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How did Keisha know he was comparing her routine—the one she would perform in less than half an hour—with the difficulty of the other routines to see how much of a chance she had to place?

Did she know it because that’s what
she
was thinking?

Maybe everyone was thinking the same thing.

Keisha had been the best freestyler on the team, but her play-it-safe routine would not gain them enough points, even if she nailed every hop, skip and jump.

“We have to leave room for possibility,” Coach said. “We have no idea how well the other freestylers will perform, and Keisha hasn’t jumped yet.”

When Coach dismissed them, Keisha tried to do some belly breathing, but her breath got all stopped-up in her middle somewhere. She knew even if she nailed her routine, her moves wouldn’t put her in the top tier. The others would have to mess up big-time! It wouldn’t happen. Keisha didn’t even wish for that.

She bit her lip. If she hadn’t been so nervous all the time, she could have practiced a harder routine! This routine was an elbow bone, not a backbone.

Someone came up behind her and covered her eyes. “Don’t turn around too fast,” the person whispered. “Or you’ll tip me over.”

Keisha turned around slowly and gave a squeal. “How did you get in here?” she asked, giving Sarge a big hug. “And what about your leg?”

“It’s fake! Didn’t I tell you? No, it was fine. I used a lot of pillows. And to get in, your coach gave me this.” Sarge held up a registration badge. “I have a confession to make, Keisha. Your dad gave me Coach Rose’s phone number, and I called him up a while ago to tell him about the fun roping you’ve been doing. And guess what? I brought the music from Razi’s show.”

Keisha looked up at Sarge, confused. She sat down on the bleachers. Sarge sat next to her.

Coach Rose came and sat down beside them. Keisha could see the rest of the Steppers hanging around in the background. “Keisha, you have worked hard for this team for two years,” Coach said. “We both know you are better than the routine you’ve been practicing. I say give this new one a try. We don’t have anything to lose. From what Sarge is telling me, there’s a greater degree of difficulty in this routine.”

“But …” Would fun roping be fun in competition?

“I think you should do it, too, Key,” Marcus said, stepping forward. “And not just so we can bring home a trophy but because it’s fun to watch.”

“Here’s why
I
think you should do it.” Aaliyah jutted out her chin and walked toward them like an Egyptian.

“Uh-oh.” Marcus poked Jorge.

“Aaliyah’s gettin’ her swagger on,” Jorge teased.

“I say, let’s show ’em how it’s done on the West Side.” Aaliyah leaned back, pumping her arms and hula-hooping.

“We don’t live on the West Side,” Jorge said.

“We sure do.” Aaliyah gave Jorge her all-that look.

“West Side of Michigan,” Wen explained.

Sarge tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “Coach says I get to put the music in, and that means I’ll have my usual front-row seat at one of your performances.”

Performance.

As Keisha walked over to the freestyle-competition area, her mind was whirling. She almost ran into a
Buzzing Bee. Competing made her mess up, but performing was all about the flow. And if she was going to try to get a higher score, she had to do something … more.

Keisha tapped the tape on the competition square three times for good luck. Then she took her place. “Judges ready?” she asked.

They nodded. No one was even looking at her. They were all finding the right form, checking the number on her shirt and filling in her name and school. Keisha nodded to Sarge, who was standing by the CD player.

The music from Razi’s mid-winter recital was so different from the pounding beat of other jumpers’ music that afterward, Keisha told Sarge that might have been what helped her most. How could you call this competing?

Keisha stood completely still, listening to the music and waiting for the first cold breeze. It whirled around her, and then, after a few jumps, she became airborne herself: scudding, rolling, swaying, soaring. Just the way a snowflake would feel on a crisp, sunny winter afternoon, floating near the river, passing the squirrels and the joggers and the children on
the swing set in their shiny plastic boots. Keisha translated—from cold to skip, from blow to kick, from flutter to swing. Then, almost as soon as she’d begun, she was finished. She drifted down onto the top hat of a snowman and took a bow, blinking at the crowd.

People leapt to their feet in the bleachers. Keisha could see Grandma shouting into a megaphone, but she couldn’t hear her over the roar of the crowd.

Coach Rose grabbed her up in a big bear hug and walked her over to Sarge. As they passed the judges’ table, Keisha heard snatches of their conversation: “—take us to an exciting new level …” “—never thought about doing it without a downbeat …” “How am I supposed to score this? I don’t even know what she was doing. Can you name every one of those tricks?”

Sarge was the next person to give her a hug. “I’ve never seen you look so graceful,” he said. But Keisha barely had time to respond before she was swept away by her teammates.

“You were definitely in the flow,” Marcus told her.

“That was sweet!” Jorge clapped Keisha on the back.

“Say, 2,236!” It was the captain of the Buzzing Bees. “What was that move you did when you—” She stopped, swung her rope in a circle and did a backward somersault, but she got caught up in the rope.

“Um …” Keisha giggled. “Larry-recovers-from-missing-the-branch.”

If Grandma could name her yoga poses, why couldn’t Keisha name her new moves?

“What about this one?” The Cadettes’ captain tried to shuffle her feet and skip her rope between each short step.

“That’s … that’s my calabaza steptaraza.”

“Your what?”

“That’s how we lay it down on the West Side,” Aaliyah said, pointing at the floor.

“It’s Grand River–style stepping,” Wen chimed in.

Keisha’s energy didn’t flow quite as easily in the final round, since there was more pressure on her to perform. More people watching made Keisha more aware of what she was doing. To calm herself, she pictured her friends at the V.A. facility. These people were just like them … curious to see her routine. Besides, they wouldn’t know if she messed up or not because even
she
didn’t know exactly what she was going to do ahead of time.

It was almost dark before the final round was over. The Steppers would wait until all the scores were tallied and announced, then stay overnight at the Renaissance Center. At their hotel, skippers from all over
the state could go to special rooms and meet each other and share moves. But Mama and Daddy were anxious to get on the road.

Just before they left, Daddy grabbed Keisha’s hand and led her over to the cove by the drinking fountains. Coach Rose followed them. “Honey, Coach wants to talk to us about something. It seems a few of the coaches are contesting your scores.”

Coach Rose got down on one knee to be closer to Keisha. “When someone contests a score that would make a difference in a team’s placement, the videotapes have to be reviewed by an independent panel of judges. That won’t happen this afternoon. It could take a few weeks for a final decision.”

Keisha looked back and forth between her dad and her coach. “So we won’t know today?”

“I don’t think so.” Coach Rose patted Keisha on the back. “For now, let’s be proud of our achievements. Whether they allow your routine or not, Keisha, you definitely learned that you can jump with the best of them.”

Daddy kissed the top of Keisha’s head. “There’s no doubt in my mind that
my
girl helped put the Grand River Steppers in the center of the radar screen for Michigan jumpers.”

That evening, the whole team gathered in the
Coach Insignia restaurant on the seventy-second floor of the RenCen. The Steppers rushed to the windows and oohed and aahed at the lights of Windsor, Ontario, across the Detroit River.

Standing there, Keisha felt a shiver of pleasure run down her spine. At dinner, everyone had wanted to talk to her. She was a jumping sensation! Even if they disqualified her for not sticking to the same routine, jumpers from all over the state wanted to learn more about her moves. Fun roping was launched.

“Want a Lemonhead?” Aaliyah pressed up next to her friend and held out a box.

“Where did you get those?”

“They have a vending machine filled with candy on every floor.” Wen handed Keisha two Pixy Stix while Aaliyah filled her other palm with Lemonheads.

Keisha put six Lemonheads in her mouth at once. She stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her best friends and let her eyes leave the colored lights of the city and float up to the blanket of twinkling stars above. It was one of those sweet-and-sour moments she’d never forget.

One week later, a few Wild 4-Evers gathered at the V.A. facility to celebrate the opening of the Wild 4-Ever Squirrel Circus, starring—hopefully—Larry and all his friends. They kneeled in front of the window—Aaliyah, Jorge, Marcus, Razi, Savannah, Wen, Zack and Zeke—so that they didn’t block anyone’s view. Keisha was next to Sarge on the couch. PFC Simon brought her binoculars so she could see everything and describe it for the vets who couldn’t see as well.

Everyone watched anxiously as Lt. Washington made his way down the ravine. As director, he had insisted on putting in the first load of peanuts. Keisha looked over the contraption they’d erected a few days earlier. There were long, thin pieces tied between trees for the high-wire act; a bicycle wheel hooked on to the end of a bouncy cord for the bungee jump; and a homemade paddle wheel with wooden cups that they hoped would act like a Ferris wheel. The squirrels would be doing the same things they did in the trees, but now they would be doing them in full view of the veterans. And because the Squirrel Circus was in the ravine, separate from the bird-feeding station, the squirrels would get their
corn and peanuts and leave the seeds for the birds.

“Can squirrels smell?” Razi asked. “Do they know the peanuts are coming?”

“I don’t think they can smell them inside the bag,” Big Bob said. “We should probably get out the checkerboard and give them some time to sniff out the food.”

“Lt. Washington just slipped,” PFC Simon reported. “Now he’s sliding down the ravine on his butt.”

The vets who could stand gave Lt. Washington a standing ovation.

“It means a lot to the troops that Lt. Washington is doing this,” Sarge told Keisha. “But I think we might have to figure out an easier way to place the peanuts. We don’t want
him
recovering from injuries, too.”

“I’m on it.” Marcus whipped out his drawing pad and started sketching the area.

“I hope there aren’t any squirrels over two pounds,” Wen fussed. “That was our weight-test limit. I wouldn’t want
them
to get injured, either.”

“Squirrels definitely don’t test every branch they jump onto for safety first.” PFC Simon continued to peer through her binoculars.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this.” Sarge had pushed himself up and made his way slowly toward the window. Keisha followed him. “I think Larry’s going to show up.”