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the point of exhaustion, but the experience had been fantastic. Imagine, he thought, he
     had gotten a touchdown. It was his second. He had scored the first one in the game against the Scorpions when he had intercepted
     a pass.
    But this one he had done on his own. He had decided on the option play, and had made it work.
    “Wasn’t that run just fantastic?” a voice cried behind him.
    He turned just as Carol burst around the left side of his wheelchair. He saw that she didn’t have a Popsicle this time, and
     decided she was more normal than he had expected.No person could afford— let alone eat— Popsicles all day long, he told himself.
    “I’ve got to agree,” he said. “It was.”
    He looked for Vickie, and saw her coming toward them unhurriedly, her eyes across the field, probably looking at Tom.
    “Hi, Vickie,” he said.
    “Hi, Michael,” she greeted him, flashing her warm smile. “How are you?”
    “Fine. What do you think of that touchdown run Tom just made?”
    “It was great.”
    “Yeah,” he said, cracking a wry grin. “I thought so, too.”
    His grin broadened. If these girls only knew who had really made that touchdown, they’d die!
    “Michael,” said Carol, looking at him with her large eyes, “did you ever wish that you— ” She hesitated, looked away, thenlooked at him again. “You wouldn’t mind if I asked you a personal question, would you?”
    He shrugged. “No. Go ahead, ask.”
    “Well— ” She glanced down and started to burrow a toe into the hard surface of the earth near the front left wheel of his
     wheelchair. “Do you ever wish that you were able to play football? I mean— I know it’s a stupid question because you… you
     can’t… but I just wondered.”
    No one had ever asked him a question like that before. But he didn’t mind. “I know what you mean,” he said. “The answer is
     yes. I might as well be honest about it. I have wished that I could play. But it doesn’t bother me very much that I can’t.”
     Oh, how he would like to tell her more!
    She nodded, and shrugged. “Gee,” she said.
    “Gee, what?”
    “Oh, nothing. Just gee.” And she laughed.
    The second half went well for the Moths. Jinx Roberts, their tall, scrambling quarterback, lapped up thirty yards on two runs,
     then heaved a touchdown pass to Hans Steiner that put the Moths one point behind the Eagles. Nick’s kick for the extra point
     was off the mark by two yards, leaving the score: Eagles 14, Moths 13.
    Then, just thirteen seconds before the third quarter was over, Tom fumbled a snap from center.
    Michael almost pushed himself out of the chair as he tried to see who had recovered the ball. The action had stopped only
     a few yards away from the Eagles’ goal line. If the Moths had recovered it, the game would be close to a loss for the Eagles.
    Suddenly, the ref, standing over a player who was smothering the ball, jabbed a finger in the direction of the Eagles’ goal
     line! And Moth players started to jump up and down jubilantly! It was the Moths’ ball! They had recovered it!
    Michael was sick. “Oh, no!” he groaned. “Oh, no! Tom, why did you have to fumble there?”
    Nick Podopolis tried a line plunge and gained two yards.
    “Hold ’em!” Michael shouted along with the hundreds of other Eagles fans. “Hold ’em, you guys!”
    With four seconds to go before the quarter ended, Nick bucked the line again. This time he went over. His kick for the extra
     point was good, and the Moths went into the lead, 20-14.
    The horn blew and the teams exchanged goals.
    Tom caught Nick’s long, spiraling kick, and brought it back to his own thirty-four. He looked bushed, Michael thought. Or
     perhaps he was depressed over the fumble he had made.
    Michael began to concentrate on his thought-energies again, hoping that Tom would do likewise. This might be an excellent
     time for him and his brother to change places again.
    But Michael failed to tune in on Tom’s thought waves.