The next morning, the city bus leaves Dante
at the curb just as Ryan’s mother is parking in front of the rink.
“There’s your friend,” she says when she open the van’s side door
and activates the mechanical lift. Ryan hates the whine of the
motor as it works to set his wheelchair down on the pavement.
“Hey,” Ryan calls out. Dante, wearing
sweats and that leather jacket of his, kicks at the ground as he
walks. When he looks up and sees Ryan, his smile warms the cold
morning air.
Coming up to their van, he winks at Ryan.
“Hey yourself.” With a grin at Mrs. Talonovich, he takes Ryan’s
backpack from her and throws it over his shoulder, where his own
bag rests. “How are you two doing?”
“Fine,” Ryan’s mother says with a
laugh—she likes Dante. Ryan wonders how much she’d like him if
