The lights are shining in my face. Walls of prying eyes anxiously await my performance. I step over to the beam and place my hands on its smooth surface. I do a little hop with my feet off the ground, then do another hop with my legs spread apart, alternating between the two, in preparation for my mount.
I can hear the crowd chanting my name. “Jor-dan! Jor-dan! Jor-dan!”
This is my moment to shine. My plan is to hop up and carefully swing my body to a vertical position before pivoting sideways and mounting. I hop up and swing my legs overhead, but gravity quickly takes its toll on me.
I scream as my body flips forward and my back slams down on the beam, which subsequently breaks in two and I am thrown back into reality. Our already rickety table has split in two and has practically caved in on me, as I am sandwiched between its pieces, lying on the floor. Pain flows through my back.
My mom enters the room, her mouth agape in shock.
“Mom,” I say, groaning, “I think we’re going to need a new table.”