Stand Tall Read Online Free PDF

disability.”
    It was hard to hop in the house without falling.
    Sully was at the dining room table, researching sedimentary rocks on the computer for their earth science report. Sully looked up. “What are you doing?”
    Tree made it to a chair, eased himself down like Mona Arnold was teaching Grandpa to do.
    “Butt down and slide,” she instructed.
    Butt sliding was a big part of rehab.
    “That’s what my grandpa’s got to do when he gets home, Sully.”
    Sully nodded. He didn’t know what it was like to have halfa leg, but he knew what it was like to have bad hearing. You have to try harder to understand what people are saying; watch what they do, not just what they say. Sully adjusted his hearing aid.
    Tree looked around the room, thinking.
    Homecomings should be fun.
    He saw it in his mind. The best ideas are simple.
    He grabbed a piece of paper, drew a clothesline on a pulley hung from the kitchen to the living room. A big basket suspended from the line, delivering food to wherever his grandpa was sitting.
    Sully glared at the computer screen. “Who cares if sediment is mechanical, chemical, or organic? Knowing this will not help us later in life.”
    “Unless we drill for oil. I’ll be right back.”
    Tree raced through the kitchen, into the garage, past the bikes and the lawn mower, past the old Chinese gong that used to hang on the back porch. His mother would ram it with a mallet to call him and his brothers in for dinner.
    That sound shook the neighborhood.
    It was out of commission now, like a warship in dry dock.
    On a shelf he found a pulley, an old clothesline.
    He grabbed his tool kit, too, ran back inside. Lugged forty feet of line past Sully, who shouted, “
What
are you doing?”

    Tree was on a step stool, pulling rope through the pulley, when Dad came home with Chinese food.
    “I can explain,” Tree said. He and Sully tugged on the rope to make sure it was tight.
    “Good.” Dad stared at the clothesline stretched from kitchen to dining room.
    “Dad, do we need the hanging lamp in the living room?”
    “I’m kind of fond of it.” Dad speared a dumpling with a chopstick.
    “Can I just try something?”
    “You should let him, Mr. Benton. This is more educational than homework.”
    Dad raised an eyebrow.
    Tree took the hanging lamp off the hook, handed it down.
    He fastened the pulley to the hook. Checked the weight, balance. “Grandpa won’t be able to reach it here. It’s got to be lower. Untie the rope, Dad.”
    Dad walked over, chewing, untied it.
    “If I bolt it on the beam, Dad, it will be steady. Okay?”
    Dad laughed. “I’m a sport.”
    “This is going to be so cool, Mr. Benton.”
    Bolt screwed in, pulley and rope adjusted.
    Dad watched, smiling.
    Tree ran to the kitchen, stuck a package of Mallomars in a basket, clamped the basket on the rope.
    “This is how we can deliver food to Grandpa when he gets home, Dad.”
    Swoosh.
    Tree pulled the rope through the pulley. The basket made a low loop in the dining room—he’d have to fix that—Bradley tucked his tail low and slinked away. The basket stopped right over the couch.
    Bradley barked.
    Tree beamed.
    Dad grabbed it, laughing. “Terrific!”
    Sully gazed respectfully at the invention. “My mother would croak if we tried that at my house.”
    Tree and Dad nodded.
    Occasionally something awful, like divorce, can have a good side.

    It was late. Dad was asleep.
    Tree stood in the driveway in front of the basketball hoop. The air was cold; his breath rose like steam.
    He bounced the ball.
    Tried to rise up on his toes like Curtis taught him.
    Took a shot.
    Missed.
    Another.
    Almost.
    He dribbled the ball up and down the driveway.
    The neighbors couldn’t see how bad he was at night.
    He wasn’t graceful like Curtis, who could dribble a ball past anyone to make the basket.
    He wasn’t easy with himself like Larry, who could pick up a bat and hit a home run on the first pitch.
    He wondered why he was not like his