“Some of you know I love WCMX—chair skating. That I like to go fast and maybe take a few chances now and then—like any other junior high kid in the world, probably. Most of you at school know I wiped out on that ramp to the portables a few weeks ago, but you probably don’t know it was because the ramp wasn’t built right for a wheelchair.” I decide not to mention Logan’s antics or Devontae’s belt buckle. “What I want everyone to think about is that all kids wipe out now and then—it’s what we do. Especially kids who play sports, kids who like to go fast. Using wheels shouldn’t have to mean I can’t do that sometimes, too, without everyone having a conniption over it.”

The crowd’s silent, electric. This needs to wrap up, though, before I lose my nerve. I go over to the podium, where Dr. Grayling waits with the check. His face looks stormy, but I smile, nice and calm, and reach to shake his hand.

“Thank you for raising this money for me,” I say as he hands the check over. “I appreciate it, and I accept it—but not for my chair. I can earn that myself. What I can’t do is make my school accessible, for me or for any other kid or teacher who needs it. Or for anyone’s grandma or uncle who comes to a basketball game or play and can’t get in the front door without help.”

The gym is so quiet the fan’s whip-whip is a roar. Almost like it’s pulsing in time with the churning in my stomach. But I manage to keep it calm on the outside.

“That’s where this money comes in. I’m donating it back to the school to get started on some accessibility for the main building and the portables, too. We all know funds are tight and there’s plenty needs doing.”

Then I push that check back into Dr. Grayling’s hand. He’s so shocked he actually takes it.

The gym goes cemetery still, except the thrum of that big, ancient fan and the photo flashes of a hundred phones. The fan is close enough that I feel a ghost of air shift across my face. The whooshing of those big metal blades is like a fast-moving heartbeat. Like when you’re scared or mad …

Or poised at the top of a jump.

Then one of the heavy doors at the gym entrance slams shut, crashing so loud everyone jumps and turns to look.

That’d be Tina. Playing magician, pulling the audience’s attention from where the real action’s going down.

It’s my cue. Emmie out.

It only distracts everyone for a few confused seconds, but that’s all I need.

I slip into my zone, let myself fall into that familiar slice of space. Brain switches off; body takes over. Fast as a shadow, I whip halfway around, ignoring the rising murmur of the crowd, to the edge of the curtain where Ale waits, hidden barely out of sight with my red helmet in her hands.