The Birth of Super Crip (7 page)

The wave swirled even more, feeling as though it was
crashing against the sides of his head. He began to shake just a
little, scaring his brother. Red knew he wasn’t shaking from the
spasticity caused by CP. It felt like his whole body was shaking,
and he grabbed the edge of the bench with both hands.

“C’mon,” Red muttered.

As fast as the thought came to his mind, the ball was
hurtling toward him. He ducked as Scott jumped up and tried to
catch the ball but only managed to deflect it. The ball slammed
against the clothes dryer in the far corner to their left.

Red closed his eyes for a few seconds, still holding
the bench as he let the feeling that his head was swirling pass. He
looked up at his brother. “You alright?”

“Yeah, it just stings,” Scott said, shaking his hand
feverishly. He noticed Red blinking his eyes and gripping the edge
of the bench. “Are you?” he asked with a look on his face that
suggested he was sure his brother was, in fact, not okay.

“I’m fine,” Red insisted, finally able to blink away
the spots in front of his eyes as the wave slowly receded. “It just
took a little extra, I guess.”

They both thought to inspect the dryer at the same
time. Scott saw the concern on Red’s face as he looked at the dent
the ball had left in the front of the machine.

“It’s fine,” he said, opening the dryer. Reaching in,
he was able to pop the metal siding back into place. All that was
left was a small scratch from where the ball had hit. “Mom won’t
even notice. And if she does . . . we were just playing ball.”

Nodding, Red rubbed the scratch. The tip of his
finger easily covered it.

“How’d you do it?” Scott finally asked.

Red shook his head a little. “I just kind of thought
of the thing, the wave, or the push, whatever you want to call it,
curving around the ball and pushing it from behind,” he said. “And
it worked.”

“Dude, this is awesome,” Scott said. And then,
thinking of the possibilities for his brother’s new abilities, he
added, “You could help us finally win a game tomorrow night.”

Red couldn’t help but laugh with his brother, though
the thought of affecting the outcome of their high school team’s
football game, titillating for sure, was intimidating at the same
time.

Chapter
10

The clanging of the power wheelchairs colliding
reverberated around the gym as Mr. Shine’s whistle brought play to
a stop. Red wiped some sweat from his face, happy to have a break
in the game. He looked back at Pete, who leaned against his
crutches in his position as goalie.

“At least he won’t score for ten seconds,” Pete
quipped.

Gym class was the only time each week that all of the
kids with physical disabilities attending Penn Valley High School
were in the same class. It had been something the current juniors
and seniors looked forward to every week in previous years. They
got a chance to just be kids—instead of being the
disabled
kid in classes that they were mainstreamed into—and it was a fun
way to blow off some steam on Friday.

A new group of freshmen had changed all that. Three
out of four of them had been mainstreamed since elementary school,
and the other had never even attended a special education school.
Red thought of them as the beginning of a new generation of
students with disabilities. Their parents demanded they be
mainstreamed. All four were pretty much the typical age for high
school freshmen, while the upperclassmen were generally a year or
two older than their classmates. The older kids had all grown up
with the idea that they needed to prove they could succeed in
regular school prior to being mainstreamed. In fact, mainstreaming
wasn’t even an option when they first started school.

The older kids were convinced that having spent so
little time in a special education setting had given a couple of
the freshmen an attitude of entitlement. But the real problem in
their minds was Lee. Already becoming known as “the leader of the
pack,” the freshman had a power wheelchair that was almost twice as
fast as the wheelchairs used by everyone else in class. Despite
some of his obvious abilities, Lee’s speedy chair was considered
the reason he dominated every game they played. Worse, Lee seemed
oblivious to the advantage the chair gave him. He’d been heard more
than once telling his mother how many goals he scored as he got off
the bus, accepting high fives and hugs as if he had performed a
miracle.

The whistle sounded, and Andre won the face-off
against Lee, smacking the ball with his hockey stick toward the
opposing team’s goal. It didn’t matter much, as Lee simply
accelerated his power wheelchair to gain control of the ball, blew
past everyone on the basketball court that they were playing on,
and headed for the goal.

Red felt like he was in the freshman’s crosshairs in
his position on defense. He was just another victim to fly past on
Lee’s way to a goal. He tried to guide Lee into the wall, but his
wheelchair was just too slow. Finally, Lee waited for Pete to
commit to one side, accelerated by him with ease, and flipped the
ball into the net for the fifth time already that day. Raising his
stick hand in the air, he raced back to the other side of the
court, offering high fives to his teammates, who reluctantly
obliged.

Pete slammed the crossbar with his crutch as the
whistle blew.

“You guys gotta play some defense,” Shine implored as
he took the Wiffle ball out of the net and slowly walked toward
center court. Red looked back at him and made a face to his back.
He shook his head in disgust as he joined his teammates gathering
at the net.

“It’s impossible to defend him in that wheelchair,”
Red said. “We both push a joystick or pull a control, and he goes
faster.” He felt a splash from the wave for the first time all
day.

“The wheelchair is specifically made for sports,”
Drew added. “See how fast he cuts around us? His father bought it
for him because he’s in some adaptive hockey league.”

“I heard he had a trainer and was trying to get into
the Paralympics for wheelchair basketball,” Pete said.

“Paralympics?” Andre asked no one in particular.
“They use manual chairs, don’t they? At least for hoops. So what’s
he doing in an electric wheelchair?”

“He only comes to school in it on Fridays for gym
class,” Drew replied. “It’s practice for his hockey league, I
guess. Besides, he uses crutches like you and Pete all day.
Where’ve you been?”

Andre used his shirt to wipe sweat from his shaved
head. “I don’t pay attention to you freshmen,” he joked, getting
laughs from Red and Pete. “I only see him in homeroom and
here.”

Mr. Shine blew his whistle to get them to line up for
a face-off. “Let’s go!” he shouted.

“Drew, switch with me for a while,” Red said.

“Fine with me.”

On the way to center court, Red whispered to Andre,
“How ’bout I take the face-off and you try to beat him to the
ball?”

Andre nodded.

“If you get it, shoot it. Wherever we are,
shoot.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

The whistle blew, and Red slapped the ball as hard as
he could toward the opposing net, using the wave to push the ball
for a little help. He swung through Lee’s stick. The shot caught
air and a line drive headed just to the left of the net.

Looking up, Red saw that the ball was headed wide of
the net. Yet the Wiffle ball curved and found the top corner of the
net for a goal.

A group “Whoa!” erupted from almost everyone in the
gym. Red looked down, trying to conceal his smile. He could feel
the wave swirling in his head, but he didn’t feel light-headed or
see stars in front of his eyes. Andre offered him a high five, and
Pete pointed at him as if to say “nice job.” Drew slapped stick
blades with Red, something the kids had naturally developed as a
replacement to the hand slap with kids who had muscular dystrophy.
Even a couple members of the other team had subtle grins on their
faces.

Lining up quickly for the next face-off, Red once
again used the wave to overpower Lee, but this time pushed the ball
against his own stick as he drove toward the net. Trying to drive
with the handles of the scooter-style power chair with one hand and
use a hockey stick with the other normally made it impossible to
keep control of the ball against Lee, who had full control of his
upper body. With no hope that his wheelchair could go faster than
Lee’s ringer of a chair, he kept possession of the ball no matter
how much Lee swiped at it. Maneuvering within feet of the net, Red
did his best to make the motion of flipping the ball at the net
with his stick, using the wave to push the ball just past Lee to
score a goal in the other corner of the net. It’s getting easier,
Red thought as he headed to midcourt to return to midcourt for the
face-off.

This time the reaction was even more enthusiastic
from his teammates, who shouted, “Yeah!” and “Let’s go!” Andre and
Red slapped hands as they lined up at center court.

“You’ve been holding out,” Andre joked.

“Take this one,” Red said.

“No! You’re hot,” Andre protested.

Offering a reassuring nod, Red said, “Trust me.”

With some help from Red pushing the wave at the ball,
Andre won the face-off, swatting the ball toward the opposing net.
Just as Lee seemed poised to gain control of the ball, Red gave it
a push against the wall. The ball bounced past Lee right to Red,
who slapped at it with his stick and pushed it with the wave. The
apparent one-timer found the back of the net as the goaltender
barely had time to flinch.

Cheers echoed through the gym once again. Feeling the
wave splash around with no side effects, Red felt like he could do
anything he wanted. But suddenly he feared raising questions about
his newfound abilities as a hockey player. Sheepishly accepting
high fives and stick slaps, Red decided to be a little more subtle
using the wave. Soon, Lee lost control of the ball making a move
that seemed likely to lead to yet another easy goal for him, and a
breakaway with some shockingly crisp passing led to a goal for
Red’s team. Another goal came on a pass Lee seemed to be about to
steal, only to see it bounce off his stick into his own net.
Finally, Drew took a rare breakaway opportunity as a defensive
player. Driving the length of the court without losing the
ball—with some subtle help from Red using the wave to help him
control it—Drew rolled in the game winner just before the school
bell rang.

His teammates surrounded Drew, offering celebratory
stick slaps or pats on the back—their excitement bolstered by the
knowledge that the bell also signaled the beginning of the weekend.
But there was an unmistakable joy on all of their faces at having
finally defeated Lee. Even some of the kids on the other team
seemed pleased.

Finally offering his last high five to Pete, Red
turned to put his stick away and grab his things. He saw a dejected
Lee putting on his jacket.

The joy in the victory was suddenly gone for Red.

“Great game,” Drew said, passing Red as he headed for
the door.

“Thanks,” Red said, less than sure he’d done anything
great as he joined Drew on the way out.

Chapter
11

The lights were the only thing casting shadows while
the teams finished their warm-up drills. Showers forecast for the
overnight hours seemed destined to arrive early. Clouds blocked
what had been a warm late September sun, and a light afternoon
breeze had turned into a brisk wind.

Scott hustled up the bleachers to where Red was
leaning against the railing of the accessible seating area looking
out over the field. His power chair was parked off to the side of
the top of the ramp that granted access to the section.

“I never understood why they put you guys over here,”
Scott said as he reached his brother.

“You expected forethought for us?”

“You’ll survive,” Scott said, standing on the other
side of the railing as a steady but sparse line of people passed
behind him on the walkway that separated the upper and lower
bleachers.

“Just like we do without an elevator in A-wing.”

“I got ya, I got ya,” Scott said. “I hear your
favorite player is fuming.”

“My favorite player?”

“Chuck Groslin,” Scott explained. “The whole team’s
been busting his stones about getting knocked on his ass by you.
Started calling you ‘Super Crip’ or something. Even the coach
started riding him in practice. He was yelling, ‘We should get
Super Crip out here to play for you’ every time he screwed up.”

Red couldn’t help but laugh a little even though he
hated the name.

“He got in like three fights in practice yesterday,”
Scott added. “The coach almost suspended him for the game.”

“Damn, I could’ve suited up for the dickhead,” Red
joked.

“Well, uh,” Scott said, peeking to either side of him
to make sure no one was paying attention, “you could still help the
team out, you know? So, uh, we gonna win tonight?”