RUSTY got up. He wasn't hurt. He brushed the dirt off his clothes. He swallowed and pressed his lips tightly together.
Just then a voice from the direction of the barn broke the stillness of the night.
“Rusty! Rusty! Wait for me!”
Joby's voice.
“I'm up here, Joby,” he replied. “Wait! I'm coming down.”
He could see Joby running swiftly toward the bridge. Carefully, Rusty climbed down the hill. He reached the bottom and walked out of the shadows. Joby came running toward him.
“Rusty!” he shouted. “What were you doing up there?”
“I wanted to take the shortcut,” said Rusty, ashamed. “Nobody else ever had trouble climbing that hill.”
“But it's night!” said Joby. “It's hard to see.”
“I know,” replied Rusty. “Guess that's why I fell. If it hadn't been for a tree, I might have rolled all the way to the bottom.”
“You fell?” Joby's voice pierced the night air. “You sure were nutty trying to climb that hill! Come on. Let's take the road. I'm going home, too.”
They walked to the paved road and followed it around the hill. Lights on poles blazed the way.
“Joby,” said Rusty suddenly, “please don't tell anybody I tried to climb the hill.”
“Don't worry,” said Joby. “I won't. But you were really nutty to do it!”
They reached the houses on top of the hill. Lights glowed in windows. Smoke curled out of chimneys, faded into the dark sky.
Joby's and Rusty's homes were across from each other.
“Goodnight, Joby,” said Rusty.
“Goodnight, Rusty.”
The instant Rusty walked into the kitchen he looked at his pants. Horror came over him. They were covered with dirt! There were even bits of twigs and leaves sticking to his clothes.
Quickly, he began brushing them off. But he wasn't improving things. The dirt was bouncing onto the clean, polished floor. If Mom —
He started to go back out. Just then his mother appeared from the dining room.
“Rusty! Heavens! What are you doing? And where in glory's name have you been?”
Rusty trembled and stammered out his story.
Her blue eyes softened. Rusty hoped she'd smile, too, but she didn't.
“Get the clothes brush, step outside, and get yourself cleaned,” she ordered. “And then sweep up this floor. After that, you'd better take a bath.”
Rusty did all those things. Afterwards, his mother showed him a letter they had received from Marylou, Rusty's sister. She was a sophomore at State Teachers College.
He read the letter. There were a lot of words, but as far as Rusty was concerned she hardly said anything.
Rusty didn't go to the barn again until Saturday afternoon. First he made sure no one was there. He took his own basketball and began playing all by himself.
He dribbled and shot from different spots on the floor. His shots were either too short or far to the left or right of the basket. He tried jump shots and realized he could hardly get off the floor.
Anger built up inside him. Why couldn't he run faster? Why couldn't he jump? Why did he have to be different from other boys? Why did it have to happen to him?
“Hello!” a voice said behind him.
He dropped the ball. He spun, and almost lost his balance.
“Oh! Hi!” he said. His heart thumped. “Hi, Mr. Daws!”