Andy tried again to force his leg to move. It only quivered, shooting pain up his back. “I’ll never walk again,” he said bitterly. “Who am I kidding?”

“Let’s try a couple of steps,” Nurse Parker suggested cheerfully. Andy liked her, but today her good mood made him feel worse.

“Leave me alone,” he said, frowning.

“Bad day?” she asked, pushing his wheelchair toward the walking bars.

“Bad year,” he sighed, closing his eyes. It hadn’t started that way. He remembered Coach Sanders telling him that he had made the gymnastics team. He had been strong and agile then, he thought, picturing the moves he had performed on the two horizontal bars five feet off the ground. Coach Sanders had said Andy might even compete for the city championship. That was before the accident.

“Okay, on your feet,” Nurse Parker said, parking Andy’s chair in front of the bars.

“I won’t do it,” he said. “I’m tired, and it’ll hurt. Besides, what’s the use?”

“Andy,” Nurse Parker said, “you are making progress. These exercises are important to your rehabilitation. We have to teach your legs to walk again. It takes time.”

“Easy for you to say,” Andy said. “When’s the last time your legs forgot how to walk?” With her help he pulled himself upright. His legs screamed with pain. They were on fire, and he was hardly putting any weight on them. Sweat rolled down his cheeks as he stood there, supporting himself with his arms. “I can’t do it,” he said, grimacing.

 “Yes, you can. Try!” Nurse Parker said. At that moment he hated her. Did she think it was easy? What did she know? Couldn’t she just leave him alone?

Gripping the cold metal bars, Andy thought back to the gymnastics competition. “Andrew Farnsworth on the parallel bars,” the announcer’s voice echoed through his memory. He had mounted the bars with grace and confidence, pushing his body into a perfect handstand. Then he had swung below the bars and back up as he started his routine. Suddenly his hand had slipped, and he had crashed to the floor. With pain exploding through his body, he had fought back tears, unable to move.

He had fractured a vertebra and sustained a minor spinal cord injury. It would take time, but he would recover. He was lucky, the doctor had said.

“Yeah, lucky Andy,” he thought, wincing as he tried to move his leg. Pain shot through him. Then, just as he was about to give up, his foot rose ever so slightly. Andy couldn’t believe it. Ignoring the pain, he strained to move the leg forward. Finally it inched ahead just a little.

“There you go!” Nurse Parker said.

Andy exhaled. It was just one small step, but it felt like a giant leap. There would be no more thoughts of quitting.