Sam was sitting on the front porch steps. Coach barely had time to stop the car before I was out and running. “Where have you been?” I cried. “Where’s Penny?”

Sam’s teeth were chattering.

Coach unlocked the front door. “Let’s go inside and get warmed up.”

While Coach made hot chocolate, I sat beside Sam at the kitchen table, waiting to hear what had happened.

Finally, she said, “Penny’s at the vet’s. A barbed-wire fence was down and she got tangled up and cut her leg.”

“Will she be okay?”

“The vet thinks so. I’ll get Dad to take the trailer and pick her up tomorrow.”

“Your parents are worried,” Coach said. “You have to call and let them know you’re okay.”

Sam scowled. “I was running away, but Penny got hurt.”

I reached under the table for Sam’s hand and held on tight.

“You and Penny are safe now,” Coach said. “That’s what counts.”

Unlike at my house, Coach’s phone hung on the kitchen wall. She handed the receiver to Sam. “Allie and I will be waiting for you in the den.”

I knew giving Sam privacy was the right thing to do, but I hated leaving her alone. Mrs. Johnson might say something to hurt Sam even more. She wouldn’t mean to. It was like Coach said: she only wanted what was best for Sam, but she didn’t understand. Not one bit.

Sam’s eyes were red when she joined Coach and me in the den. “My dad will be here in about fifteen minutes.”

Coach picked up our empty mugs. “I’ll wash these and give the two of you a chance to talk.”

Sam sat down beside me on the couch. “I’m gonna quit basketball,” she said.

“But why?”

“So Mom will leave Coach alone. We made a deal.”

I remembered Coach saying Sam had the potential to be a standout in high school. “But you love basketball, and you’re so good at it.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know what else to do. But I’m pretty athletic. I can pick up a different sport.”

Then I told Sam about Mom. How she was disappointed. About Mom’s fears for me and how she cried. “I need to give her some time to accept that I’m not exactly the daughter she hoped for.”

“Guess that means we won’t be seeing each other outside of school,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I don’t see how that would work.” Ribbit, ribbit.

Sam reached for my hand. “Ribbit, ribbit,” she answered.

We sat with tears running down our cheeks until her dad arrived. Sam got up and trudged over to the door. “’Bye, Allie. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you even more.”