Two Ways to Win

The trophy at the Saturday Jump-Off was almost the size of a fire hydrant, and Zaria had wanted it since she was six years old.

She was the fastest jumper at the Ridgewood Center, and everybody there knew it. She could hold a full minute of speed steps without her feet ever losing the beat. But Double Dutch is not a solo sport. To jump, you need two turners, and the turners are the quiet half of the team. If the ropes wobble, the best jumper on Earth trips over her own shoelaces.

Zaria's turners were Malaika, who had been turning since second grade, and a new boy named Deniz, who had learned three weeks ago. Deniz turned from his shoulders instead of his wrists, so his rope came around heavy and late. In practice, Zaria's foot caught the rope three times in a row. The fourth time, she stopped and put her hands on her knees, and she could feel the words rising up in her throat, hot and ready.

She swallowed them.

"Watch my hands," she said instead, and she took Deniz's spot. She turned slowly. She let him stand behind her and copy her wrists — small circles, elbows tucked. "The rope does the work," she told him. "You just keep the clock."

They practiced turning for the rest of the week. Zaria barely jumped at all. On Saturday her legs felt rusty, and her stomach was a fist, and when the ropes started she was half a beat behind.

But the ropes were steady. Deniz's wrists ticked like a clock, small circles, elbows tucked, and the rope came around exactly where her feet expected it to be.

Zaria did not win the trophy. A girl from Brownsville won it, and she deserved it.

What happened instead was this. Deniz turned two full rounds without a single wobble, and when he came off the mat he was shaking and grinning at the same time, and he said, "Did you see me?" Malaika hugged him so hard that she picked him up off the floor.

On the bus home, Zaria held no trophy. She held the sign-up sheet for the fall league, and she was already thinking about who else she could teach.