The crowd thought the boy in the wheelchair was helpless-until the wild mustang lowered his head to his boots

and sit in his own body, which was usually the thing he worked hardest to avoid. The chair pressed into his hips. Phantom spasms flickered down legs he could not feel. Dust collected along the seams of his jeans.

Cinder slowed.

It was not dramatic. No one would have noticed from the bleachers. His steps simply stretched farther apart. He paused at the continue reading …