Dante sits on the curb by Ryan’s wheelchair,
picking at tiny stones caught in the crack of the sidewalk and
skipping them across the parking lot. They’re not in front of the
doors, where a steady stream of people still pour into the
rink—it’s not quite noon yet and the races will probably last the
better part of the day, this place will be busy until after six
this evening. Beside him, Ryan watches the road, on the lookout for
his mother’s van. “So you have off today, right?” he asks as Dante
pegs another stone across the empty parking space in front of
them.
“All day,” Dante replies. The stone
skips once, twice, then pings off the rim of a nearby car. His ass
and thighs are numb from sitting on this sidewalk—the cold seeps
through his sweatpants and he wishes he had left his
