Adventures with Doofus

"Ready, and one, two, three, four, up!" Coach Ramirez blew her whistle, the sharp blast echoing off the cinderblock walls of the Osceola Middle School gymnasium.

Keira Latta pushed down against the shoulders of her bases, locked her core, and popped into the air. Gym lights flashed across her vision before her sneakers hit the cupped hands waiting below. She locked her right knee, extended her left leg out into a liberty stretch, and raised her arms into a sharp high-V. Her neon cheer bow sat high on her ponytail, completely still.

Then came the dismount. On count seven, she folded her arms across her chest to cradle down. Her left heel caught the fabric of Maya's sleeve on the way into the catch. It wasn't a fall, but Keira landed with a tiny wobble, stumbling a half-step sideways across the blue foam mat before regaining her balance.

She flashed an automatic grin, arms snapped down at her sides. But her stomach clenched.

Up in the third row of the bleachers sat her mother. Lisa Latta wore crisp gray hospital scrubs from her clinic, her dark hair neatly clipped. Across her lap rested a stiff blue aluminum clipboard. Lisa didn't clap. Instead, she clicked her ballpoint pen twice and jotted down a quick note in the margin of a spreadsheet.

"Clean up those flyers on the dismount, girls!" Coach Ramirez shouted, clapping her hands. "Water break, then run it again from the opening pyramid!"

Keira jogged toward the bench, grabbed her aluminum water bottle, and took a long drink. She glanced toward the bleachers. Lisa was already walking down the wooden steps, her sneakers squeaking crisply against the varnish.

Ten minutes later, cheer practice wrapped up, and Keira stood by the hallway lockers, stuffing her pompoms into her duffel bag. The metal zipper was stuck halfway on a fringe of silver foil.

"Your center of gravity drifted left on the mount," Lisa said, stopping right beside the locker. She held the clipboard tucked under one arm like a teacher ready to grade a pop quiz. "You overcompensated on count six, Keira. That's why the catch looked messy."

Keira tugged the silver fringe free and pulled the zipper shut. "Maya bumped my ankle just a little bit, Mom. It was fine. Coach said the height was great."

"Fine just do the best at the regional showcase," Lisa said in her calm, measured voice. "You have exactly two weeks. You can't afford sloppy footwork when judges are counting execution points. And what about your regional science project on plant genetics? You have poster boards to finalize."

"I finished the seed count chart yesterday during study hall," Keira said, hiking the duffel strap onto her shoulder. A strange, cold prickle of over-stretched guitar strings twanged across her collarbones beneath her school track jacket. "I got an A on the draft."

"An A on a draft is not first place in the district," Lisa reminded her, checking the digital watch on her wrist. "Precision requires repetition. You need total focus right now. Let's get home. You need to review chapter eight before dinner."

Keira followed her mother through the double glass doors to the parking lot, keeping her mouth shut. The cool evening air smelled of damp asphalt and distant lawnmowers. She stared out the passenger window the entire ride home, watching the telephone poles click past like tick marks on an endless checklist.

At home, the aroma of garlic bread and tomato sauce filled the kitchen. Kenny Latta stood by the stove, stirring a pot of pasta sauce with a wooden spoon. He was broad-shouldered and solid, still wearing his navy blue scrubs from his long shift at the heart hospital, though he had rolled the sleeves up past his forearms.

"There she is," Kenny said, looking up with a tired grin that brought out the creases near his brown eyes. "How's my favorite flyer? Did you break the sound barrier on the tosses today?"

"Almost," Keira said, dumping her school backpack near the pantry door. "Coach had us run the pyramid five times."

"Good thing I made fuel, then," Kenny said. He loaded a generous pile of spaghetti onto a plate and added three meatballs before handing it over to Keira. "Eat up. You look like a gust of wind could knock you across the kitchen counter."

"Thank you, Dad." Keira sat down at the table and twirled noodles around her fork.

Lisa set her clipboard on the counter, washed her hands thoroughly at the sink, and joined them at the small wooden table. "She had stability issues on the flyer dismount, Kenny. We need to work on her core strength this weekend."

Keira paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. "Actually, I already started packing my overnight bag before practice. Grandpa said he bought three new board games at a garage sale, and Mimi has cookie dough in the fridge."

Lisa set her fork down. "Keira, no. We talked about this. The showcase is in fourteen days, and your plant project requires full attention also. Going to your grandparents' house is a complete distraction right now. You can visit them next month after competitions are over."

"Next month?" Keira's voice cracked. Her grip tightened on her fork. "Mom, Doofus already found an old waffle maker he wants to fix, and Mimi promised we'd make peach jam on Saturday morning!"

"You can't be making peach jam when your flyer balance is slipping," Lisa said crisply. "You need structured drills. I made a study timetable for Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon. If you spend forty-eight hours goofing off, your scores will drop."

Keira looked down, pressing the tines of her fork into a meatball until it split apart against the plate.

Kenny wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned his elbows on the table. "Lisa, hold on a second. The kid has been going non-stop since six in the morning."

"Kenny, she needs discipline," Lisa argued, turning her sharp gaze to him. "You know how hard the regional competition is. Osceola hasn't medaled in four years."

"And she's eleven, Lisa, not a tiny little cyborg," Kenny said, nudging Lisa's foot under the table with his sneaker. "Give the kid some credit. Straight As, two hours of sticking landings today, and she hasn't even complained once about my burnt garlic bread. My dad's jokes might be weapons-grade terrible, but spending forty-eight hours on his back porch won't torpedo her Ivy League chances."

"She has plant biology notes to memorize," Lisa insisted, crossing her arms.

"I'll take the flashcards over when I pick her up on Sunday," Kenny offered smoothly. "We'll run through every single term on the drive home, and I'll test her again after dinner before bed. Deal?"

Lisa pursed her lips, looking between Kenny's calm face and Keira's anxious expression. "Sunday afternoon, precisely at four o'clock. Not a minute later. If those flashcards aren't mastered, there won't be any more weekend visits until winter break."

"Deal," Kenny agreed with a nod.

Keira picked up her fork again, twirling a tight nest of spaghetti against the ceramic rim. She caught her dad's subtle wink over his water glass and took a huge, hungry bite.

"Pack your bag tonight, kiddo," Kenny told her, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "I'll load the trunk and drop you off at your grandparents' bright and early tomorrow morning."

Keira smiled, quickly shoveling a forkful of warm spaghetti into her mouth. She could already smell the sweet pancake batter and hear the ridiculous puns waiting for her at the end of the road.