CHAPTER FOURTEEN SAM

Where was he going?

"Stuart!" I called, but he just kept running.

Oh, man. Had the gun spooked him? I had totally forgotten about how Mr. Rossi practised with the gun a couple of days before the meet. He'd done the same thing every year. Who knows what Stuart had been through when he was little? Maybe someone had shot a gun in one of the other houses he lived in before being adopted by the Williams family. The kid had been fostered in some good homes but also in some really bad homes too. Plus, his home with his real mother must have been awful. His mother had tried to drown him. Who does that?

I had to do something.

"I'll go get him," I said to Mr. Rossi.

I started off jogging when really I wanted to run full tilt. I hated this heart thing. I couldn't do anything. Like, anything. I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists to stop myself from running all out. My insides felt choked and my head throbbed.

I could still see Stuart up ahead, so I called to him again. He did look over his shoulder as if he'd heard me, so I waved at him. He stopped and looked around. I kept jogging, but I also glanced around. What was he looking for? He cranked his head and seemed to be scanning the streets, up and down. Then he dove under a bush.

"Stuart! Stay there!"

I continued my slow jog over to him. Every time I increased my speed, I started panting so I slowed down. Fortunately, he wasn't moving from under the bush.

Stay there. Stay there. Please, stay where you are. I kept muttering to myself as I walked. Finally, I reached the bush and squatted down, flipping up a branch. He was sitting with his arms around his legs, rocking back and forth.

"Hey," I said, trying to act normal and subdued instead of panicked. "Come on out."

He looked at me, then he crawled out from under the bush.

"What happened, dude? Did the gun scare you?"

"I dunno."

When he gave me his blank, "I dunno," I knew better than to ask more questions. "Maybe we should call it a day and just go out front of the school and wait for your ride."

"But I want to go back and work with the blocks," he said.

"Okay. Let's go talk to Mr. Rossi."

We slowly walked back and didn't talk because I didn't want to bug him. I wanted to give him time to tell me what had happened. If it was the gun, perhaps I could practise with him, although, where would I get a gun? Maybe I could put a gun sound on my phone?

We walked at a snail's pace and Stuart kept stopping and looking around or stopping to tie up his shoe or pull up his sock.

Muddled in thoughts that were running zig-zags through my head, I approached Mr. Rossi as he was ending the practice. I saw Cecil across the field and he gave me a wave and a funny gesture as if to say, "What happened?"

I waved back to him and pointed to Mr. Rossi, letting him know we were going to talk to him.

"Stuart," said Mr. Rossi. "What happened?"

"I dunno."

"Was it the gun?"

He nodded.

"Okay. It's a good thing we practised. Is your mom picking you up?"

Stuart looked up at Mr. Rossi. "Can I practise with the blocks now?"

"Sure. I'd like to talk to Sam for a few minutes, so you go over and do a few starts."

When Stuart was out of earshot, Mr. Rossi looked at me and said, "I'm not sure this is going to work."

"But he's been working hard," I said. "And he's fast. I can keep working with him. I promise he can do it. I think he just got spooked by the gun. Who knows what happened to him early in his life? If I go over and over it with him, I think he'll be okay."

"You can't promise that." He put a hand on my shoulder, which was so not him.

"I really think he can do it." I said. "I believe in him."

"Look, Sam, he pushed Claude off the track. What if he does that when he's in a race with someone from another school?"

"That's not fair," I said. "Claude pushed him first. You didn't see that part. Stuart isn't sneaky—he doesn't know how to do stuff like that without getting caught. Claude does."

"He must have provoked him," said Mr. Rossi.

Provoked? Seriously Mr. Rossi, dude. You're going to use the word provoked.

"Look, Mr. Rossi. I know Stuart is hyper and unpredictable, but whatever. The thing is, he doesn't provoke stuff; he reacts."

Mr. Rossi was still looking pretty skeptical. He needed to see the whole picture here.

"Claude thinks he's going to lose his chance to compete in the city meet because of Stuart," I said. "So, he shoved him first. Kids bully Stuart all the time because of who he is."

Mr. Rossi tucked his clipboard under his arm. "I'll think about it tonight.

Come see me tomorrow." And that was that. He walked away from me.

I ran my hand through my hair as I stared at Stuart, who was blasting out of the blocks and talking to himself. Finally, I walked over to him.

"Good job," I said to him. "Remember to use your legs. Dig in and push."

"Is Mr. Rossi mad at me?" He hung his head.

I hated seeing him do that. "No," I said.

He looked up at me, his eyes full of this weird sadness that seriously made me feel his pain. And that's not a lie. Something hit me in the gut, like I'd been sucker punched too. The kid needed a chance. So, he'd been spooked by a gun. I'd practise with him somehow, some way.

"Can I run on Thursday?" he asked.

I smiled at him. "Of course you can run, Little Man," I said. Then I held up my hand. "And you're going to kick some butt!"

He slapped my hand back.

Man, I hoped I could deliver on that promise.

****

After dinner, I went to my room and started pacing back and forth, like a caged animal. Back and forth, wearing down the carpet.

I picked up my phone and reread all the texts Bethany had sent. We'd had such a good time, or I had for sure, on Friday night. We'd texted on Saturday, back and forth, just talking about stuff, like what we had planned for the day.

Then on Sunday, after she'd told me about her flag football game that she'd played in the park, everything came crashing down in my mind. Some boyfriend I'd be for an athletic girl like her. I couldn't compete with the jocks of the world.

I hadn't answered one of her texts since then. Not one. I'd read them and not answered. What a dick. I'd watched television all day Sunday and ignored her.

Now, I desperately wanted to talk to her. Had I blown it?

I tossed my phone back and forth and back and forth. My stomach felt sick, like I wanted to barf. She was the one I wanted to talk to first about all of this because I knew she would understand.

I composed a text then deleted it. Composed another one. Deleted it too. Another and another.

Finally, I made it simple.

hey how was football?

I waited, staring at my phone, pacing, pacing. Would she text me back?

The phone pinged. I glanced down.

good

That was it? All she was going to say? My heart sank to my toes. I tried to breathe to calm myself down. I could do this. My throat dried but I made my fingers go to work.

Wanna chat???

Was I being too bold? Being too needy? Being too…

sure give me a call now

Before I lost my nerve, I called her.

"Hey," I said. My voice seriously cracked like I was fourteen all over again. "How you doing?"

"Great," she said. Her voice sounded okay. Not mad. Or was I just hoping for the best? Maybe I was making too big a deal out of me not texting. Maybe she wasn't that type of girl who got mad when you didn't respond. So many maybes were banging in my head like a bad drum roll that I must have forgotten to speak.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I'm sorry I didn't text back."

"Why didn't you? It's not hard to answer a text."

"Um, you were playing flag football." What a lame thing to say. "It's something I can't really do anymore."

"Who cares? It's just flag football."

"I know." I exhaled. "I guess I care. I used to be able to do all that stuff." "You can talk to me about this anytime, you know." Her usually low, gravelly voice sounded soft.

"Sure," I said quickly. "I really wanted to talk to you about Stuart today though." I flopped back on my bed and told her the story of Stuart and how the sound of the gun had made him take off. The words just flowed out of me.

The one thing I left out, though, was the fact that I'd promised him he could run.

"They have to let him run," I said. "They just have to. He'll be so disappointed if he can't."

There was silence on the other end. Then she said, "Why don't you bring him out to Special Olympics? It might be easier for him. It's a gradual ease-in and everyone involved wants the best from the athletes, so we work with them, both mentally and physically."

"I know he can do this," I said, thumping the bed with my fist. "He can run in this track meet Thursday and he can beat some of these kids. He can."

More silence. Then she said, "But does he want to? Does he really want to? Or is he doing this to make you happy?"

"I think he does." I stood up and started my pacing again. "In fact, I know he does."

"Okay," she said. "Then stick with him. Maybe take the pressure off. Make it more fun."

"But I will bring him to Special Olympics," I said. "I mean he might do really well there too. And the school meets will end in a few weeks. We have our school meet Thursday and Cities are the following Thursday. A bus takes all the athletes over and it would be a huge deal for him." I was rambling a little, but I couldn't stop myself. "But I could bring him Friday night maybe, after the school meet. Just for fun."

"Sure," she said. "That sounds good. Just play it by ear. Best way to operate."

The following Friday seemed like a long way away. Just talking to her made me want to see her again. I didn't really want to wait. Should I ask her to go for coffee, again? Or ice cream? Or for a walk even? Just a walk. I wasn't doing anything all night. Nada. Lying on my bed. Sunset was getting later every night. She really was only one bus away.

"Um," I started. "Um," I said again. "You wanna go for a walk?" I got the words out. I held my breath.

"Tonight? You're kidding right?"

"Um." My heart did a huge belly flop and it stung.

"It's not that I don't want to," she said, "but it's the seventh game of the Raptors-Miami series! Aren't you watching? This game is huge for them."

Yeah, I knew about it but had been trying to forget. Cecil had asked me to go to his house but I'd said no. "Um, yeah, huge game."

"I am so excited! Like. So. Excited! But I've been so swamped with stuff that I didn't make plans to have friends over like I usually do," she said. "Plus it's a Monday and I'm always on babysitting duty, so a full-blown party at my place is a little out unless it's miniscule. My mom takes an accounting class on Monday night, so I have to be home for my little brother and sister. But…" she paused but just for a split-second, "you know, if you wanted to come to my place and watch I think that'd be cool. One person isn't exactly a party but we're ordering pizza."

"Oh, okay," I said. I got off my bed and paced in my room. "Okay." I really did want to see her. But to watch a game? Dilemma.

I sucked in a deep breath before I said, "What's your address?" After she'd given it to me, she said, "Wear your jersey!" And if you don't have one, I have an extra. Just don't come in Miami gear. You won't get in my house."

"You bet. See ya." I pressed end on my phone and exhaled. Not a big deal. Of course I had a jersey, so I pulled it from the back part of my closet and put it on. Then I went downstairs. Did I dare ask my dad for a ride? He had the television on and looked up when he saw me come into the television room.

"Ahh, you finally watch game," he said, giving me a thumbs-up. He always looked so awkward when he tried to do "cool" things and I laughed.

"I'm going out," I said.

"You go to some friend house?"

"Uh, yeah," I said.

"I give you ride."

"Um, sure," I said. A ride would be nice but the explanation of where I was going, not so nice.

He got out of his chair and looked at his watch. "We go. I don't want to miss nothing."

In the car, I used the GPS on my phone and discovered Bethany didn't live too far away. Fifteen minutes max. I guided my father, and he didn't ask a lot of questions as we drove and the few he did, I gave vague answers to. When we got to the house, I quickly got out of the car.

"Thanks, Dad," I said.

"You need ride home?"

I shrugged. "I can take the bus."

"Call. I pick you up."

I nodded and slammed the door. Then I walked up the sidewalk and took the three steps to the front door. I turned around before I knocked and saw my father was just pulling away. Good.

Bethany answered the door wearing a Raptors jersey that hung to her knees, and behind her stood a boy who looked around eight or so, with a huge grin on his face and a Raptors hat on backwards.

"Who are you?" the boy asked.

"Logan, that's rude," said Bethany. She shook her head and tousled his hair, a good tousle too. Then she looked at me. "I'll apologize now for his behaviour."

He screwed up his face, moved out of her reach, then body-checked her. "Don't say that!"

She howled with laughter.

"Hi, Logan," I said, smiling at him.

"That's enough, Logan. Fun's over," said Bethany, moving aside. "Come on in. I told my mom you were coming and she said it was okay."

"Yeah, cuz Bethany's not allowed boys over when she babysits us but she said you were a friend from Best Buddies so my mom said yes."

"Too much information, dude," she said to Logan. "Now go. Remember what I said. You bug me, you don't get pepperoni pizza. I'll order all veggie."

He crossed his arms across his chest and frowned, but then he did run away.

"Works every time," she said.

I took off my shoes in the front entrance. Then she led the way to a room that was off the kitchen and definitely the family room. Family photos hung on the wall, including school and sports photos. I studied one of Bethany in her soccer outfit with a big "C" on the shirt. She was holding an MVP trophy.

"Glad you wore a jersey," she said.

"Thanks." I pointed to the photo. "You said you played soccer, but I didn't know you were a star."

"Whatever," she said. "Team sports. Everyone is a star."

I nodded. "Yeah, that's how I always felt."

"You can feel that way again, you know." She tilted her head and stared directly into my eyes.

"I can't—"

She made the slashing movement to her throat, stopping me mid-sentence. "Don't say what I think you're going to say. You may not get that high from being an athlete when you coach, but you sure get something that resembles it." She pointed to a big comfy chair that had these red Raptors shaker things and red Styrofoam hands. "You can take anything you want. The game is about to start." Then she put her fingers to her mouth and whistled.

Logan came running into the room and he was now dressed in some sort of Raptor costume, looking a little like the mascot.

I burst out laughing. "You guys are real fans."

"Oh, yeah," said Bethany, lifting her hand up to high-five Logan. "Logan and I love watching sports on television."

He jumped and smacked her hand so hard I thought she'd topple over, but she didn't. She stood solid.

Since the photos on the wall showed three kids, I said, "What about your sister?"

Logan howled like a hyena. "She doesn't like sports. Not one bit," he said. "Like not even a little bit. Not even an inch of a bit. All she likes is boring old studying."

Bethany shrugged. "What can I say? We're all different. She's up in her room with her headphones on. We're all good to go here. I'll take her up some pizza when it arrives."

The game started and I found myself on the sofa with Logan in between me and Bethany. Logan bounced around like a small puppy looking for treats, on his knees, off his knees, up and down. And Bethany sat forward and didn't take her eyes off the television.

I watched the game like I used to watch games, with a critical eye, but I also watched Bethany. She seriously jumped up and cheered every time the Raptors stole the ball, and when they got a basket she waved her foam hand like a maniac. And she talked to the television, telling the players to get moving or get in position, and she told the refs off.

"That wasn't a foul!" she yelled halfway through the first quarter. The Raptors' best player was on his second foul and they were down by five.

"Agreed," I said. She was right. It was a dubious call.

"No way. How could he make that call? The guy went up with him but didn't touch him." She turned to me. "What a pile of poop."

I burst out laughing. "I can't believe you just said that." "She's not allowed to swear around me," said Logan.

I laughed so hard, I almost spit water out of my mouth.

She reached over Logan and batted me with her foam hand. I pretended to be hurt. "Ouch," I said.

"That wouldn't hurt," said Logan.

"Did you play basketball?" I asked Bethany. "You know a lot."

She snorted. "Me? Have you checked my height? I'm 5'2. I tried in junior high but the coach cut me, even though I thought I was better than the girl who was 5'7. They picked the team based on height only. So I decided to stick with soccer."

"Probably smart."

Since a commercial was on she looked over at me. "What about you? Any other sports?"

"I tried just about everything but hockey. My parents didn't have the money for equipment."

"I play hockey," said Logan.

"I can see that." I pointed to his hockey photos on the wall.

"I play basketball with Dillon sometimes," said Bethany. "Just simple games of 21."

"Yeah, I used to play with Stuart."

"Didn't you say you could still play recreationally?" "Yeah." I picked at a thread on my shirt.

"Let's get Dillon and Stuart together for a little game of basketball. It would be fun. You don't have to run after the ball because they will."

Fortunately, I didn't have to answer because the doorbell rang and both Bethany and Logan jumped up to go get the pizza.

****

I ran into Cecil the next morning at school, and before I could think, I said, "What a game last night!"

"You watched it, dude?" He playfully punched my shoulder. "And you didn't call me!"

"Yeah, I saw it."

"Did your dad stronghold you and make you watch?" "Something like that," I said.

"I'm glad to hear you're back to the land of the living, bro. Okay, so how about that three-point shot at the end? Holy mackerel, was it a shot to behold!" Cecil used his hands to talk then he jumped in the air and pretended to take a shot himself.

And just like that we were talking about the game, the NBA, and all the teams left in the playoffs. It felt okay. Well, more than okay. Like something had returned. I still wasn't sure about playing though, and I hadn't given Bethany an answer about a game of 21. Not sure I wanted to pick up a basketball ever again in my life—to hold it, feel it. I didn't want the longing to return.

After my first class, I met up with Mr. Rossi to talk to him about Stuart, like he'd asked me to the day before. I knocked on his door.

"Come on in."

"Hi, Mr. Rossi," I said.

"Sam, good to see you. Have a seat."

Uh oh. Having to take a seat meant we needed to have a chat.

"I'm not sure this is going to work with Stuart," he said. "Maybe the school meet just isn't the right event for him. He seems to do well at the Best Buddies events. Maybe keep him there."

"I think he can do it," I said.

Mr. Rossi leaned back in his chair and swirled his pencil around his finger. "I know you do. But we have to be realistic."

"Please, let me keep trying. It's just the school meet. If it doesn't go well, then he won't make Cities, and that's the end of it."

He sighed noisily and leaned forward. "Okay. We'll give this one more go. He deserves it. He's worked hard."

"Thank you so much." I stood up.

I had my hand on the doorknob when he said, "You should probably go over the gun with him again. And also false starts."

"Right," I said.

"You can handle that? Because I can help if you need me to."

"I can do it," I said. "But thanks."

****

At lunch my mission was to find Stuart. When I didn't see him in the cafeteria, I went to the room where his aide often ate lunch with him. There he was, doing some sort of work.

"Can I talk to him?" I asked Tony.

"He's supposed to be doing his work."

"No, I'm not," said Stuart.

"Well, you are but…" Tony looked at me. "Have at it," he said with a shrug. "He's in a bit of a mood today. Right, Stuart?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm in a bad mood all right."

Tony shook his head and said, "I'll go get a coffee. I know you got new shoes with turbo jets but no running, okay?" He gave Stuart a wink and a smile, obviously trying to get him to smile back.

Since Tony worked with Stuart every day, I thought I would ask him the best way to teach Stuart about false starts. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure. Stuart," he said. "Do one more question, okay?"

"I. DON'T. WANT. TO!"

When we were out of Stuart's earshot, I said, "I have to teach him about false starts before the track-and-field meet. Any suggestions? I don't want to stress him out, but he needs to understand what they mean."

Tony shook his head. "I wouldn't right now. He's in a mood and he might fixate on it and not run at all. Wait until he's a little calmer."

I nodded. "Thanks," I said.

I went back to Stuart and sat down across from him. His arms were tightly wrapped around his chest and he had a huge scowl on his face.

"What's up, Little Man?" I asked.

"Mary is going to have her baby and I'm not going to be able to be an uncle."

"Why not?"

"Declan said so. He told me I was going to jail."

Okay, so this was something new, I thought. I'd never heard him talk about jail before. How to deal with this? Was he telling the truth or was this something he saw on television?

Questions. I was always supposed to ask him questions if he was in a mood. And give him choices so he made decisions. His parents had talked to me on the phone before we joined Best Buddies. Anger issues were part of his FASD, among other things, like running away when things didn't add up for him.

"Why did he say that?" I asked.

He shrugged and looked down at the table. I waited for the "I dunno" but he just slouched and slid lower in his chair.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," I said.

He scratched his thighs, his jeans, for a few seconds and I waited for him to say something. The noise of fingers against denim echoed in the small room. Over and over. Up and down. I just sat there and watched him and listened to him scratching, wondering what he scratched in the summer when he wore shorts. The table? Walls?

Finally, he stopped, looked up, and said, "Do I get to run?"

"You do," I said. "I just talked to Mr. Rossi and he said a-okay." I held up my thumb. "Do you still want to?" I will admit, after seeing him like this, a part of me wondered if it might be better if he just said no.

When he didn't answer right away, I said, "I'll be there to help you. I believe in you, Little Man."

He nodded. "I want to," he said. His scowl had disappeared, and the corners of his mouth actually lifted a little to give me the smallest of smiles.

I held up my hand. "It's a deal. You're on, dude."

He slapped it so hard, I almost fell off my chair, or at least I pretended to. Stuart was so interesting because his mood could change in seconds.

Since Tony hadn't returned, I pulled out the cards. "Snap or…" I leaned closer, "Blackjack?"

Now, he grinned. "Blackjack!"

We played a couple of hands before I said anything about the track-and-field meet.

"Listen," I said, as I shuffled the cards. "On Thursday, you can't run away, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled.

"I'm serious. And you can't just run off the track in the middle of the race either. If you want to win the race you have to go to the finish line. You did it on your first day of practice so I know you can do it again. There's a time to run and a time not to run."

He looked at me with his head tilted sideways as if he really was listening, and perhaps he understood. I knew he often only hears snippits of sentences and not the entire thing.

"You understand that, right? So, in the race, you can run to the finish line. Always. At school, you can't run in the halls."

A grin, which resembled a mischievous smirk, appeared on his face. "I know that," he said. "But it's fun. I dodge people."

"But you know to go straight, right? When you're racing?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Not always. When I run the 400 I have to go around corners."

I burst out laughing and instantly felt relieved. "You're right. Just stay in your lane for every event that you are running. Between the white lines. And you will start with a gun, just like you did at practice last night. Remember: Only go with the gun shot."

"I know, I know!"

Okay, perhaps I had gotten the point across and Tony was right. I didn't need to discuss false starts just yet. "And don't push anyone, okay? Don't even touch anyone who is beside you."

"That kid doesn't like me."

"That's okay. Not everyone has to like you."

"That's what my mom says too." He paused before he said, "Let's play another hand. I want to beat you."

We played until Tony returned, which was close to bell-time. I gathered my things and made my way to math class. As I was walking down the hall, I decided to text Bethany and tell her that I'd convinced Mr. Rossi to let Stuart run. As I was using my thumbs and walking, head down, I felt a bump on my shoulder.

"Your mama again?" Cecil laughed.

I quickly pressed send before I shoved my phone in my back pocket. "Nah. Just someone with that Special Olympics program."

"Uh-huh. Yeah, right, bro. You don't fool me." He fingers to make quotation marks: "That Special Olympics program." Cecil laughed and slapped my back. "Who is she? Come clean, my man."

"Okay," I said. "I met her through a Best Buddies event. She doesn't go to our school."

"You seeing her?"

"Nah, nothing serious. I watched the game with her last night but her little brother was there too."

"You watched the game with a chick?" He shook his head. "That's gotta be a first. And she wasn't complaining or talking about stuff that had nothing to do with b-ball?"

"She knew more stats than you and me combined."

"Go on. You're pulling me."

"I'm not, Cec."

"Gift from the gods. When do I get to meet her?"

"How about never." I laughed and hip-checked him, sending him flying across the hallway.