Fingertip Tap

Frozen mid-leap, holding a heavy crouch—until my left hand actually twitched. Wait. That wasn't just locked plastic. I pressed my fingertips straight down against the glossy surface under me. A sharp little tap clicked against the flat board. The skyscrapers didn't blur past, and the golden clouds stayed perfectly still. I eased my weight forward, testing the ankle joint, and traced the slick edge of the print where it met the carpet fibers. Still holding the crouch, sure, but now I'm the one holding it.