The skinny boy in the gray hoodie stood up so quickly his chair nearly tipped over. His face had gone red, and when he began to speak his voice shook hard enough that the first word almost disappeared.
“My dad drives nights,” he said. “People joke that he just sits there and turns a wheel.”
He swallowed and tried again, gripping the back of the chair in front of him.
“He sleeps during the day on our couch because he gave me his room after my mom left. He pays for my little sister’s inhalers. He misses almost everything, and he still says sorry like he’s the one letting us down.”
Nobody in that gym was looking anywhere except at that boy.
He wiped his face with his sleeve and kept talking even though his voice cracked.
“So maybe people like you don’t wear suits,” he said. “Maybe you don’t make fancy speeches. But my dad is the reason we eat. He’s the reason we still have lights on. He’s the reason I get to be here.”
