frustration, he put down the knife and reached for a bread roll, which he gobbled in three bites. "It's only my first day left-handed, " he mumbled through the crumbs.
"You mean one- handed, " his mother said. "What'd the other kids have to say?"
"Not much. Marta thought it was cool."
"How was P. E. ?"
"Fine, " Nick said, which wasn't even remotely true. Lacrosse was extremely difficult to play with your best arm bound behind your back, and Nick had been practically useless to his team.
Later, while he was in the shower, two of the seniors had snatched his Ace bandage from the towel rack and used it to hog-tie an overweight, slow-footed freshman named Pudge Powell IV. Two coaches spent ten minutes unbinding the boy.
So P. E. class basically had been a disaster.
His mother said, "You're going to be hurting tomorrow. You ought to take a hot bath."
Nick didn't argue, though he was embarrassed to admit how sore he was-and it wasn't as if he'd been chopping wood all day. The routine tasks of taking notes, carrying a backpack, opening a few doors, and swinging a lacrosse stick had worn him out. Never again would he take for granted the luxury of having two good arms.
After soaking for half an hour and then rewrapping himself, Nick confronted his homework, which included eighteen algebra problems. At one point his mom came into the room and peeked over his left shoulder.
"I'm impressed. I can actually read your answers, " she said. "I've got no idea if they're right or wrong, but I can definitely read 'em."
"Just wait."
"Can I ask you something, Nicky? How long are you going to keep up this lefty routine?"
"Until I get good at it."
"Then what?"
"I don't know, Mom, " Nick said shortly. "I haven't thought about it."
In fact, he'd thought about it plenty. The doctors had said that Nick's father would face months of outpatient re-hab after returning home. Nick planned to be there with him, practicing all the same left-handed exercises.
After finishing his math homework, Nick read an 0. Henry story for English class, which improved his mood. Then he tackled the chore of brushing his teeth, causing only minor bleeding from his gums.
He'd planned to go to bed with his right arm wrapped, but he couldn't get comfortable. His hand kept falling asleep, and Nick became worried that the elastic bandage might cause permanent damage if he dozed off in the wrong position.
With some effort he unstrapped the arm, which felt weak and numb. He made a fist and flexed the muscles several times to get the blood circulating again.
Nick already had the lights off and was listening to his iPod when his mother cracked the door. She said, "Wow. It's only eight-thirty."
"I'm whipped."
She sat down and laid a hand on his forehead, checking to see if he had a temperature. He told her he was fine. "You bummed about Dad?" she asked. Nick nodded. "Yeah, it sucks."
"We'll call him tomorrow. I promise."
"The infection must be pretty bad."
Nick's mother told him not to worry. "The doctor said it happens sometimes after a combat amputation."
The last word jolted Nick. The truth was still sinking in: His father was an amputee.
But at least he's alive, Nick said to himself, and that's what really matters.
His mother said, "I'll be up watching TV for a while, in case you can't sleep."
"Thanks, Mom, but I'm ready to crash."
An hour later, Nick was still wide awake. His body was exhausted but his brain was sparking like a high-voltage wire. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened to his father, imagining the flash from the exploding rocket, the blast of the Humvee bursting into pieces, the flames and the smoke and the screams...
Afraid of what he might dream if he shut his eyes, Nick grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand and dialed Marta's number. She answered on the second ring.
"You awake?" he said, keeping his voice low.
"Surfing Facebook. How lame is that?"
"Extremely, " Nick said.
"You talk to your dad?"
"Not today. He
"You mean one- handed, " his mother said. "What'd the other kids have to say?"
"Not much. Marta thought it was cool."
"How was P. E. ?"
"Fine, " Nick said, which wasn't even remotely true. Lacrosse was extremely difficult to play with your best arm bound behind your back, and Nick had been practically useless to his team.
Later, while he was in the shower, two of the seniors had snatched his Ace bandage from the towel rack and used it to hog-tie an overweight, slow-footed freshman named Pudge Powell IV. Two coaches spent ten minutes unbinding the boy.
So P. E. class basically had been a disaster.
His mother said, "You're going to be hurting tomorrow. You ought to take a hot bath."
Nick didn't argue, though he was embarrassed to admit how sore he was-and it wasn't as if he'd been chopping wood all day. The routine tasks of taking notes, carrying a backpack, opening a few doors, and swinging a lacrosse stick had worn him out. Never again would he take for granted the luxury of having two good arms.
After soaking for half an hour and then rewrapping himself, Nick confronted his homework, which included eighteen algebra problems. At one point his mom came into the room and peeked over his left shoulder.
"I'm impressed. I can actually read your answers, " she said. "I've got no idea if they're right or wrong, but I can definitely read 'em."
"Just wait."
"Can I ask you something, Nicky? How long are you going to keep up this lefty routine?"
"Until I get good at it."
"Then what?"
"I don't know, Mom, " Nick said shortly. "I haven't thought about it."
In fact, he'd thought about it plenty. The doctors had said that Nick's father would face months of outpatient re-hab after returning home. Nick planned to be there with him, practicing all the same left-handed exercises.
After finishing his math homework, Nick read an 0. Henry story for English class, which improved his mood. Then he tackled the chore of brushing his teeth, causing only minor bleeding from his gums.
He'd planned to go to bed with his right arm wrapped, but he couldn't get comfortable. His hand kept falling asleep, and Nick became worried that the elastic bandage might cause permanent damage if he dozed off in the wrong position.
With some effort he unstrapped the arm, which felt weak and numb. He made a fist and flexed the muscles several times to get the blood circulating again.
Nick already had the lights off and was listening to his iPod when his mother cracked the door. She said, "Wow. It's only eight-thirty."
"I'm whipped."
She sat down and laid a hand on his forehead, checking to see if he had a temperature. He told her he was fine. "You bummed about Dad?" she asked. Nick nodded. "Yeah, it sucks."
"We'll call him tomorrow. I promise."
"The infection must be pretty bad."
Nick's mother told him not to worry. "The doctor said it happens sometimes after a combat amputation."
The last word jolted Nick. The truth was still sinking in: His father was an amputee.
But at least he's alive, Nick said to himself, and that's what really matters.
His mother said, "I'll be up watching TV for a while, in case you can't sleep."
"Thanks, Mom, but I'm ready to crash."
An hour later, Nick was still wide awake. His body was exhausted but his brain was sparking like a high-voltage wire. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened to his father, imagining the flash from the exploding rocket, the blast of the Humvee bursting into pieces, the flames and the smoke and the screams...
Afraid of what he might dream if he shut his eyes, Nick grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand and dialed Marta's number. She answered on the second ring.
"You awake?" he said, keeping his voice low.
"Surfing Facebook. How lame is that?"
"Extremely, " Nick said.
"You talk to your dad?"
"Not today. He
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