That keeps them busy for a good half hour, which I more or less spend catching kids and flipping them over. Few of them have enough skill to do anything but jump and flail, and I take a few slaps to the face, but it’s an easy day by stunt work standards. Half the battle is being brave enough to try; these kids may go home a bit too brave for their parents, but that’s not my problem.
Birthday Girl reminds me of my promise to show her how to punch, and I grab a loose mat to use as a target. I guide the kids through some karate basics, which a couple of them already know, proudly bragging about their belt colors. They have a grand ol’ time punching the mat, and then for the finale, I call Birthday Girl back up.
“Alright, let’s see how strong your punch really is.” I point at my stomach.
Her eyes widen. “For real?”
“Yep. Hard as you can.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice, and her fist lunges at me. My abs are already tensed, ready for the impact. I let the hit connect, and she packs a pretty good punch for an eleven-year-old. I reward her with a dramatic fall, pushing off my feet to jerk backwards, landing on my shoulders and toes to protect my spine.
I wheeze, pretending to have the wind knocked out of me, and hold up a strained thumbs-up.
Birthday Girl absolutely glows, and the other kids shower her with praise.
“I wanna turn!” a kid cries.
“Yeah, I wanna punch you too!”
Over the cacophony of cheering and jumping, I shake my head. “Sorry guys, you’ll have to come back on your birthday.” I pretend to shake off the blow, staying on the ground for now. “Alright, you filthy animals. We’ve got some free-play time. You can use the spring floor, mini trampoline, and vault. Go crazy.”
The gym’s manager and an assistant come out to help supervise the spread of kids.
Dance Mom comes over as I watch kids launch themselves into the foam pit.
“I have to say… your methods are a bit unorthodox.”
I glance over at her. “Too late for refunds.”
She laughs too hard and shakes her head. “Oh, no no, Idefinitelygot my money’s worth. You have an impressive way with children.”
“I just listen to them,” I say, making a point of keeping my eyes toward the foam pit. “It’s not rocket science.”
“I’m not entirely sure how I feel about exposing my darling Mary Anne to aboys’event, but… I suppose the skills are transferable. Do you think she has potential?”
“Sure. She’d make a great trick rider. Or boxer.”
Dance Mom purses her lips to hide a frown. I see where Birthday Girl got the tick. “You misunderstand me. I mean as agymnast. She’s very ambitious, you see; she’d love to be in the Olympics… And she’d need a tutor…”
I internally sigh.I’m not your pool boy, lady.
“Ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m going to be blunt. She’s a few years behind to be a competitive gymnast even at the local level, and she’s already too tall for the Olympics.”
Dance Mom huffs. “Well, that’s hardly fair?—”
“Exactly,” I cut in. “There’s nothing fair about competitive gymnastics. It’s not a good environment for kids. Let her have fun; let her do what she wants. Then maybe she’ll still talk to you when she’s my age.”
Dance Mom stares at me, flabbergasted.
Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.
Then the worst possible thing happens: Dance Mom’s expression goes too friendly, and she bites her lip. “You know, itreallyis refreshing to meet someone so honest?—”
There’s a sudden blood-curdling screech from the foam pit.
“Sorry, gotta take this.” I turn away from Dance Mom and stride over to the pile of blue and yellow cubes. A boy flails in the middle, panicking and sinking further into the foam mire.
I jump in next to him. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”
