviously jealous, but at least he was a good sport about it.

We fooled around as the adults tallied the scores, and finally they called us over. As we stood in a tight huddle, I glanced nervously at the other competitors, wondering if I would get a medal. The man in the center shuffled his papers, cleared his throat, and began.

    “5th place: Max Von Frank, Lowson Middle, 12 feet 11 inches.” A boy with a sour expression walked up and claimed his medal.
    “4th place: Aphros McHair, Coughlins Middle, 13 feet 4 inches.” A kid with a huge afro ambled up to the man and collected his reward.
    “3rd place: Bill Hutchinson, Lotry Middle, 13 feet 7½ inches.”
    “2nd place: Alberto Shoe, Cennedy Middle, 13 feet 9 inches.” Alberto beamed as he received his prize and patted me on the back.

    “Nice job,” he whispered, and I laughed. What a pal.

“1st place: Alex Lemarchin, Cennedy Middle, 14 feet 2¼ inches.” Someone gave an impressed whistle. The man handed me a big medal as I stared at the shiny surface, transfixed and beaming. A winged tennis shoe gleamed in the afternoon sun as an array of colors flashed and twinkled.

The man congratulated all of us, and then we were free to go. Ecstatic with my victory, I spent the next few minutes in a daze. Mr. Snevets approached me and brightly praised me, then went on to talk to Alberto. My mom rushed to me and applauded me as she called my dad on the phone. It rung for a few seconds before someone picked up.

“Hello?”
   

“Dad, you’ll never guess what I got at County Finals.”