Gravity is stupid.

When I’m on the ground, I’m in everybody’s way. I’m big and clumsy and careless. I can’t sit still and be patient. Dix calls me a nuisance. But up here in zero-g, things are different. Up here, I am the best. Better than the rest of my age group. Better than the preteens even.

I speed past Diego, push in front of him just as the ball floats over to us, and grab it away from him. I am the best at interceptions. I let out a whoop and push off of him, backwards, away from the goal.

Anusha notices. She notices everything. “You’re going the wrong way!”

When I was little, I would have yelled back at her. I know! It’s part of my plan! But now I stay quiet and just do my plan. I float away from Diego, towards the wall, ball under my arm like in Earth football. I swing my legs around as the wall gets closer. I just feel just my toes touch the wall, then just the part behind my toes. In that second, I look at the other kids, bodies floating, flying every which way, I see a path, and I push off. I don’t even let my heels touch, just the fronts of my feet. I launch myself at the goal. I am the best at launching.

I can see the path I’m on like I drew it on a map. Past Emily, flying over from my left. Past Vinayak, trying to push off of a smaller kid so he can chase me. Past Ethan, stuck spinning in place again. Then to Anusha. She is my best friend, but she is not on my team, so she is my enemy. She is younger than me, and smaller than me, and she is dangerous.

Anusha always has good plans. Right now, hers is to wait by the air vent. When I start to fly close to her, she jumps in front of the vent, and the wind makes her speed towards me. I try and make myself go faster in my mind, but you can’t make yourself go faster once you’ve pushed off. You just go until something stops you. Right now, Anusha wants to stop me. The wind pushes her closer and closer, straight towards me. I try and squirm away, but there’s nothing to push off of and nowhere to go. Her arms are both out to grab me. We’re going to crash.

I have a new plan. Instead of trying to push away, I grab for her too. I put both arms around her, and shout so everyone can hear. “Give me a hug! I love you!!!” Kids laugh and Anusha bursts into giggles, and that’s when I push her away. It halfway works. She lets go with one hand, and I get my left hand free, the one with the ball. She grabs for my arm, but I spin away too fast, and the two of us start to spin together, me flying away from her, her chasing me, except around and around in a circle, my free hand waving away, and her free hand grabbing at me. We spin and spin, and I try and time it just right. I squeeze my hand and let the ball fly away.

Instead of doing a spiral (I am the best at spirals), the football flops through the air, end over end, wobbling towards the goal. Anusha squeaks out, “stop!” but it’s already gone. I turn my head back to watch, and it’s going in the right direction. Momentum will carry it straight through the goal. If the net wasn’t there, and the wall, momentum would carry it all the way back to Earth. We learned in science about how nothing ever slows down in space.

Except between it and the goal is Alondra. One of the oldest kids. The tallest kid. She just floats there, smiling, hands ready to catch the ball that’s slowly wobbling over to her. My stupid plan didn’t work. But Anusha and I spin around again, arm in arm, and I come up with a new plan.

I spin around with Anusha a few more times, and then I throw her at Alondra. On the ground, she’s taller than me, even though she’s eight and I’m nine, but up here that doesn’t matter. I’m bigger. I’m stronger. So I push her away and she goes fast. She waves her arms around, trying to grab onto something, but she’s already flying away.

“No fair! No faaaaair!” she shouts as she flies towards the goal. Her braid whips back and forth as she looks at me, then the goal, then me. Her arms wave around, trying to grab something, but there’s only air and she keeps floating away. Behind her I see Alondra bracing herself, trying to see if she can catch Anusha with one hand and the ball with the other. Anusha’s still yelling at me when she catches up to the ball, which hits her in the back. She twists herself around, grabbing for it, but too late, as she crashes into Alondra, and the two girls and the ball crash into the net in a tangle of arms and legs. The siren goes off. Touchdown. I am the best.