Cupcake came out of the school, saw Danny, and broke into a grin. Cupcake walked over to him, put his arm around Danny’s back, and gave him a squeeze. “Bro, you don’t know how lucky you were to miss those sprints.”

Danny tried to explain to his best friend that he’d been thinking the same thing and why it just wasn’t true. Cupcake gave him a knowing smile. “Aw, c’mon. Stop kidding me. Hey, there’s my brother. Let’s go.”

Cupcake helped Danny up into Herman’s truck and then handed in his crutches before circling around to the other side where he got into the passenger front seat.

“How’s the foot, Danny?” Herman looked at him in the rearview mirror.

“Pretty sore.” Danny liked the way that sounded now, better than when he’d answered his coach.

“Yeah. I bet.” Herman put the truck in gear and held up his left hand. “Had one of those myself once. Hairline fracture in my hand. Nothin’ they could do, so I taped it up, took some Advil, and just kept milkin’ the cows.”

Danny was horrified that he somehow looked soft. “I think it’s different with your foot.”

Cupcake glared at his brother. “Yeah, it’s different with your foot. You can’t even walk if it’s your foot. Right, Danny?”

“That’s what the doctor told me.” Danny felt a wave of gratitude for Cupcake. “He said stay off it for five weeks until he sees me or I might mess it up and not be able to run again.”

“Herman. He’s Danny Owens. He’s headed to the NFL. We’re not talking about milking cows.”

Herman glanced at his brother. “Milkin’ cows put that shirt on your back, you little turd.”

“I’m not saying anything bad about milking cows. I’m just saying that Danny is on a different program. His arms and legs and feet, those are his cows.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Herman sulked until they got into town. “Hey, you guys want an ice cream?”

“Sorry, I can’t. I gotta get right to Ms. Rait’s. Would you mind dropping me there first, Herman?”

“Sure thing.” Herman went straight through the light, past the houses in town, drove another half mile, and pulled into Ms. Rait’s driveway. “Hey, Danny. I didn’t mean nothin’ bad about the tape and me keepin’ on workin’. I was just makin’ small talk is all.”

“No, I know.” Danny slid out of the back door and slipped on his backpack before steadying himself on the crutches. “Thanks for the ride, Herman. Thanks, Cupcake.”

Cupcake seemed pleased that the air was clear. “Hey, let’s get online later and kill some zombies, huh? I’ll ask Janey, too.”

“Sounds good.” Danny shut the door and watched them drive off in a cloud of dust. When he turned toward the house, he came face-to-face with Mrs. McGillicuddy.

“Well, hello.”

The cat gave a yowl and then wove in and out of his legs, purring insistently.

“I’d pick you up,” Danny said looking down at the cat, “but I’m handicapped.”

“That word is offensive.”

Danny looked up to see Ms. Rait standing on the porch looking down at him. His face felt hot. “I . . . I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I thought they have handicapped parking, so . . .”

Ms. Rait didn’t seem angry. “Yes. I call it ‘accessible parking.’ That’s what it is, don’t you think?”

Danny thought about it for a minute. “Yes. I do.”

“In England, the term ‘disabled’ isn’t considered offensive, but I don’t like that either because I’m quite able.” Ms. Rait seemed almost happy to talk about it. “I think of myself as ‘using a crutch’ even though I’ll probably always use it, whereas you’ll hang them on your garage wall in a few weeks.” She paused, then said, “Well, come on. We have a lot to do.”

Ms. Rait held the door for Danny, which embarrassed him, so he tried to move quickly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. McGillicuddy scooted inside before Danny with her belly swaying.

In the kitchen, there were two glasses of iced tea on the table along with a stack of papers. Mrs. McGillicuddy waited beneath Danny’s chair, her puffy white tail swishing like a feather duster.

“Sit right down.”

Danny leaned his crutches against the wall and did as he was told. Ms. Rait sat across from him and reached down into the book bag at her feet. She pulled out a paper airplane and slid it across the table at him. Danny had a sinking feeling as he unfolded it to see the word list.

“I . . . uh . . .”

She smiled at him. “That’s okay. You didn’t need it then, did you?”

“I didn’t think so,” he said quietly, reaching down to scratch Mrs. McGillicuddy’s ears.

“Librarians always cover their English teachers’ backs.” She sipped her tea and then set it down with a thump. “Ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Danny smoothed the paper.

“From the top.” She pointed at the sheet of sight words, then pushed a piece of scrap paper and a pencil across the table. “The ones you don’t know, I’ll tell you, and you’ll write them out five times.”

They launched right into it. She pushed him like a coach, demanding and no-nonsense. His brain felt like a sneaker in the clothes dryer: spinning, turning, thumping, and finally heating up. He looked at the clock, then at the word she was pointing to.

“I . . .” He shook his head and winced. “I don’t know. I can’t.”

“Yes you do, and you can.” She raised her voice ever so slightly.

He clenched his teeth and pounded a fist on the table, rattling a spoon and the top to the sugar bowl. “How can you say that? You don’t know what I know.”

She sat back and crossed her arms. “Is that what you say to Coach Kinen when he tells you to get him five yards? You can’t?”

“You’re not—”

“Not what?” She raised an eyebrow. “Not a coach? Let me tell you something. I’m the most important coach you’ll ever have.”

She pointed to the sheet of words again. “You know ‘all,’ and we went through all the variants: ‘tall,’ ‘wall,’ ‘call,’ ‘fall,’ and ‘ball.’”

“Yeah, I know.” Danny stared at the word until his vision got cloudy.

“And you learned ‘moon,’ ‘soon,’ ‘goon,’ and ‘noon’ because they all have o-o-n, which makes the ‘oon’ sound. Now, this is the core of your problem, and we are going to beat that problem, but I need you to do this. Put those two things together. Look at that word: b-a-l-l is what?”

“Ball?”

“Yes! Now keep going. Add the o-o-n sound to it.” She was as excited as a football coach, he had to give her that.

“Ball-oon.”

“Say it fast!” She nodded vigorously.

“Ball-oon, bal-loon, balloon!” A light went on. He jumped up out of his seat and raised his arm and spiked an imaginary football, as if he’d just scored a touchdown. “Balloon! Haha!”

“That’s reading, Danny! You’re reading!”

Danny sat back down and Mrs. McGillicuddy jumped up into his lap with a yowl and they laughed together.