

Fia tugged her left sleeve and frowned. "I can’t do the beanbag toss," she whispered. "I wish I were normal." Katie smiled, "You’re you; that’s normal." Toby purred as Fia breathed deep.

Fia steadied her feet; because of hemiplegia, her right hand rested tight. "Aim with your eyes," Katie said. Toby nudged a beanbag. Fia swung lefty, whoosh—thunk! "I did it!" she laughed.

Later, painting looked tricky. "My brush wiggles," Fia muttered. "Try the chunky one," Katie offered. Toby left a tiny pawprint. Giggling, Fia held the thick handle, guided her strokes, and bright colors bloomed.

Outside, chalk waited. "What if I mess up?" Fia asked. "You’re you, and that’s awesome," Katie said. Fia drew a sun, grinning. "I can do it too!" Toby booped her left hand.