Wyne and Song by Donna Michaels Page A

I’m sure.” She smiled down at Johnny. “And that was some throw. My hand is still stinging.”
    His little chest puffed up as pride washed through his features. “Coach said to work on power, then we’ll practice aim.”
    “But you threw it too high over my head, Johnny, and you know I don’t jump good,” the other boy grumbled. Aggravation erased the smile from his face.
    “Don’t jump well,” his grandfather corrected.
    The little boy nodded, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stared down at his sneaker. “Yeah. I’m no good at that, either.”
    The dejection in his tone and slump of his rounded shoulders tugged deep. Her heart squeezed. Before thinking twice, she knelt in front of him and dipped to catch his gaze. “I don’t believe that. Practice helps. How do you think I was able to catch that ball?”
    “Practice?”
    Actually, it was from training in movement, stage fights, and dance, but they all required hours and hours of practice over many years. She nodded. “Yep. Practice and hard work. That’s the secret to doing anything well.”
    “Like pitching,” Johnny said.
    “And jumping.” The little boy smiled.
    She nodded. “Yes.” Happy to see joy return to his gaze.
    “And being a Jedi.” The adorable girl snapped into a Jedi pose very similar to a baseball batter stance.
    Laughing, she rose to her feet. “Tell you what, why don’t you all show me how you jump, and I’ll teach you a trick to jump higher.”
    “That’s mighty nice of you,” the man remarked, sitting down on the bench. “I’ll keep this warm for you.”
    “Yay,” the kids chorused, jumping up and down like three little jumping beans, each trying to outdistance the other.
    After a minute of watching, she gathered the beans around and showed them how she jumped, from techniques she learned playing volleyball in high school, and dance lessons.
    “Holy cow! How’d you do that? Show me how you did that,” the boys said in tandem, while the little girl grabbed her hand and jumped. “Yeah, show me, too.”
    Phoebe chuckled. “Okay. Form a line.”
    The kids immediately scrambled into position.
    “Feet flat on the ground and in line with your shoulders. Keep your arms down at your sides while you squat just a little, like a half-squat.” She demonstrated, and they mimicked her movements. “Remember to keep your arms down before you start to jump, not in front of you or above your head. You’re going to use them to help you jump higher.”
    The children nodded, in their half-squat positions, arms at their sides, resembling a pack of gorillas. She smiled. They were good at following directions, unlike a few actors she knew who could learn a thing or two from the children.
    “What’s next?” Johnny asked.
    “I want you to visualize the jumps in your head. See yourself pushing off with your feet and reaching for whatever your goal is, baseball, volleyball, the basketball hoop, Frisbee.”
    The little girl smiled. “Fireflies?”
    Did they fly really high? “I guess so, hun. I never caught any.”
    The children straightened to blink at her.
    “You never caught a lightning bug?” Big brown eyes stared up at her in disbelief.
    She shrugged. “Nope. Don’t have any in the big city.”
    “Well, there’s tons here. You should come out to the fire pit around back tonight and I’ll show you how.”
    It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, but the thought of actually seeing one in the night sky was too tempting. “Okay, it’s a deal, if you continue to practice your jumping.”
    “Deal,” he said, then surprised her with a quick hug around her waist.
    Shock rippled through her at the sweet gesture, but before she could respond, the little boy released her and got back into his half-squat position.
    “What comes next?” he asked.
    His two friends joined him, all watching her, waiting for direction.
    “As soon as you crouch and quickly visualize the jump, you spring upward from the balls of your feet,