Winning Is Everything

         It didn't matter to me what people thought about my hair. It didn't matter to me what people thought about my face. It didn't matter to me what people thought about my clothes. It didn't matter to me what people thought about my body. It only mattered that I won.
         I knew that I would win. There was no way I couldn't have lost. My skill had improved so much since the last tournament, the idea of not getting first, a failure in my book, was inconceivable. I took my turn, laid down what I was sure was a first place performance and waited to be recognized for my skills.
         Well, it never came. Third place was announced. I saw that girl compete and she was good, but I knew I was better. Second place too. But when my name wasn't read off for first place I didn't understand. How did I not win? I did the best of anyone. I did the best I'd ever done, but I didn't win? That couldn't be possible, the judges must have made a mistake, some mathematical error so insignificant that no one caught it.
         I screamed at my trainer that she needed to talk to the judges to fix what had happened. She told me to stop whining like a toddler and accept that I didn't win. I hated her for that, and informed her of that. She told me to either grow up or find someone new to teach me. I said that it couldn't be hard to find a better trainer than her and stormed off in what I 'knew' was an impressive manner.
         I didn't know I was crying until someone told me that not everyone can be a winner and it wasn't worth crying over. I hated that person too, but I didn't care enough to tell them so. The just shook their head at me as I walked off, pouting like a three year old who didn't get the second helping of pudding they had wanted.
         I sat down on some bleachers and pouted for a while longer. No one else bothered me for what felt like hours. I wanted someone to come talk to me and to tell me that I was right. Someone to tell me I should've won the gold medal, the silver medal and the bronze. But no one did. Someone did come and talk to though. She did me a greater favor than to humor me in my childish rage.
         The girl must've only been about seven, and even though I was only eight and a half, we both 'knew' I was a lot more important than she was. She sat down next to me and was quiet for a while. Then she handed me my participation ribbon, which I promptly threw as far away from as I could. She went and picked it up for me and brought it back to me. Acting younger than her, I threw it again, and like before she brought it back. I threw it a third time but she just looked at me.
         "I don't want to get it this time. It's your turn." She twirled the lollipop stick protruding from between her lips. I waited because I thought she would go pick it up anyway, like a faithful puppy dog, but she didn't, she just sat there, twirling her lollipop and looking at me with her big crystal blue eyes.
         "Why aren't you getting it?" I demanded angrlly of her, crossing my arms.
         "I said I don't want to get this time. So I'm not going to. It's your ribbon. Mine's in my pocket." She pulled out the satiny blue ribbon that said 'Thank you for participating' in shiny gold lettering. "I really like this color, don't you?" She asked, fondly stroking the ribbon.
         "I guess it's a pretty color, but I like gold medals better than stupid blue ribbons." I really didn't care about the medals anymore, I just wanted to impress the little girl by having higher goals than she did.
         "You know what?"She asked, looking innocently up at the clouds passing overhead. She didn't wait for me to answer. "I'd love to have a gold medal, but I'm not good enough to yet. I just have to work harder to get one."
         "Well I am good enough to get one, but the judges did something wrong." I snapped back, hoping she'd agree with me, but she just totally ignored what I said.
         "I'm really happy with how I did today though. I've gotten so much better from last year. My points went up a ton. If I get that much better again, maybe I'll win next year." I didn't know what to say to her. She was younger than me and yet I knew she was right. She looked at me with her crystal blue eyes again and asked me one more question. "Did you do good today too?" I still couldn't find any words.
         We sat there, quiet for a while, before I got up and picked up my ribbon. The little girl followed me down off the bleachers to pick it up.
         "I gotta go now, my mommy's probably looking for me. Maybe we can be friends. My name's Amy White." I told her my name and she gave me a hug. "I'll see you here next year right, Laurel?" I said I would definitely be there next year and I would win, but I didn't say it because I knew I was good enough to then, but because I knew I could work hard enough to be for next year. "I'm gonna win too. We can both win, okay? Bye!" She ran back toward the mass of people, her black pigtails bobbing joyfully.
         She made me realize that I did win that day. Maybe not a medal, maybe not getting my name read off over the loudspeaker, but I did do my best. That made me a winner, not a medal.

Word Count: 1000 words flat, and not one wasted.