Wheel Wizards Read online

  To my great-grandson

  Blake McKinley Howell

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2000 by Catherine M. Christopher

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  Matt Christopher™ is a trademark of Catherine M. Christopher.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09458-0

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Matt Christopher

  The #1 Sports Series for Kids: MATT CHRISTOPHER®

  1

  I had the same dream last night,” said Seth Pender. He smiled, thinking about it.

  Seated in an armchair a few feet away, Brian Murtaugh nodded. “Want to tell me how the dream went?”

  Seth's smile went out as if he'd flicked a switch, and he scowled instead. “What for?”

  “I don't know …, ” Brian replied. He was a tall man with reddish hair that he was always running his hands through. “How about just as a favor to me? Humor me, okay?”

  With a sigh, Seth said, “It doesn't do any good, and, anyway, it's the same as all the other times. But all right. In the dream I'm playing basketball, and I'm really hot. I mean, I'm playing tough D, driving for lay-ups, making twenty-foot jump shots, running down the court leading a fast break … everything. It's like I can't do anything wrong.”

  He smiled again but the smile faded quickly. “Then I wake up. End of dream.”

  Brian prodded. “You wake up, and … ?”

  “What do you think?” Seth mumbled. “I see my legs, just lying there, like sticks. I remember the car accident, and I know never play basketball again, or run again, or walk again. I know I'm trapped in this wheelchair for the rest of my life. End of the dream. End of all my dreams.” Seth angrily slapped a hand on the arm of the chair and turned his face away to hide the tears that filled his eyes.

  Seth was twelve years old. The accident that had cost him the use of his legs had happened several months earlier. Alarmed by his depression, Seth's parents had brought him to a therapist, in hopes that the man might help him deal with what had happened. Seth had been seeing Brian ever since.

  But Seth's attitude hadn't changed yet. He was often sullen and angry, and he didn't like to talk to people much, even his family.

  “So, you think your life is over?” Brian leaned forward in his chair, looking seriously at Seth.

  Seth looked disgusted. “No, I ‘don't think my life is over,’” he sneered. “Only the good part.”

  Brian sighed. “Seth, I know you find this hard to believe right now, but you have to have patience. Your mind needs time to heal, and once it does, you'll see that your life can be full and happy. In lime —”

  Seth's laugh had no humor in it. “Yeah, right. ‘In time’ I'll be just fine.” He looked up at the therapist, hands clenched tight on the arms of his chair. “It's easy for you to talk. You don't get it. Nobody gets it. Why don't you just leave me alone? Why doesn't everyone leave me alone?”

  “How did it go with Brian, today?” asked Mrs. Pender as she drove her son home from the therapist's office.

  Slumped in the passenger seat, Seth muttered, “Same as always. ‘I need to be patient. Someday everything will be wonderful again.’ Blah, blah, blah.”

  He refused to say anything more until they got home. Mrs. Pender unfolded Seth's chair and offered to help him out of the car. Seth shook off her hand, hoisted himself into the chair, and wheeled himself inside. Once in the house, he headed straight for his room, slamming the door behind him.

  He sat there for a moment, breathing hard, feeling angry and sick and unhappy, trying not to cry. He looked around, noticing the posters of his favorite basketball stars, which were scattered on the walls. Suddenly, they seemed to be a bad joke. It was as if they were saying, “See us, Seth? You'll never be able to do what we're doing!”

  In a rage, he started ripping them down. Once he'd pulled down all that he could reach, he pushed himself out of the chair and onto his bed. He lay there, wishing that he could stay in bed forever and never have to face the world again. Nobody understood what he was going through, not his parents, not his friends, and certainly not that guy Brian, who kept saying that he needed patience, he had to give it time … time .… Well, he had lots of that.

  The time when he used to play sports, especially basketball. He closed his eyes and tried not to think at all.

  There was a light knock on the door. He didn't say anything.

  “Seth?” His mother's voice sounded timid. “Honey? Are you all right?”

  “Oh yeah, I'm just fine,” he said, not moving. “Leave me alone.”

  “Honey, Lou is here. Can he come in?”

  Lou Aaron had been Seth's closest friend for years. But that was before.

  Mrs. Pender opened the door. “Honey? Why not talk to Lou? He's been coming over every day, but you won't see him.”

  Seth stared at the ceiling. “Then he should take the hint and stay away.”

  “Hey, Seth!” Lou came into the room. “Listen, can we just talk a little? Aren't I still your friend? I was hoping you could come over tonight and we could watch some videos, maybe rent a movie —”

  “Forget it.” Seth refused to look at Lou. “Don't slam the door on your way out.”

  “Come on, Seth, the guys still want to be your friends. Give us a chance, huh?” Lou waited for an answer, but there was only silence from the bed.

  “Well…” Lou shrugged. “Listen, if you want to come over, just give me a call. All right?”

  Lou glanced at Mrs. Pender, shook his head, and slowly walked out of the room.

  “Seth,” she said, “I just wish you'd… “ She stopped. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Is there anything you need?”

  “Just close the door, Mom.”

  Sighing, Mrs. Pender dosed the door.

  At the dinner table, Mr. and Mrs. Pender looked at Seth's plate, where the food lay almost untouched. They exchanged a troubled look.

  “Aren't you going to eat, son?” asked Mr. Pender. “Fried chicken is your favorite.”

  “And there's strawberry shortcake for dessert,” Seth's mother added. When Seth neither spoke nor ate, she went on.

  “You need to eat, honey. You'll make yourself sick if you don't —”

  Seth laughed, but not happily. “Yeah, right, I don't want to ruin my health. Got to keep myself in tip-top shape.”

  Seth's sister, Phyllis, sixteen, slapped her fork down hard. “We know how rough this is for you, bro, but we're all on your side. We're trying to help. Don't you get it? Why are you taking it out on us? It isn't our fault that you …”

  She stopped, looking awkward.

  Seth glared at her. “You ‘know how rough this is'?” he mimicked. “Sure you do!” He laughed harshly. “Were you born dumb or did you get that way later?”

  Mrs. Pender gasped. “Seth! Stop it!”

  He ignored her. “And if I ask for your help, then okay. But I haven't asked, and I'm not a
sking. But still, you get in my face when I want to be left alone!”

  Phyllis's face grew red. She got up quickly and almost ran from the room.

  “Seth!” Mrs. Pender was furious. “Shame on you! We're your family, and you have no right to behave like this!”

  “Is that right?” Seth wheeled himself away from the table. “I tell . you what, why don't you ground me? That'll serve me right.”

  He turned away, but stopped and looked back at his parents. “I'll skip the strawberry shortcake, too.”

  He rolled out of the room.

  2

  After he had been really mean to his family, Seth always felt awful the next day. The following day was one of those days. That morning, he had wanted to apologize to everyone, but Phyllis and Mr. Pender had left very early, so he had only been able to speak to his mother.

  “Sorry about last night, Mom,” he had said. “I wish I could keep myself from doing that, but … I don't know … it just comes out and I can't stop it.”

  Mrs. Pender looked very tired, but she smiled and ran her hand through Seth's hair.

  “I know,” she said. “You're going through a very hard time right now. But we're sure that things won't stay this way, that you'll work it all out. Honey, we have to give it time. That's what Brian and your physical therapist say, and that's what we believe.”

  Seth shook his head. “I wish I could believe it. I mean, I guess I know that I won't always be as angry as I am, but … I just can't believe I'm ever going to be happy again.”

  Mrs. Pender kneeled in front of her son and put her hands over his on the chair arms. She looked into his eyes. “You will, dear. Dad and Phyllis and I — we all know it. You will.”

  “Mom, can we please not talk about it?”

  His mother nodded and turned away. Seth knew she was crying, which made him feel even worse.

  Later at school, Seth saw Lou in the hall and in a couple of classes. He thought about going over to speak to him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it — he didn't know what to say.

  After classes, he headed toward the school library, where he figured he'd spend an hour doing homework. Mrs. Pender had arranged to pick him up afterward.

  He was going down the corridor past the gym when he heard a familiar sound that made him stop. Someone was in there, dribbling and shooting a basketball. At first, Seth wasn't going to look, fearing that it would only depress him still more to see people doing what he no longer could. Then he decided that he couldn't feel worse than he did already, pushed open the doors, and stopped, amazed by what he saw.

  In the middle of the basketball court, a guy dribbled a ball, stopped short, and took a fifteen-foot shot that went in off the glass. It was a good-looking shot.

  And the shooter was in a wheelchair!

  Seth stared in silence. The boy looked to be a few years older and had an awesome upper body, with a barrel chest and powerful arms. He picked up the ball and dribbled with one hand, using the other to wheel the chair incredibly fast toward the other end of the court. He stopped abruptly, pivoted the chair so he faced the basket, and took an even longer shot. This one dropped, too, barely moving the net.

  Seth was astonished. How could the guy shoot like that sitting down? There was something weird about the chair, too. It looked like the wheels were loose, because they tilted in toward the top.

  Seth noticed that the ball was rolling right at him. He reached for it but couldn't pick it up. Instead he used his fingertips to roll it back toward the other guy, who easily scooped it up one-handed.

  “Thanks,” the boy said, smiling.

  “I watched you shoot. You're good!”

  The older boy shrugged. “Thanks, I was in a groove there, I guess. My name's Danny Detweiler.”

  “Seth Pender.” Seth started to wheel his chair onto the polished hardwood of the court.

  “Whoa!” Danny held up a hand. “Don't bring that chair out here!”

  Baffled, Seth stopped. “What's the problem?”

  “You'll mark the floor up.”

  Seth pointed to Danny's chair. “Well, you're on the court, and I don't see any marks.”

  Danny nodded. “My chair is designed for sports, and it has special tires that won't leave skid marks on the wood. Your chair doesn't.”

  “Well, it looks like your special wheels are about to fall off. They're loose.”

  Danny grinned and shook his head. “They're meant to be like that. It's called ‘camber,’ and most sports chairs work that way, especially basketball chairs. The wheels are slanted on purpose.”

  “How come?” asked Seth. “For balance?”

  “When you're playing a game, sometimes two chairs come together. Without the cambering, your hands could get mashed between the wheels.”

  Seth nodded, only half listening to the explanation. Something else Danny had said was just sinking in. “Did you say your chair is specially made for basketball?”

  “Sure, wheelchair basketball. I've been playing a few years, and this year I'm starting league play. That's why I'm getting in as much gym time as I can. I need to work to be ready.”

  “Oh,” said Seth. “Wheelchair basketball. I get you.”

  Danny's smile faded. “What do you get? What's with the look when you said ‘wheelchair basketball’?”

  Seth blinked. He had the feeling that Danny didn't like what he had said, but couldn't see why. “Well … I only meant … you know, wheelchair basketball. Not real basketball.”

  Now Seth was sure that Danny was angry “Uhhuh,” Danny said, giving Seth a flat stare. “Real basketball, like you used to play, I'll bet, before you wound up in that chair.”

  “Right,” Seth replied. “I was good, too, but,” he looked at the floor, “that's over for me, now.”

  “Yeah, that's a shame.” Danny didn't sound sympathetic. In fact, he sounded sarcastic.

  “Hey, you know what I mean,” Seth said, worried that he'd insulted Danny somehow. “I only got hurt a while ago, so I'm not … When did you have your accident?”

  The older boy's eyes drilled into Seth's eyes. “I didn't have any accident. I had a birth defect; been using a wheelchair all my life.”

  Seth thought he understood. “Oh. Well, you're used to this, I guess. I mean, you never played real basketball. You don't know what I've been going through. It's like —”

  “If you want a shoulder to cry on,” Danny interrupted roughly, “you better look elsewhere. I'm busy.” He started back onto the court, then turned back to face Seth.

  “Actually, you sound like you're feeling sorry for yourself so you won't need any sympathy from me. By the way, I have a great life, and I happen to love wheelchair basketball. It's a great sport, but it's probably too much for you. See you around.”

  As he turned away, Seth left the gym, resentful over Danny's rudeness. What's his problem? he wondered. He'd hoped that Danny might turn out to be a new friend with whom he could share his troubles, but it didn't look like that would happen.

  Outside the gym, a voice called, “Yo, Seth!”

  It was Lou. Seth sighed. Earlier he had been looking for a way to apologize to his old friend. But after Danny's hostility, Seth didn't want company. Still, here came Lou anyway.

  “Hey, Seth, some guys are coming over on Saturday to watch a game on TV, and I was thinking maybe you'd like to come, too.”

  “I don't think so,” Seth replied, wanting the conversation to be over.

  Lou frowned. “And that's that, huh? Listen, what's going on? You look like you want me to go away and stop bugging you. If you do, say the word and I'm gone.”

  Seth scowled. “That's what I've been trying to say for weeks.”

  “Fine,” Lou said. “Now I understand. I won't bother you anymore. I guess you'd rather mope around than have friends. That's up to you. So long.” Lou spun on his heel and stormed away.

  Seth headed for the school door, his mind in turmoil. He wondered if he'd ever have another friend … or another reall
y happy day.

  3

  The next morning, Seth was having breakfast with his family, and he told them about his encounter with Danny.

  “Too bad he was such a creep. He looked really tough, and did he have a great outside shot! Anyway, he was going on about wheelchair basketball and how cool it was.” Seth snorted. “Yeah, right!”

  His sister took a bite of toast. “That reminds me, I heard something about a wheelchair-basketball league that is going to play some games here. My Phys. Ed. teacher, Ms. Fabini, mentioned it. She says there are women's and men's teams and that it's fun to watch. You should check it out, Seth. It might be something for you to try.”

  Seth shot a scornful look at Phyllis. “I don't think so.”

  “Why not?” asked Mr. Pender. “It sounds like a good idea to me.”

  “Come on, Dad! Are you kidding?” Seth waved a hand in disgust. “I played real basketball! And I was good! This wheelchair stuff has got to be totally lame.”

  “How do you know?” Phyllis demanded. “You've never played it. You've never seen it. Come on, bro, it's worth a look, anyway”

  Seth stared straight ahead. “You look at it, if you want. I've got other things to do.”

  “Oh, really?” Phyllis leaned forward. “Like what, exactly? Like lying on your bed and sulking?”

  Mrs. Pender put a hand on Phyllis's ann. “Honey, don't —”

  Phyllis shook the hand off. “No, Mom, I'm sorry, but we've all been tiptoeing around because we're afraid of hurting Seth's feelings, which is more than I can say of him. But maybe we need to all say what's on our minds, because this other stuff isn't working.

  “I know Seth loves sports and that he misses them a lot. And now we hear about something that he could actually play, and he just sits there and puts it down without even knowing anything about it. That's crazy to me.”

  Seth wheeled away from the table. “Everyone around here thinks they know what's best for me, but —”

  “I don't say I know what's best for you,” Phyllis interrupted, grabbing hold of his chair so he couldn't leave. “But I don't think you know what's best for. you, either. Not the way you've been lately. Being rude and nasty to us when all we do is try to help. Turning your friends into enemies. Moping around like your life is over —”