The Jump

Harry’s foot sailed through the air, kicking up dust as it flew. It landed with a thud against the fine dirt, and his body followed. He landed with a grunt, slipping slightly.

He got up, panting. His feet ached, and he glanced over to the markers on the side of the track. The imprints of his foot were next to the marker that read 8.7 meters. 

Harry pumped his fist in the air; he couldn’t believe it. 8.7 meters!

Only 0.2 meters away from the world record. That was it. 

Evan looked down at his legs. They were serving him well. All the bruises from last year were fading away gradually, and he could feel them becoming stronger. 

He grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat dripping down his body. It was way too hot today to train. Bothersome British weather.

The grand gates of the palace to the grounds swung open as he walked in, and he impulsively tidied up his hair and straightened his hair. He frantically wiped away the few beads of sweat on his forehead and neck. 

Upon entering, he made a beeline for his room. But when he was a few feet away, he was stopped by the royal butler, Oliver. 

“Sir, what activity have you been engaging in for the past hour, may I ask?”

“Nothing, Oliver. I was just taking a stroll in the grounds.”

Oliver’s eyes settled on the dirt marks on Harry’s polo, and Harry hastily added: “I tripped over a straw stick.”

Oliver humphed in disapproval, and stalked off, most likely to tell Harry’s mom what he had been up to. Harry sighed, knowing that he couldn’t stop Oliver. He was bound to get a scolding from his mother or father today.

He went to his room and tidied up, and sat down on his four-poster, staring at a poster of Greg Rutherford, a professional British long jumper.  

Tears swelled at Harry’s eyes, and he shook his head. He would never receive support from his family for what he was doing. They didn’t approve of his dreams. They would always say he had to uphold the family honor and to be a “true nobleman”. But the Olympics were only 3 months away. He had to go.

There was a knock on his door, short and prompt. 

Harry knew what was coming, and all he could do was brace himself. 

His father entered and sat down on Harry’s bed. He was calm and collected, unlike how he would scold Harry for engaging in “dirty” sports. 

“Do you really want to keep doing this?” his father asked calmly, but Harry could sense that tension behind his voice.

“Yes. I want to. I’m so close. I could go to the Olympics. I’ve put in so much hard work. I can sense victory.”

“Listen, son. There’s something I want to tell you about.”

Harry was then overcome by a feeling of dread. He knew the feeling. It was the feeling of bad news.

“I’ve been suffering from brain cancer. The doctors say I only have 3 months left. I need you to uphold the family. Become the next nobleman. I don’t have any other son.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why hadn’t his father told him before? 

Harry was torn. He couldn’t understand what was happening. He had two choices: Continue long jumping and lose valuable time to spend with his father, or leave his dreams to keep his parents happy. 

“I need you to stop doing this sport. You must get trained to rule our province.”

His father got up to leave, and Harry, torn between his two choices, replied “I’ll think about it.”

Harry buried his head in his hands, thinking deeply. 

He just simply didn’t want to continue the noble tradition and legacy. Not after his experiences in school…

Harry sat in the corner by himself, not talking to anybody. A single bodyguard stood in the corner, trying not to affiliate himself with Harry. But Harry knew he was there for him. After all, he was in 4th grade. 

Recess came, and the long jump matches started. Harry raised his hand high in the air, eager to prove himself if he got picked. 

But as usual, he was picked last. 

He walked slowly away from the jeering schoolchildren, his head hung low. But one comment stuck with him: “Your royalty can’t buy you a say into the contest this time, Harry! You have to earn it fair and square!

“That’s right. Fair and square,” Harry muttered, lifting his head. He knew what he had to do. He had to prove himself. And that meant going for the Olympics. 

It was a bright and sunny morning. A cold draft blew through the ground, and the trees whistled. Birds chirped, and all was quiet save the sounds of nature.

Harry was a bit bleary-eyed, from having woken up so early, but he shook himself awake. 

He stared at the ground ahead of him and burst off in a full sprint. He leaped into the air in the last second and threw his arms forward.

Everything slowed down, and all Harry could see was his feet and the ground. He positioned himself properly and landed his feet with perfect precision.

After Harry’s training, the sun was barely poking over the trees. Harry quickly hurried to the gates, hoping to go inside before anybody could see that he was at the ground. 

As he got closer, he could make out the silhouette of Oliver the butler. He was closing the gates, locking them in place. The creaking sound filled the air, and Harry quickly sidled up against the walls. 

Oliver had already locked the gates and was dusting his hands off, muttering, “That should keep him out.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. Had his father put Oliver up to this?

But first, Harry had to get out of the ground before anybody saw him. 

He looked around for some type of ladder or plank to help propel him up but came up with nothing. 

Harry then looked at the walls. They had been weathered and cracked over the years, forming many chips and ledges. He grasped some of the ledges, and pulled himself up, using only his fingertips for leverage. 

He finally got over the wall, and his arms and legs ached. He then dropped down on the other side of the wall, landing as silently as he could. He headed back to his room, glad that he had averted a disaster. 

With only three months left for the Olympics, Harry knew that he had to attend the national competition. It was going to be a challenge, to sneak out without anybody knowing. His mother had also paid him a visit earlier, trying to persuade him to give up long jumping. 

Harry kept training at the crack of dawn every day, and practiced quietly in his room while he had a chance. 

He was feeling the effects of not having a coach now. He couldn’t tell what he was missing out on or what he needed to improve on. He didn’t daresay ask his parents for a coach, and knew he was on his own. 

He trained day and night, with only his goal in mind. 

The day had finally come. The British national championships were early in the morning, and Harry knew he had to sneak out before anybody saw. They could question him later, after he came home. 

Harry woke up the next morning, sweating heavily in bed. What if he didn’t make it? 

“Then I’m going to listen to my parents,” he promised himself.

Harry knew there were huge stakes today. 

He got up, stretched a little, and then wore some clad black clothes. Hopefully nobody would be able to see him. 

He tiptoed out of his room, and made his way to the side gate, where he could hopefully slip by.

“What do you think you are doing, sir?”

Harry was startled, and he whipped his head around, only to see Oliver the butler there. Why was he here, so early?

Harry knew he couldn’t explain why he was sneaking out so early. 

Hesitating and on edge, he told Oliver the truth.

“I’m going to attend the British national championships for the long jump. Please! Please let me go.”

Oliver stood there for a minute, taking it all in and contemplating what to do. 

He inched toward Harry’s parents’ rooms, his training kicking in. But then Oliver stopped. He hung his head low, disappointed in himself for betraying his masters. 

“Consider yourself lucky. I never saw you and you left before I woke up.”

With that, Oliver turned around and briskly walked away, fighting back whatever emotions he may had been having. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and headed out onto the street to grab a cab.

Harry was especially nervous at the competition. All the athletes were with their coaches, getting pep talks, while he stood around massaging his legs. He stood out like a sore thumb. 

At last, his turn came. Not many were watching him, probably thinking he was just at the competition for fun. 

He knew he had to prove himself; this was his only chance. If he failed, he didn’t want to think about the consequences. 

He knew he had to get the jump perfect.

Harry readied himself against the track, and burst off in a sprint. He leaped perfectly, and timid his landing precisely. He landed with a thud, his landing echoing throughout the stadium. 

Harry looked to the side. 8.9 meters. 

He looked up at the judges, who were conferring with themselves. 

“Invalid run,” one of them said.

“Foot passed the line,” another chimed in.

Harry hung his head in disbelief. What?

How could he have messed this up? He threw his head back in frustration, and was on the verge of screaming out in frustration when the judge’s voice filled the air. 

“Candidate will be allowed to retry on account of his exemplary performance.”

Harry pumped his fist into the air. 

He wouldn’t be given another chance, though. He would have to get it right this time around. 

This was the jump.

He sprinted as fast as he could, his feet kicking up dust as they thumped against the dirt. He made sure his foot was right behind the line-it was perfect-and put all his might into the jump, perfectly lifting his body. Not too tall that he would be only going up, but not too low that he wouldn’t have time to lift his legs. 

Everything went into slow motion, and various moments from Harry’s training flashed across his vision. He yelled out as he landed in a plume of dust, skidding to a stop. 

Once again, Harry looked to the side marker, praying that he had done well. 

9 meters.

The entire stadium burst into cheers, and Harry collapsed onto the ground, yelling out in joy. 

He couldn’t explain the feeling-it was a mixture of joy, pride, and satisfaction- all mixed into one. 

Harry wiped his tears away, and walked back to his seat. He was patted on the back by several other long jumpers on the way there, all congratulating him. 

Harry watched the rest of the competition, where nobody came as close to his jump. He had set a world record, after all. 

Even though Harry had reached his goals, he couldn't help but feel that he should have been with his father now, spending time with him. Harry shook that feeling off, and instead focused on what he had achieved.

Harry was so proud of himself. He swelled with pride, wrapping his brain around what he had done so far.

He was going to the Olympics.