Page 29 of (La)Crosse My Heart

She turns the phone around and presses play, showing me hanging onto the bars. In my brain, I was struggling, but I actually don’t look too bad hanging there.

“What are some good things you saw in this clip?” she asks.

“Please tell me I don’t have to write a paper on this,” I joke.

She puckers her lips and shakes her head. “There’s a reason I didn’t go into teaching. We’re talking about the positives. What are some things you see that went well?”

I glance back at the screen and blow out a breath, unsure of what to say. It was nowhere near the polished ones she’d sent me to study the night before.

“The only thing I can come up with is that I answered the question while still holding onto the bar.”

Jessa frowns, looking as though a storm is about to come in.

“What are you talking about? You went from looking terrified to your normal self. And you even smiled while the video was going.”

“Because this exercise is ridiculous.”

“Are we complaining about a process that might be outside of the typical box but is helping you? Because I can always smack you upside the head and see how you feel after that.”

I laugh loudly, bending over as I continue. “You definitely have some spunk,” I say when I finally relax a bit.

“There’s no way to get through life than to be more assertive.”

A thought pops into my head, and I wonder what happened to her that made her have that attitude. I know it hasn’t always been her forte, but it’s a good look for her now.

Maybe the deadbeat ex-boyfriend?

“Okay, this time I want you to hang upside down from the bars while I ask you a question.”

I stare at her for an extra few seconds and then sigh. It takes some work, but I finally hang upside down like a bat.

“Do you think I’ll suddenly have a billion dollars and become a vigilante if I hang here long enough?” I ask.

Instead of shooting me a warning look, she snorts and then we both laugh.

“You think you could fight for justice in black spandex?”

I laugh and shake my head. I have to lift up a little to give my head a break from the blood rushing to it.

“I fight for justice daily in my own home. I wonder if this is how my parents felt when I was growing up.”

She laughs again and says, “Probably. Anyway, let’s get back to the exercise.”

“Was this some idea you found on the internet?” I ask, pointing to me hanging from the bar.

Instead of addressing my question, she continues with her own. “What did you do with the awful pair of neon green and pink shorts you had as a teen?”

I’m so surprised by the question that I shift my legs and end up letting go of the bars, falling straight to the ground. My hands only help me miss my head, but I slam my shoulder against the sand. I always thought sand would be a cushion for any fall, but it’s maybe one level under cement.

“Are you okay?” Jessa asks, coming to kneel next to me. I lie there for a few extra seconds and take a few breaths.

“I’ll live,” I say, my breath blowing up some sand into my eyes.

Maybe it’s just easier to not worry about cameras.

“I’m so sorry. I thought it would be a good idea. Let me help you up.”

I finally push up off the sand, feeling the grittiness of it all over my body. That’s the one thing I hate about sand. It’s like glitter. It never goes away, no matter how many times you vacuum and empty stuff out.

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