“It’s okay.” I looked at the two shirts she held. They were both light blue. One had tennis shoes running across the top of the words Five K. The other had a ribbon tying Five and K together.

“They’re both bad, aren’t they?” she said, scrutinizing them. “I should tell the designer to try something else.”

“No, Mom. They’re fine. I like the tennis shoes one.”

“Tennis shoes?”

I pointed to the one on the right.

“Those aren’t tennis shoes. Great. They’re supposed to be beakers.”

“Beakers? Why would you have beakers on a shirt about running a five K?”

“To show that the money raised will go to science to help find a cure.”

I turned my head sideways, trying to see as beakers what clearly looked like tennis shoes to me. I couldn’t. “Oh. Okay. Well, that works too.”

“Back to the drawing board,” she said, draping the shirts over one shoulder and leaving my room.

“Try tennis shoes!” I yelled after her.

“I love you!” she yelled back.

My attention was drawn back to my computer, still open in front of me, a picture of Heath Hall filling my screen. “What is your story?” I stretched my hands above my head to loosen up my shoulders—they felt much better today.

It was only Tuesday. Thursday and the museum seemed forever away. If we could figure out who Heath Hall was before that, then maybe I wouldn’t have to put on an Amelia-chosen dress.

Eight

Coach was standing over my lane when I finished my laps. He looked at his watch. Had he been timing me? I pulled off my goggles and earphones.

“Moore. Everyone else is gone.”

I looked at the lanes on either side of me. Sure enough, they were empty.

“If you can’t hear the end whistle, maybe you should stop listening to music while you swim.”

“You know, most coaches are happy that their athletes want to swim longer than they have to. You should be glad for my dedication and perseverance.”

He cracked a smile. “Really? How many coaches are you basing this opinion on?”

“Just you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“And most coaches would want to reward me for my hard work by allowing me to swim the butterfly this Friday.”

He ran his hand over his hair a few times. “I’ve told you this before. It’s too close to the freestyle. I need you strong for that one. Now get out of my pool so I can go home and see my family.”

I pushed myself out of the pool, wincing a little at the slight pain in my right shoulder. It wasn’t too bad today, though.

“And I’m serious about ditching the crutch,” he called after me.

I gripped my headphones tighter. They weren’t a crutch; they helped me concentrate.