I was one of the last people in my second-grade class to lose my two front teeth. There was nothing I wanted more than to sport that gummy gap for a couple of weeks. Fortunately, my best friend from down the street, Julia, was also still in possession of her two front baby teeth, and I felt better when she was around. The school year was almost over, and neither of us had had any luck getting even a single tooth to feebly wiggle in its socket. All that changed when Julia reached into her mouth out of habit as we lay in the overgrown grass one day and found that one of hers was loose.

It was then and there that I felt a fiery competitive spirit swell within me, and by the time Julia went home for dinner, we had made a bet: whoever was the first to lose their front teeth would be in charge of our play dates for the rest of the summer. I was determined to win.

I lost my first one the following week as I bit forcefully into my corn on the cob at dinner. I was so excited that I even ate the rest of my blood-streaked ear of corn. As soon I had cleared my plate I ran down the street to Julia’s house and jammed my thumb into the doorbell. When she opened the door we grinned at each other, both revealing a single gap. She had lost her first that night too. We each had one tooth left and were more determined than ever.

Some days later, I was circling the driveway on my blue Razor scooter. It was almost dusk. My dad was finishing up mowing the lawn, his sweaty T-shirt hanging from the waistband of his shorts. As if in slow motion, the front wheel of my scooter wedged itself into the deep crack in the concrete that I was always careful to avoid. My momentum launched me forward, and I landed face-first on the driveway with a sickening crunch.

My scream was loud enough to be heard over the grumbling mower, which my dad abandoned as he rushed to my aid. I lay crumpled next to my fallen scooter, my lip busted and the tears flowing.

My dad pulled me to a sitting position to assess the damage. As he examined my lip, he noticed that my gums were bleeding too. He looked around for a moment and picked a small white object off the ground: my tooth!

I smiled through my tears, finally showing off the coveted gap. My dad scooped me up and carried me inside, my blood and tears mixing with the sweat on his torso. In the end, that was what it took to win the bet – blood, sweat, and tears.