The Reading Warehouse

Meet Stuart and Sam.

Stuart can run like the wind. It's a skill that has come in handy for him all his life. Born with fetal alcohol spectrum disorder (FASD), Stuart has learned to run away from all kinds of trouble -- at least, if he can recognize it. Sometimes it's hard for him to know when a friend really is a friend or when he's just bad news.

Sam is a basketball star destined to play on a university varsity team until he's sidelined by a dangerous heart condition. After losing the one thing that centers his world, Sam focuses his energy on helping his Best Buddy, Stuart, make the school track-and-field team. But first, both Stuart and Sam must come to understand that there is a time to run and a time to stay where they belong.

from A Time to Run: Chapter One

STUART

My body vibrated. The cheerleaders bounced up and down on their toes and waved their blue-and-white pom-poms. The noise in the gym sounded like a booming bass drum and I liked it. I watched the cheerleaders as they dropped their pom-poms and ran to do cartwheels and flips. My job was to stay quiet on the bench, and give out towels and water bottles.

More cartwheels. More cheering. More buzzing. The gym was like a video game on high speed, so many colors, all moving and spinning and changing. Our school, Sir Winston Churchill, was playing in the city finals against Woodland School. HUGE basketball game. My Best Buddy, Sam, was the team captain and one of the best scorers because he could run fast. I needed to run or do something. Right now

One of the cheerleaders did a back flip. I jumped up off the bench, stuck my hands up, ran forward, and did a front flip too, something I'd learned to do on the trampoline ages ago.

When I landed, I felt a tug on my shirt. "Don't do that," whispered Cassandra, the team trainer. She tried to pull me back to the bench.

But I wanted to do another flip. I stuck my arms in the air.

"You're not a cheerleader," she said, still whispering, and tugged on my shirt. "You're the team manager. Sit on the bench."

"I'm not the team manager," I said. But I liked being called the team manager better than the water boy so I sat down. Water boy sounded totally lame. Team manager sounded cool.