“You can’t jump that far.”
“Can too.” He skipped backward, gaining distance before the big leap–the jump that would make him the hero of summer in his friends’ eyes.
“He’s just going to do a belly-flopper.”
He glared into the sun but at no one in particular. “Watch me.”
His muscles bunched, and he sprang forward. Tripping across the turf, bare soles scraping the wooden diving board. Five steps, four.
Three and his heart raced out of control.
Two and his mouth went dry.
One and he gulped back a scream.
Sailing through the air, dropping toward the clear water, that tube in his sight. Stretching his body, reaching for that floating bulls-eye. Water rushing up and his skin meeting rubber. A cheer from his friends on the bank and victory in his heart.
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