The Knitter

The bane of my existence takes on a new level

First off, why is gym a required class? The jocks hate it cause they'd rather be playing their preferred game. Girls hate it because the outfit, "totally ruins" their look. And the skinny nerds like me hate it because.. well, we're skinny nerds. 

"Jump rope? You're gotta be kidding me," Cal groaned, watching the gym teacher yank out handfuls of the colorful stuff. "What are we, seven?"

"Teams of four!" Coach Buck barked. 

I looked around desperately. A few of the smaller guys and I usually banded together for mutual protection in gym class. Kind of like a group of weak gazelle hoping to avoid being noticed by the lions. But four of the usual group were already clustered together, leaving me alone with the carnivores. 

"Adams! Get over here!" a voice called. 

I turned in disbelief. Brandon Jameson, the star basketball player was gesturing me over to his three person group. I hustled over, trying not to look too amazed. The three jocks towered over me, casting covert looks at each other. I didn't have time to think about it before coach was barking orders like a drill sergeant again. 

"One on each side, two rotating in and out. Change position every time you hear the whistle."

A shrill blast signaled the start. I grabbed one end of the long rope. Brandon took the other end and we began to turn it. His buddies jumped in, rolling their eyes at him at every opportunity. My arms windmilled stupidly as I tried to match Brandon's long swings. 

Tweet!

"Come on, we're in." Brandon called, tossing his end to one of his friends.  

I stepped out, determined not to embarrass myself. 

The rope began turning. I leapt in, matching the speed. 

skit skit skit, 

the rope brushed against the floor.

I'm doing it!  I cheered myself mentally. I turned to see how Brandon was doing. The next thing I felt was a sharp pain across my ankles. His sneakers scraped across my right ankle, then stepped painfully on my left foot. 

"Sorry," he called. I tried to grin, but felt my eyes watering. I tried to limp out of the whipping rope, but his friends gave it a little jerk. It wrapped around my chest, the ends whipping painfully. 

"Oh, sorry," they all called in unison, voices cracking with laughter. 

I hopped on the spot, arms tangled, foot bleeding. Hot embarrassment and anger rose. I could feel my face burning as I looked at their stupid smirks. 

The jump rope flew off my body, whipping like a helicopter blade. One end got Brandon in the mouth, while the other struck his friends across the knees. We all staggered backward. 

That did not just happen, was the only thought I could come up with.

"Ow, what was that man?" Brandon howled, his lip bleeding. 

"I didn't do anything!" I defended, rubbing my ankle and trying not to stare at the limp jump rope. "What, you think I magically made it attack you or something?"

But as the whistle blew and I took my place back at turning, I realized something. That's exactly what I'd just made it do.