After picking up drinks from Sonic, Sam directed Artie's turns to a small subdivision where most of the homes had a certain country charm, however modest they may have been. Number 805, their current rental, was pale yellow with white trim and a white picket fence. It was much nicer than the duplexes across from the school that they lived in when Sam first moved to Lima with his family. And definitely nicer than the motel they'd once occupied, when Sam's father had lost his job. Artie got the sense that maybe homes were a little more affordable here than in Lima. That, or Sam's father's new job here in the suburbs outside of Louisville was helping the family get back on their feet.

The house had three steps up to the white front porch. Artie didn't exactly blame Sam for not thinking of it until that precise moment, as most people didn't tend to think of three steps as a big deal. But that meant that the very first impression Artie got to make on Sam's family that day was needing to be carried up to the porch. Sam's mother stepped outside as they pulled up, seemingly having anticipated the barrier herself. Artie said nothing of it as she and Sam worked as a team to haul Artie and his chair right on up.

"Thanks," he said, as he caught an apologetic stare from Sam and returned that look with his own reassuring smile. "It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Evans. Great house."

"It is pretty great," she agreed, surveying it with a smile, wiping her hands on the cherry-patterned apron she wore over old clothes, her hair tossed in a lopsided bun. And yet she still looked too young and attractive to be anyone's mother, not that Artie would ever tell Sam that. That was even worse than Sam commenting about Amy.

"We have a big tree swing," Stacey pointed out, gesturing to a huge old tree in the front yard that did, indeed, have one of those rope swings. Artie had tons of memories of playing on one just like it at his grandparents' lake house when he was little.

"The next tenant says she may even try to buy the house," Mary commented, when she'd caught an apologetic look from Sam, who sometimes felt guilty for being the reason his family was uprooting themselves yet again, Artie knew. "C'mon inside, I have some fresh fruit for you kids."

You kids included Artie and Sam, and in this particular context, Artie didn't mind being referred to as a kid, even if he was nearly eighteen. (He didn't want to think about it because, if he could help it, most people would continue to believe he was a year younger and he'd allowed it.) Artie let the kids go in front of him and made sure he was the last one through the door, just hoping that there weren't any more unpleasant surprises.

The house had carpet, but it was so worn out that it didn't catch on his wheels like new carpet. The whole thing was one level, not like his house that required a ramp inside just so Artie could go from the entryway into the sunken living room. (Why were all these levels inside homes such as rampant trend in the 70's and 80's anyway?) The doorways felt narrow, but that was to be expected, especially in older homes. It was just wide enough to accommodate him as they passed through the entryway that led into a small sitting room and then the semi-closed off kitchen. Artie would have to be cautious not to smash his knuckles against door frames, but these things were the type of minor issues he was already well accustomed to handling at his friends' homes.

Sam seemed to be watching Artie carefully, turning to glance at him over his shoulder as they headed inside to the kitchen. His mother resumed slicing up the peaches for the little kids and putting pieces into bowls, sharing that they were from the small fruit and vegetable garden out back that she'd started when she noticed how expensive produce was getting. The new tenant, she explained, loved the fact that she'd started it and planned to keep it going once they left. Mrs. Evans seemed to be studying Artie, as if to make sure everything was going to work for Artie's short stay, yet neither of them wanted to be the first to comment.

Sparing them, Artie had to be the first to break the ice anyway. "Where's the bathroom?" he asked.

It had been two hours and counting since their last stop, plus he'd had soda and a Sonic drink. This question from anyone who wasn't a wheelchair user in a new place would have just elicited a simple pointing gesture and few basic directions from the homeowner.

"Do you need anything? Those bars for the toilet you brought? I'll go get them." Sam sprinted out of the room, almost forgetting to grab the car key out of Artie's hand as he went. And, no, Artie didn't need the bars for the toilet, not at that particular moment, but of course he would later. He'd need the seat for the shower they'd brought along, too. Ironically, they were trying to move out, but Artie's visit meant you needed to move a bunch of stuff in. He sighed a little.

Mary caught that. "Down the hall, first door on the left," she said, kindly pointing Artie into the right direction. Artie had his trusty backpack on his chair, so he had what he needed already. He thanked her and headed in that direction, as she went back to cutting up the fruit.

The house might have been more bare than usual, because the family had presumably already removed many of their belongings and packed them up into the boxes that Artie had noticed shoved into a back corner of the room when they'd first come inside. A few pictures still hung on the wall, and Artie paused to make note of them. They'd done some of those department store portraits, which were hung in a cluster and showed Sam with braces, acne, and hair that was a shade darker than his current color, making him look sort of washed out. He was probably in middle school. Artie was glad that nearly everyone he knew had been through some sort of awkward phase. Maybe that explained why Sam was so weird, despite looking like he should be much cooler and more self-assured.

"Yo, I've got these." Sam had returned in record time, clearly thinking Artie needed the whole setup sooner, rather than later, and so he'd made a beeline to the car and back to retrieve it.

"Dude, I don't need them now, I'm not pooping." Artie just decided to be blunt and be done with skirting around these delicate topics. Sam had lived with him for six months now, yet he didn't know the first thing about Artie because he just stayed upstairs, mostly out of Artie's way. Sure, they hung out plenty, but Artie would usually work his way upstairs and join Sam in the little sitting room by the two bedrooms up there. Sam never followed Artie back to his room.

"Oh." Artie watched Sam try to process that whole situation. "Right, well, uh, go ahead. I'll wait until you're done and then set it up for when you do need it."

"Great, thanks," Artie said, briskly, as he let himself into the small bathroom that all the kids and any guests used. The thick bat mat caught in his wheels as he rolled inside. Bath mats served no purpose for him, except that he kept a few poolside, to keep himself from scaping his knees when he got out. Otherwise, they were just annoying. Artie knew he didn't live here, but rather than deal with this little obstacle every time he came in, he just picked up, folded it in half, and decided to shove it into one of the lower cabinets. They'd get the picture, he figured.

When he finished up, he discovered Sam had gone to get the shower chair, too, and was waiting for him with the equipment leaning up against the wall. As soon as Artie emerged, Sam had to get it off his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, hanging his head slightly and looking a little bit ashamed. "I really hope you're going to be comfortable enough while you stay here. Would you tell me if you're not?"

"It's not a big deal, you don't have to apologize." He was forever consoling people about these things. They would just get all of this out of the way now, then they could have a fun, relaxing time together. "But I would be a little more comfortable right now if I could stretch out on the bed for awhile. My back's really tight from sitting in the same position for four hours. Usually I can shift around more than that."

"Oh, right!" Sam seemed to think he had to act like he should have known. Artie didn't think that. There was no way the other could have thought of all the things, nor did Artie expect it. Sam did a quick about face and showed him to the small bedroom that all three siblings had shared, when he lived here.

The room had one big full-sized bed with a twin bunk on top. This was actually kind of perfect, as Artie could make use of the top bunk to pull himself up and they could pile stuff on the top bed, to get it out of the way. Or Sam could sleep up there if he wanted, though he'd said he preferred the floor. Artie set his break and smoothly transferred onto the bed, unable not to sigh in sweet relief as he finally changed positions for the first time in way too long.

"You still want some peaches?" Sam offered. "It doesn't matter if you eat in other rooms in our house. We're super casual. We wear shoes inside, that kind of thing..."

"Maybe later," Artie told him, yawning now. "I think I'll take a nap."

"Can I do anything else for you?" Sam seemed to still be in the process of apologizing for all the things he couldn't possibly have known to think of in advance.

There was one thing that would probably help his current situation. He gently explained to Sam the process involved in manipulating his legs into various stretches, to relieve any tightness in his joints. Sam had no qualms about doing this and actually looked happy to help out. Artie had never asked anyone to do this before. Every night, his mom did it for him. Sometimes his dad or his sister would, if she wasn't around. He could actually hear his mom asking now, as she would when she called, if he had stretched out properly that evening. Now he could say that he had.

"Want me to take off your shoes too?"

"That would be great."

When he had finished, Sam even remembered the need for an extra pillow without being told and handed him the pillow from the top bunk to tuck between his knees. Artie smiled and closed his eyes, figuring that Sam would use the time while he was sleeping to enjoy catching up with his mom and younger siblings. And Artie, who lived life like an only child ever since Amy left for college, would enjoy the peace and quiet he was accustomed to for a little while...

He dozed off for longer than he planned, for by the time he opened his eyes again, it was getting late, nearly 6:00. It felt awkward to keep lying around much longer at someone else's house. Before getting up, though, he checked his phone and saw that he had missed a couple texts. The first was from his mother, checking to see if they'd arrived. She'd probably reached out to Sam or maybe even Sam's mother when hadn't replied. He sent her a quick message back. The next was from Quinn.

Therapy question, was all it said. Hope the drive to Sam's went well. Call me if you get a chance.

He figured he should call her now, before he got busy with dinner and talking to Sam's family. He dialed her number and was delighted when she picked up, greeting her with a bright and cheerful, "Quinn!"

"Hey hey," she said. "Thanks for calling me. How was your first road trip?"

"Long," Artie confirmed. "But good. Sam made it go by quickly. I just took a long nap on his bed, but I'm about to get up. What's your question?"

"Just wondering if this is nothing or if I should be concerned," she began. "Today, I did a lot more walking than usual, with the bars. I started to notice one side is feeling a whole lot weaker than the other. Like, I'm limping on my right side. My right hip hurts nonstop and the pain radiates all the way down to my foot. Should I be worried about that or do you think it's normal?"

"Um..." Artie didn't know why she would think this would be an area of expertise for him. It wasn't like he practiced walking. "Could be a minor injury or a strained muscle. Maybe you should cancel for tomorrow and see your doctor first."

At this, Quinn exhaled loudly. "I can't cancel," she said, sounding borderline-upset at the notion, even though he'd only said what literally anyone would have told her. Artie knew better than to think she was mad at him though.

"Why not?" he asked innocently.

There was a long pause on the other end. So long that Artie had to check his phone just to make sure they were still connected. He remained silent too, letting her process her thoughts on this.

"Because..." she finally said. "This is spring break, Artie. This is the only chance I get to focus on nothing but getting better and-and walking. After that, there isn't much time left."

"Until Nationals," he supplied.

"And prom," she added. "Joe asked me, and I told him yes, but only if I can dance with him at prom. Otherwise, I don't think he should waste his time." There was another pause, a brief one. "S-sorry, I realize how that sounded."

"I'm really not concerned about how it sounds, Q, I'd rather you be honest." Artie, too, was being honest. He'd rather disconnect himself from the whole thing, so that she could just say what she was thinking, unfiltered, without worrying that she would hurt his feelings. "But about the prom thing, Joe's a sophomore. So, unless he has an upperclassman for his date, he doesn't get to go anyway, that's the rule. So it's not like you're robbing him of any experience."

Joe Hart better know he's lucky dude, Artie thought, still kind of reeling from the shock that Joe could actually recover from that very embarrassing experience in Quinn's physio session and still land a date with her. Must be the dreads.

"I guess not..." Quinn trailed off, probably thinking twice about making any more comments to him regarding not being able to dance at her prom, even though he'd just invited her to go ahead and be honest.

"I told you it was a bad idea to tell everyone you'd walk by Nationals." Okay, now he was going to chastise her a little bit. She didn't like it? Too bad, she shouldn't have asked him for advice. Big brother had to tell it like it was. "You put too much pressure on yourself, you know? Don't worry about dancing for Nationals for everyone else."

"It wasn't for everyone else," she argued, sounding a bit snippy for just a moment before she seemed to realize it and promptly softened her tone. "It was... it was for me. I really want to dance at Nationals. It's... an incredible opportunity."

"It is," he agreed. "And you know what? If you're not quite ready for dancing by then, that's okay. I'll choreograph some really kick ass wheelchair dance moves for us both. Something that'll make the crowd go wild."

He heard her laugh a little now, and he knew he'd won her over. "That sounds like a pretty special opportunity, too, Artie," she said. "Thanks. I knew I'd feel better if I talked to you. I'm gonna skip therapy tomorrow and see what my doctor says."

"Good."

"Oh, and before I forget, thank you so much for giving me the key to the gate for your pool. I already went today and I think I'm gonna go twice tomorrow. It's so relaxing and it really beats sitting, now that my hip hurts so much."

"Well, good," he told her. "I'm so glad. Try to relax. Maybe some heat therapy for your hip or something, I don't know, but definitely skip physio. Guess old Joe Schmo's gonna have to take you on a real date, huh?"

She giggled. "You're too much," she said. "I better let you go. Please give Stevie and Stacey hugs for me and have a great time in Kentucky."

As they hung up, Artie contemplated the fact that Joe had just beaten him to asking Quinn to prom. Yes, he'd been thinking of asking Quinn to be his date, as friends, just because he couldn't think of anyone else he'd rather go with. And now Joe had asked first, just like he had at Valentine's Day. Why, oh why, did he put this off? He supposed he could go with Sheila and Ronnie again. But, since there was no one making a rule about it at prom, he figured his best bet was just to be single. At least prom didn't matter that much to him. Maybe he'd have a real date next year...

"Artie? Dinner's almost ready, are you up?" Sam's mom was now calling to him from the hallway, remaining just out of sight. Oh shit, he though, scrambling out of that bed as best he could, being that he was who he was. He hadn't meant to take so long that someone had to come looking for him.

"Coming!" he called out.

By the time he rolled into the kitchen, someone had already removed a chair at the table and helped his plate for him. He rolled up to the sight of good old southern cooking - fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and watermelon.

"Authentic Kentucky fried chicken!" Sam announced, as Stevie and Stacey joined him at the table, eat of them opting to sit on either side of Artie. "The real stuff, not that chain-restaurant garbage. Dig in!"

For dessert, his mother had outdone herself here with peach cobbler made from more of the fresh peaches from the garden and homemade vanilla ice cream. Artie, who loved cooking, could always appreciate a home-cooked meal, especially when there was dessert. This alone made the trip worth it. Teasingly, he expressed this thought to Sam and his mother, getting an appreciative laugh from both. He knew they'd each still been wondering about his comfort level in their home, and with that comment, the tension melted away.

After dinner, Artie and Sam's mom sat on the front porch and watched the little ones take turns getting pushed by Sam on the tree swing. It was beginning to get dark outside when Sam's father finally came home from his job at Texas Roadhouse, having brought home some leftover sweet rolls and cinnamon butter for breakfast the next day, something he did often. Nothing productive towards the move was getting done today, Artie realized, but that seemed to be okay with Sam's mother, who sat in her porch rocking chair and surveyed the yard.

"Kentucky's home, right?" he guessed, as Mary sighed and nodded.

"Not for Sammy, though," Dwight added, as he watched Sam steady the swing while Stacey climbed on for her next turn. "And we want to see him happy. We'll make do wherever we go, but he's only happy in Ohio."