House music echoed in the gymnasium. I turned and heard a voice squeaking out of the coordinator's headset. She pushed her headset's thin mike to her lips and winked at me. "Ready for the blue bomber?"

I ran my fingers inside the elastic waistband one more time. It was like mounting a tire on a rim. A push from the back and I was out on the catwalk. I felt my stomach bounce and collapse over the waistband, again. My whole body pulsed from head to toe. I tried timing my steps with the thumping bass, but every time my foot rose the bass would hit, and when I returned it to the floor the only sound I heard was the hollow thump of my size thirteen's on the paper-thin stage.

I saw professor Sigmund Marshall, the man responsible for this charitable event, reclining in his seat. It was family night, an evening kicked off with the professor delivering a speech on the selflessness of teachers and the lengths they go for kids. The money raised at the charity auction that night was to purchase books for the newly expanded library constructed in his name. His mantra was "Teachers show so kids can know."

I reached the end of the catwalk knowing I was halfway home. The crowd was on its feet. That same woman still stood on her chair cranking her arm in the air, the dog pound barking behind her. I could have been mistaken, but she looked like the PTA president. I decided to spin on one foot as I turned to make my return. The intention was good, the execution, not. The look of Mr. Marshall's arched eyebrow the moment I lifted my hands in mock pirouette was priceless. I visualized my five-year-old and how she made a little bounce before she spun herself around in ballet class.

I bent my knees, swung my arms, and gave a little more than I should have. The spin part was good, but I should not have thrust so. My momentum lifted me and dropped me on the platform with such force that I broke through and landed on the gymnasium floor.

The cheers stopped and a collective hush spread like honey on toast. I looked around and thought how obvious it was that I had fallen through. There's just no support in these catwalks! Why, look! They are paper-thin!

I crawled on my hands and knees and understood that while my pride felt like crap, my body was actually unharmed. I poked my head through the opening like a groundhog and everyone screamed with relief. The music kicked back on and the woman standing on the chair was leaning her head way back hollering "woo-hoo!"

I slinked back stage, tail between my legs.