Henry ran the 100 meters in fourteen point eight seconds.
He came in second.
When he crossed the finish line, he looked up at the bleachers. He saw Zoe’s sign.
He pointed at it. Then he pointed at his shirt. His bib number. And above it, his name.
HENRY.
Zoe screamed so loud the people in front of us turned around.
After the race, I saw something I didn’t expect.
At the edge of the track. By the volunteer tent. In a purple Special Olympics volunteer T-shirt. Holding a clipboard.
Pamela Strand.
She was doing her community service. Two hundred hours. She’d done about sixty so far.
She was checking athletes in for the long jump. Writing down their names. Pinning on their bib numbers.
Her hair wasn’t platinum anymore. It was brown. Plain. In a ponytail. No diamond earrings. No ring.
Henry was in line.
He got to the front.
