CHAPTER TWELVE SAM

"He's a natural." I pointed to the track. Stuart's mother had come to pick him up and had brought Declan and Mary.

"He's halfway through the 400 right now," I said. I took a quick glance at my phone where I was timing him. "I've got him at a great pace." Mr. Rossi was also timing him and that would be the official time.

"Wow," said Mary, as she watched him. "I'm impressed. Look at him go." Mary was obviously pregnant. She looked huge.

"How come he's running by himself?" Declan asked.

"He's running for time," I said, keeping my eyes on Stuart as he ran through the halfway mark, heading toward the last bend. "Here he comes around the last corner!"

"Go, Stuart!" his mother yelled. Mary joined in and so did Declan. Soon they were all yelling for Stuart and he grinned (not sure how he could when he was running full tilt) as he crossed the finish line.

Mr. Rossi snapped his stopwatch, and I took my phone over to compare times.

Stuart now walked with his hands on his hips, head down, trying to catch his breath. His family surrounded him, telling him how great he had done. I watched him and something inside me expanded, like my heart was going to burst out of my skin. He'd worked hard, like really hard. Harder than I ever imagined he would or even could.

Mr. Rossi nodded at me as he showed me the time on the watch. "Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all. He's never practised and he had to run the other races at full tilt before running this. I'm impressed. One minute, five seconds. I bet he could get that time down to a minute flat if he trained and tapered. That would be pretty incredible for someone his age and size."

"Wow, that is fast," I said. "When I was his age, I was never below 60 seconds."

Stuart's mother came over to Mr. Rossi.

"Hello," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Stuart's mother and I want to thank you so much for allowing Stuart to be part of the program."

"I'm happy he's here." Mr. Rossi shook her hand. "He did well today."

"I'm so glad to hear that," she said.

"I think he's going to be an asset to our school team," said Mr. Rossi. Then he glanced at me. "Sam has agreed to be with him, so that will keep him focused."

He gestured for Stuart (who was still with Declan and Mary) to come over.

All three of them walked over to us. Mr. Rossi patted Stuart's shoulder. "Make sure you have a hot bath tonight. You ran a lot today."

"I run a lot every day."

"Maybe that's why you're fast," said Mr. Rossi with a smile. "Wish all my runners were like you. Make sure you stretch too."

"I can help him stretch," said Declan. "I read all kinds of fitness magazines."

"Sam stretches me," said Stuart. He held up his hand and I high-fived it.

"Declan can help you at home, Little Man," I said.

"Mary can't," said Stuart. "Her stomach is way too big to even bend over. She's having a baby."

"I can see that," said Mr. Rossi with a little grin. He turned to her and said, "Congratulations."

"We should get going," said Stuart's mother. "Let Mr. Rossi go home."

I helped Stuart gather his things and then we all walked to his mother's car.

"Why did you all come?" he asked his family.

"We were out shopping to buy a few things for the baby," said his mother. "And Declan needed a new pair of pants for work, so he tagged along."

"For work? You got a job?" Stuart asked Declan. "Like a real job?"

"I'm going to work at Best Buy every Saturday," Declan said with pride in his voice.

"Best Buy!" exclaimed Stuart. "You'll be surrounded by video games all day. I want a job. Maybe I can work there too."

"Stuart, I think this track and field will be enough for now," said his mother, putting her arm around him. "Maybe when you're older. Let's just focus on one thing, okay?"

"Okay. If I run in a real meet, will you come watch?"

"Of course!" His mother squeezed his shoulder. "All of us."

When we got to their car, I said goodbye and gave Stuart yet another huge high-five. That had to be…how many this afternoon? His mother in turn thanked me over and over, which got a bit embarrassing. I hadn't really done that much. Stuart was the one who ran.

As I walked home, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, wanting to tell someone about what had gone down at the track-and-field practice. I thought about sending something to Elma but, crap, she was my sister. Lame or what?

There was one person who I really wanted to tell. Bethany and I had exchanged numbers at the I Can Play event so that she could share the information on the Special Olympics practices with me. We had texted about that. But that's it, that's all.

Should I text her about this? Could I? She would understand how amazing the afternoon had been. Sure, Cecil was there and thought it was cool, and Stuart's family had shown up. But I wanted to tell her because it had been her idea.

I kept walking, tossing my phone from one hand to the next. A text would be nothing really. Just a text. About Stuart. More walking. More talking to myself. I wished I had a photo to send of Stuart. But I didn't take any. I'd been too immersed in his practice to take photos.

More walking. Come on, just send a text.

Finally, I got up the nerve.

Stuart had a great track and field practice thx for suggestion

I pressed send then stuffed my phone in my jacket. I hadn't taken more than five steps when my phone pinged. With fumbling hands, I yanked it out of my pocket, almost dropping it. I stopped to read the text.

that's so amazing

Thumbs flying, I typed: coach wants him to run in school meet

Wow when

soon end of next week

cool you should come to Special Olympics this week check out the track and field

might be too much for him? maybe just I should come

Good excuse to see her again. I waited for her answer.

Perfect. just you come he can come after his meet

I breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted me to come. Me! I hurried to send the next message.

k when where

She gave me the details (Friday night at the university indoor track) and I was about to pop my phone back in my pocket when I heard bike brakes screeching behind me.

"Yo, dude. You're in la-la-land." Cecil circled me on his bike, wearing a stupid grin on his face. "Who ya texting that you can't walk at the same time?

I shoved my phone in a pocket and started walking. "My mom."

"Seriously? Your mama makes you smile like that?" He popped his bike up, doing a wheelie. "I don't believe you." The bike popped back down, and he hopped off without missing a beat.

I shrugged. "It's not like I'm popular these days."

We walked in silence for a few steps, his bike sounding as if the chain could use some oiling. Finally, he spoke. "Hey, what you did for Little Man today was cool."

"Two-way street, bro."

****

For the next two days, I met up with Stuart after school and we headed out to the track to practise. I had made up programs which I discussed with Mr. Rossi, and together we tweaked what Stuart needed to do. Online programs helped me create his workouts. Stuart liked some of the stuff we did but not all of it, that was for sure. His attention span was limited.

"You said we could work with the blocks," he said on Thursday. He crossed his arms across his chest and scowled at me. "I'm not practising today unless we do the blocks." He planted his feet and held his stance. There was no way he was going to budge. I knew that look.

"Mr. Rossi doesn't think you need blocks."

Rossi wanted us to work on his fitness for a bit more before introducing the blocks. He even suggested that we might ditch the blocks altogether for the school meet and have him run without since he had joined late.

"You said I could try them. I don't want to do boring stuff again."

"Okay, okay," I said. There was a part of me that was worried I wasn't making the practices fun enough. He loved the racing but not the repetitive stuff.

"I'll see what I can do," I said. "Let's go talk to Mr. Rossi."

"I have to pee," he said.

"Okay. Go ahead. Meet me out at the track."

He nodded and turned to head back into the school.

I hustled out to the track, as in jogged, sort of. I talked to Mr. Rossi and explained the situation. He agreed but suggested we work alone, somewhere quiet to keep Stuart's focus.

About five minutes after talking to Mr. Rossi, I started to get worried. Where was Stuart? Had he left? Had he forgotten where we were to meet? Crap. I scanned the field, thinking maybe he'd stopped to talk to Cecil. But I couldn't see him. I headed to the back doors of the school, the ones we'd come out of, but he wasn't on his way back. My heart started thumping. Sweat popped out on my brow. Restroom. Maybe he was still sitting on the can. I rushed inside and checked the closest restroom, calling his name. No answer. No feet under the stalls either.

I hustled back outside. Where was he? I called his name. Once. Twice. Third time was like a loud croak. My heart sped up and was now hammering inside me. My stomach felt sick. I called out again.

My throat felt as if it was closing in on me. I almost couldn't breathe. How could he disappear so quickly? I'd only been gone seven, eight minutes, max.

I was about to turn around and head to the track area when I heard a familiar sound. That car! Coming from the street at the side of the school. I turned to see the blue car inching down the street away from the school. Where were the cops? I scanned the streets. Gone. Probably left just after three, when school ended. Had Stuart gone with him again?

Suddenly, Stuart appeared from around a big clump of shrubs, walking toward me.

"Where were you?" I asked, shaking from head to toe.

"I had to pee," he said.

"You should have gone in the school." My voice wobbled.

"Too far," he said. "I wanted to go behind that shrub."

"Was that Donatello's car I heard?

"I don't know no Donatello," he said.

"Okay, Donny."

"I dunno." He shrugged.

Did he hear the car? Did he not hear the car? I didn't want to push this or scare him or…send him running away, instead of running with the track team. I stared at him as he looked at his shoe and kicked the dirt. Was he lying to me?

"Wasn't Donny," he said.

Stuart wouldn't make eye contact with me. Okay. He was lying. "Little Man," I said. "Stay away from him. He could get you in a lot of trouble." I paused for a second. "Look at me," I said. When he did, I pointed to the track. "Mr. Rossi says it's okay for you to use the blocks. Want to get started?"

"Okay." His face lit up.

We walked back to the track and I picked up a set of blocks. Then I moved us to a quiet area. My hands were still shaking when I set the blocks up on the grass. After I showed him what to do, he practised over and over. He liked doing it too; this repetition was something he could focus on. He would burst out like a madman. His excitement calmed me down.

After around fifteen minutes, I said, "We should go check in with Mr. Rossi."

"Can I show him how good I am?"

"Sure," I said.

As we walked out to the track area, I kept searching for Dunn's car but it was gone. Stuart's parents needed to know about this. Out on the track, the runners were doing a fast-run/slow-run drill around the track.

"Can I do that?" Stuart asked.

"I don't see why not." Personally, I thought he should integrate with the other runners. After all, the school meet was only a week away. I talked to Mr. Rossi on Stuart's behalf and he was okay with him giving it a whirl. I took Stuart aside and talked to him.

"You have to listen for the whistle," I said. "When it blows, you run as fast as you can. When it blows again, you walk. You might go around the track a few times with this drill."

He nodded. "Okay."

He set up with the other kids and I watched closely to make sure no one was tripping him or talking down to him. I also watched that he listened. And he did. When the exercise ended, he came over to me.

"That was more fun than stretching," he said.

"You did great."

"I passed some kids," he said.

"Lots of them."

Mr. Rossi blew his whistle and called everyone in. I stood with Stuart who stood behind the group, barely able to see over everyone's heads. All the time that I had played sports, I had stood in the front of the pack to show the coach I was keen. Even though Stuart was the smallest kid in the group, he hung back, like that was his place. It was all I could do not to push him forward, but I didn't want to make a scene.

Mr. Rossi talked about the school meet, and how he would put up a sign-up sheet and how each runner got to pick up to three events. I already knew that Stuart would be able to handle the 100, 200, and 400. We would look for the sign-up sheet together, but he needed to fill in his name for himself, so it would give him a sense of ownership. Like, this was his thing.

I made sure I walked Stuart to the front of the school and waited with him until his mother came to pick him up. I kept looking up and down the street for any sight of Dunn, but he didn't reappear. I didn't want to alert Stuart's mother in front of him.

Stuart pointed to his mother's car, which had just pulled up. "There's my mom."

"Great work, today," I said. "Remember, no practice tomorrow. It's Friday. And we'll sign you up for three events tomorrow morning when the sheet goes up. I'll text your mom and get her to drop you off early so we can do that."

He nodded. Then we did our usual high-five and he took off for his mother's car. He was safe. I don't know why I felt like a weight was lifted, but I did.

Later that night I sent a message to Stuart's mother about no practice Friday, early sign-up, and times for next week. And about Dunn nosing around. She immediately texted me back, thanking me for the heads up.

****

The next morning, Stuart and I met, and he signed himself up for the 100, 200, and 400 metre races. I watched as he signed his own name, and this time I took a photo. Once I'd sent it to his mother, I also sent it to Bethany. She responded with a happy face that made me grin. The rest of the day became a bit of a blur for me as I had a big test in math and a group presentation in social. Lunch was a meeting with the group, so I didn't get to see Stuart again.

By the time the 3:00 bell let us out for the weekend, I was glad to get out of there. Plus, for the first time since I'd been out of the hospital, I had something to do on a Friday night that I was looking forward to.

Since the Special Olympics deal didn't start until 7:00 p.m., I sat down for dinner with my parents. Lately, Elma hadn't been around as much. I guess she'd gone back to having a life instead of playing the part of my personal nurse and checking up on me. Mom had made lamb and beef kebobs, which she served with pita bread, sour cream, and ajvar.

At dinner, we often talked Bosnian if Elma was around. Since Elma wasn't having dinner with us tonight, I tried to steer the conversation to English.

"Good dinner, Mom."

"Glad you like. Tonight you go out?" she asked.

I spooned some ajvar on pita. "Yup."

My mother frowned at me. "You say 'yup'. That not English."

"Yes, Mother. I. Am. Going. Out. Tonight. Is that better?" I slid the meat off the kebab and rolled up the pita.

"You being what is called a smart-aleck," said my father. He bit into his pita.

"Sorry," I said. Before I took a bite, I said, "I'm going out to a Special Olympics practice that they have in the city. I want to see if it would be something Stuart would like."

"Nice," said my mother. "How you hear about this?"

I pointed to my mouth. Chewing hunks of lamb could take a few seconds. Finally, I wiped my mouth with my paper serviette.

"I met a few people at the I Can Play event who work with some of the athletes. Might be okay to get involved." I shrugged. "I'll see tonight."

"Good," said my mother. "Tell about this Special Olympics."

I started spewing off information. "It's for people with intellectual disabilities. Like the kids in the Best Buddies group. They do all kinds of sports like track and field, basketball, badminton and even skating and skiing in the winter. Oh, and they do bocce, Dad."

"Bocce!"

I knew my dad had played a lot of bocce when he was in Bosnia.

"To je dobar sport," said my dad in Bosnian.

"Yeah, it's your kind of sport," I said, laughing.

"This good for you," said my mother. "Helping is good. In camp I teach children reading."

"I didn't know you did that," I said. Actually, I didn't know a lot of what had happened. Some. But obviously not everything. Elma talked a little about what it was like, eating rice day in and day out, and maybe having a little chicken and that would be a treat. It was weird for me to think my family had been in the camp, lived that sparse life for five years, without me even being born yet. Almost as if we were two separate families.

I had been told that when they were able to return to Bosnia, they lost their home because it was occupied, even though they owned it. They showed up at the front door and people were living in it and wouldn't leave. That's why they took such pride in our Canadian house.

Now it was my father's turn to wipe the red ajvar and dripping sour cream off his mouth. Kebabs were messy. He put his serviette down and said, "Your mother a good teacher."

"And you good at selling things," said my mother.

My father waved his hand in front of his face.

To make extra money for the family, my dad had sold "stuff" at flea markets. Elma told me she used to love going along with him when she was little and playing dress-up with some of the clothes he sold.

"That's a good skill to have, Dad."

"Yah, yah," he said, waving his hand in front of his face. "Not for me." We finished eating and I helped my mother with the dishes before I got my coat on to leave.

"You need ride?" my father asked.

"I'm okay. I can catch the bus."

"I drive," he said. He winked at me. "I want ice cream."

We got in the car and I plugged the address into my phone. We didn't talk a lot on the drive, but then my dad and I didn't actually talk a lot in general. Elma called him the "man of few words." It's just who he was.

"You have bucks for tonight?" he asked.

My dad had these slang words he had picked up when he arrived in Canada and they had stuck with him over the years. Bucks for money was one of them. "I've got a little," I said.

More silence. But it was comfortable. He pulled up outside the door to the sports arena.

Bethany stood by the doors, as if she was waiting for me. As soon as she saw us drive up, she waved.

"Ko je ta devojka?" My father peered out the window and I wanted to sink in the seat and slither out the back door. No go. He'd seen her now, and asked who she was.

"Um, Rekla mi je o programa." I had to tell him something and I made it easy by just saying she told me about the program.

"I won't tell Mother," he said, back to broken English. Then he gave me this weird fatherly slap on the back and a grin that made me almost roll my eyes. It was as if he was happy to be a part of some big secret.

"Appreciate that," I said. "And don't tell Elma either." "

Ne Elma," he said, laughing.

I got out of the car, shut the door, and waited for him to drive away.

When it was obvious he wasn't leaving ASAP, I headed over to Bethany.

"Hi," I said.

"I'm so glad you came." The corners of her mouth turned up and she glanced over at my father in the car that still hadn't moved. "Um, is that your dad?"

"Yeah. Let's move inside. He'll leave then."

I held the door open for her or else I would have gotten a lecture about manners when I got home. Once inside I finally exhaled.

"I'm so glad you came," she said. As she walked, I swear she bounced on her toes. She wasn't tall, but she was definitely compact. Her hair was up in a ponytail and it swung back and forth. "You're going to love the athletes."

"I like that you call them athletes," I said.

"Because they are. Wait until you see what they can do. How's Stuart, by the way?"

"He's doing great. Next week is our school meet. On Thursday. Today we put his name down to be in three events, so he should stay busy."

"Our program winds down a bit in the summer, unless the athletes are competing at a championship. Maybe you can get him out here once the school meet is over. It's a little more forgiving here, mostly in practice, but there are rules as well. Many are the same."

We walked down a few halls, then through a door, and suddenly I was in the indoor track and there were kids doing all kinds of activities; sprinting at one end of the track, hurdle running on the other. High-jumping in one corner. Even weight-lifting in another corner.

"Wow," I said. "I thought you said tonight was just track and field."

She laughed. "Oh, that's Ben. He lifts all the time so we just give him a little space to work. He's a champion—wins all kinds of medals."

"Incredible," I said.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." She nodded her head.

The hour flew by and I mainly just hung out with Bethany, almost like her shadow, and watched her coach the runners through starts. She was firm, funny, and…they loved her.

Some used the blocks and others didn't. It was up to each athlete to decide. From watching, I knew that Stuart would be as good as any of them with his natural stride and endurance.

At the end of the time, I helped put the equipment and mats away.

"So, what'd you think?" Bethany asked.

"This would be great for Stuart. How did you get to be a coach?" I asked.

"You have to take a course and there are levels to go through, just like any coaching certification. It's not hard, just time consuming. It's a few weekends here and there." She smiled and her eyes shone. For some reason my face heated up. I had to look away.

All night I'd been thinking about how I could ask her to go to a coffee shop with me after this was all over. It was only 8:30. We could go for an hour. Talk. But I felt like my tongue was swollen even though I'd already googled coffee shops on campus and found one open.

"Um," I started. That's as far as I got before one of Bethany's athletes, a girl named Dawn, came up and wrapped her arms around her waist. "That was fun," she said. She had been born with Down syndrome. Bethany hugged her back.

"You did great tonight, Dawn," said Bethany. "I loved how you worked as hard as you could." Then she pulled away and looked over at me. "Did you meet my friend?"

Dawn looked up at me. She probably was only four feet tall. "Is he your boyfriend?" she asked.

Bethany's face instantly turned red. Mine too. In fact, this time my flush travelled from my neck, to my face, to the ends of my ear lobes. My whole head felt as if it had been stuck in a hot oven to bake. I tried to duck and just casually look around.

"He's my friend," said Bethany, speaking for both of us. Bethany looked into the distance and pointed. "Your sister is here to pick you up."

After Dawn left with her sister, Bethany said, "Well, that was awkward."

I laughed. "Sure was." It was now or never. "You, um, want to go for coffee somewhere?" There! I'd got it out. Now I waited. Please say yes.

She looked at me, all calm and casual, and smiled. "Sounds good to me."

We found the coffee shop, after a few wrong turns. It was a place where, after coffee hours, musicians played. Tonight there was a girl with long hair playing her guitar and singing some Adele song. We found a table and I ordered a Coke and Bethany ordered a fruit drink.

At first, we didn't say much of anything beyond commenting on our drinks and I was starting to feel as if things were going horribly and that I sucked at doing this kind of thing because, well, I'd never really done it before. Girls had always just come to me and we hung out at school for awhile, then hung out at parties, then at our houses, and eventually we just became an item. And really, there had only been Traci and Rachel, and both of them had lasted all of a month each. Sports had been my focus.

This seemed so different, sitting in a coffee shop, talking about something besides our school, and our school basketball team, and so-and-so, and so on.

"So," she said, leaning back in her chair. "What's your favourite movie?"

In all my time at home, moping around, I'd read about this game in one of Elma's magazines. It was supposedly a good way to get to know your "date." I think the magazine had been Cosmopolitan. But this wasn't really a "date." I was pretty sure I wasn't going in for the first kiss. Although, right now, looking at her across from me, I'd like that to happen. This girl was different, and instead of being the typically "hot" one, she had spunk and energy, which I really, really liked.

I forced myself to think about the question. I had a ton of favourite movies. Mostly funny ones like Wedding Crashers and 40-Year-Old Virgin and Yes, Man. But then I thought of another one I'd watched with Elma and my parents because my dad loved it, and it left me thinking. Maybe it would impress her.

"It's a really old one," I finally said, "but The Green Mile." "I've never heard of that one," she said.

Okay, so I'd bombed. Tried to be too intellectual or something. "I think you'd like it," I said quickly. "It's a Stephen King movie, but it's a drama, not a horror movie." Then I asked, "What's yours?"

She grinned. "I'm going to sound super shallow but Wedding Crashers." She laughed. "It is hilarious. I also loved Bridesmaids. I've watched it so many times."

I slapped my forehead. "I was going to say Wedding Crashers," I said.

"Well, you didn't. And I did." She gave me a playful little smirk, and tilted her head. "I have another question."

"Shoot," I said. I figured she was going to ask me about my favourite food and I was ready to say pizza.

But she said, "Tell me about your family, Mr. Sokolovic. Oh, and by the way, if you don't know, my last name is Phong." This time she grinned. "It's always good to know a girl's last name."