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The Ghetto Comeback Kids
It was the last wrestling match of the tournament, “This is my chance once again to try and earn a first place.”Jack thought. He battled his opponent, strategizing every move, Set-up to takedown to finishing move, repeating the process. Jack’s mind was split, one side thought methodically, calculating points, time, and position of his opponent while the other half was moving a hundred miles per hour acting on impulse. Then suddenly he sensed his head too close to his knee. His opponent’s snake like arms rocked him to his back. Despite Jack’s best efforts this move, the cradle, turned him into an infant, rather than the feared wrestler called the Hell Rider. The whistle blew and Jack stood up, cursing under his breath, knowing he’d been defeated again.
Jack the next day went back to his routine, waking up at six o’clock and biking to school alone knowing his only friend was himself. Jack planned out his schedule on the way: “School, then wrestling, then homework, then dinner, then sleep.” He rode into the parking lot and locked up his bike. Usually he was the first there and the last to leave, but today there was another bike. Jack went to his locker, grabbed his books and said “Good, no girls around to reject me.” His watch began to ring, alerting him it was seven thirty: “Only twenty minutes till class, I should do some work.”
As he walked to sit outside his Spanish class he saw a kid clad in a furry hat and a black sweatshirt sitting on the ground, writing on his hand. Jack sat next to him. The kid looked at him. He had a peach fuzz moustache and glasses.
“What are you doing here so early?” Jack asked.
It was the last wrestling match of the tournament, “This is my chance once again to try and earn a first place.”Jack thought. He battled his opponent, strategizing every move, Set-up to takedown to finishing move, repeating the process. Jack’s mind was split, one side thought methodically, calculating points, time, and position of his opponent while the other half was moving a hundred miles per hour acting on impulse. Then suddenly he sensed his head too close to his knee. His opponent’s snake like arms rocked him to his back. Despite Jack’s best efforts this move, the cradle, turned him into an infant, rather than the feared wrestler called the Hell Rider. The whistle blew and Jack stood up, cursing under his breath, knowing he’d been defeated again.
Jack the next day went back to his routine, waking up at six o’clock and biking to school alone knowing his only friend was himself. Jack planned out his schedule on the way: “School, then wrestling, then homework, then dinner, then sleep.” He rode into the parking lot and locked up his bike. Usually he was the first there and the last to leave, but today there was another bike. Jack went to his locker, grabbed his books and said “Good, no girls around to reject me.” His watch began to ring, alerting him it was seven thirty: “Only twenty minutes till class, I should do some work.”
As he walked to sit outside his Spanish class he saw a kid clad in a furry hat and a black sweatshirt sitting on the ground, writing on his hand. Jack sat next to him. The kid looked at him. He had a peach fuzz moustache and glasses.
“What are you doing here so early?” Jack asked.
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