Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (top 10 non fiction books of all time txt) 📕

“You better not be staring at me, boy,” Buddy had growled, his voice muffled by the grass.

Cian had said he wasn’t, but wondered aloud what it was Buddy had been doing.

“They’re called ‘push-ups,’ stupid.”

With some idea of what was expected, Cian glanced at the other boys, noted how they did these, and started.

He reached seventy-five in a short time, surprised by how easy they were, and stood up. A moment later, the more athletic boys had joined him.

“Okay, those of you who’ve finished, pair up and get to the sit-ups. We have other things to do today.” Mr. Eastwood was staring at Cian with raised brows and a smile.

“Wanna go first?” Tyler, had joined him, his complexion rosy.

“Uh, sure.” He lowered himself to the floor. The Foster Care Division of Georgia’s child welfare agency had enrolled him in physical therapy classes. All the years of confinement and physical abuse had left him unhealthy, wounded. Sit-ups had been one of the exercises given to help him recover.

Tyler knelt and anchored Cian’s feet with his hands. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Hands behind his head, he laid flat, then pulled himself back up to a sitting position, touching elbows to knees. Within about a minute and a half, he was done.

“Crap.” Tyler shook his head. “You’re not even breathing hard.”

“Should I be?”

“Technically, no. But then, most of us don’t fit into the ‘technically’ category.” He offered a rueful smile as they traded spots. It took him a little longer, but not much. His face red, chest heaving, Tyler shook his head and got up. “I gotta exercise more.”

The whistle’s shrill voice pierced Cian’s eardrums again, and he wondered what they’d be doing next. I hope it’s not something I've never heard of before, much less know how to do…

“Still rings, boys!”

…Like that.

Cian crouched down to re-tie his laces, watching the class go to the other side of the gym. He stood as Eastman grabbed a long pole from the corner and used it to unhook two lengths of rope suspended from the ceiling. From each was appended a thick white circle.

What are we supposed to do with those?

Eastman was hoisting one of the more slightly built boys up by the waist as Cian approached. The boy grasped one ring in each hand, and the coach let go.

“A simple L will do for today,” Eastman instructed.

Nodding, the student pulled himself up until his arms were straight down at his sides, and then raised his legs so they were out in front of him, causing his body to form an L-shape.

“Okay, good.” Eastman put out his hands. “Hold it, now. That’s it. Don’t worry if your arms get a little shaky – it’s your abs we’re working on here. That’s it Shavers, hold it a few seconds longer... good! Slow release, remember.”

Shavers – Cian didn’t know his first name yet – lowered his legs as instructed, but he was trembling. When they were once again straight down, he lowered his whole body until his arms were all the way up over his head, and released the rings.

A scattering of applause was accompanied by muted cries of “All right!” “Way to go Shavers!” “Good one, Pete!”

Ah. Pete.

The coach looked around for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Let’s see… Aha. Marx. Your turn.”

A boy who was easily twice the size of Shavers came forward, stared up at the rings, shaking his head. “Sure I won’t pull them out of the ceiling?”

“They didn’t fall out last time, so no such luck, princess. Up you go.”

Jerry Marx. He’d introduced himself to Cian that morning. Much taller than Shavers, Jerry was able to reach the rings on his own. Pulling himself up, however, seemed beyond him.

Eastman stared at the struggling youth for a second. “Okay. Two weeks ago we were swinging from them, so of course you didn’t have to pull yourself up. Try it like this – close your eyes and concentrate on your upper arms. Don’t think about how much weight you have to lift, and imagine yourself pulling the rings downward.”

Marx nodded, closed his eyes, and with a few grunts and groans, managed to get himself to where his hands were nearly at his chest. Then, with a whoosh of released breath, he let go and dropped to the floor.

To Cian’s amazement, the class gave Jerry as much applause and verbal encouragement as his more agile classmate. How different these people were from those with whom he’d spent six miserable years! He admired their kindness and hoped it would extend to his ignorance.

Several minutes later, Eastman called his name. Cian, while not sure how he would manage, was no longer fearful of the reactions of his classmates. Like most of the boys who had done this exercise with ease, he was more than tall enough to reach the rings unaided, and grasped them tight. Remembering the instructions Eastman had given a few of the others, he began to lower his arms, lifting his own body weight, until they were straight at his sides.

“Good, MacDara.” The coach stepped back. “Let’s see that L.”

Imitation. He raised his legs until they were out in front, pleased with how little effort it took. “Like this?”

“You can talk?” Eastman sounded surprised.

Why wouldn’t I be able to talk? “Of course, sir.”

“Okay – see how long you can hold that position.”

Cian nodded, keeping himself still. A few moments of this found him thinking about Celeste and Katie again, wondering how he might locate them before they left to go home. Celeste concerned him the most – how was she handling what had happened the previous afternoon? Both girls had been clearly shaken by the…

“MacDara!”

He refocused and looked down to see the coach staring up at him and shaking his head.

“Sir?”

“Are you, uh, ready to come back down yet?”

“I don’t know – have I been doing this long enough?”

“Very funny,” one of the boys shouted, and the others chuckled.

“Uh, yeah, I think three whole minutes is plenty long enough. I’m lucky if I can get someone to stay up for three seconds!”

“Oh.” Cian lowered his legs, raised his arms, and dropped to the floor. Mortified, he stared at the top of his shoes. “Sorry.”

Another moment of silence, then the class burst into wild applause, with whistles and shouts, several of his classmates pounding him on the back and laughing. Cian couldn't have been more surprised had the image from one of the Bolton’s books of a wild elephant with lavender monkeys on its head come to life and charged through the gym on its hind legs.

He grinned in spite of himself, but all this attention was, in its own way, more embarrassing than thinking he’d done something stupid.

“You’re in gymnastics, aren’t you,” Mr. Eastman said, his smile broad.

Cian frowned. Gymnastics? “I don’t… think so, sir.”

“Really!” He put a hand to his face, holding his chin between thumb and forefinger. “You know, you might want to consider it, even if you are a bit tall for the sport.”

“What kind of exercise do you do, anyway?” asked a lanky youth with greasy blond hair.

“Sit-ups and some weight-lifting. I – well, I – my father taught me how to use a sword when I was younger, so I mostly exercise using the techniques I learned.”

“Okay, now that is too cool!” Alex Frebin, who had greeted Cian at the end of English class on Wednesday, had introduced himself as football team captain.

Cian grinned, thanking him.

Coach Eastman blew his whistle again. “All right, boys – next!”

By the time the bell rang, Cian was the center of everyone’s attention. As he headed into the showers, he overheard people talking about how he had “destroyed” the English teacher, how all the girls were acting like Stepford Wives (whatever that was), yet he was too cool to let any of it go to his head, and other things of a similar nature.

How to deal with all this was, for the moment, beyond him.

By careful maneuvering of his position, he managed to take his shower and change without anyone else noticing his scars. Before leaving the gym, he sought out Tyler and pulled him aside. “I was wondering – why didn’t you say anything about my back to anyone?”

Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know – you don’t seem the type who would want people to feel sorry for you. Am I right?”

“You are. Thank you.”

“No problem!” Tyler’s quick grin appeared. He punched Cian lightly on the arm, and left.

As Cian headed toward the front doors, the final bell rang and the classrooms spilled out their student contents. He looked in vain for even a glimpse of either Celeste or Katie, despite walking in the same direction as others who took the buses.

“MacDara!”

Cian stopped and turned. Coach Eastman was trotting toward him, clipboard still cradled in one arm.

“Sir?”

“I was thinking you might want to try out for some of our teams.”

Alarmed, Cian shook his head. Teams? I’ve never been on a team! What would I have to do? “I don’t know, sir – I don’t know much about sports. I was, um, not, I – I didn’t go to a – ”

“Don’t worry – I can teach you everything you need to know. Me and your teammates, that is.”

“I also have a job after school.”

“Well, we can work around that, too, if you’re interested.”

Cian frowned, too many possible responses rendering him mute.

“Okay, I tell you what – you think about it for a bit, like over the weekend. Let me know on Monday, okay? You can come to my office any time.” He patted Cian on the arm, smiled, and strolled off.

Everyone’s patting me – I’m beginning to feel like a giant puppy. And then he remembered the bus. “Oh, no!” He sprinted the rest of the way out to the bus area in time to see the last one pull away.

So much for that. He’d have to wait until Monday. “Not good.” This needed resolution, and soon. Discouraged, tired, and distressed about his sudden popularity, he hoisted his backpack to a more comfortable place on his shoulder, and headed home.

On most Saturday mornings, Celeste clung to every semi-waking second prior to being made to get up by her energetic mother, who had often announced that sleeping in on a day free to fit extra chores into was sinful. Eileen had made it a rule that her children and husband were to be up and busy before eight o’clock, and everything finished by noon.

This Saturday, however, Celeste was up at seven, washed and dressed by seven-thirty, and sitting in the kitchen eating an English muffin by – according to the clock over the sink – seven-thirty-six.

“Well!” Entering the kitchen, Eileen gave Celeste a kiss on the head. “All it took was a piece of wood and some wires to get you up early!”

Celeste grinned through a mouthful of muffin. Too excited about her lesson to hear her mother’s remark through the usual Dumb-Things-Parents-Say filter, she swallowed, shaking her head. “Golden wires.”

“Mr. Croghan won’t be here until eleven, you know. Here, let me take that.” Eileen picked up Celeste’s dish and brought it to the sink.

“I know, Mom. I wanted to be wide awake for the lesson, is all, and get my chores out of the way. I told Katie