Free Bobby the Brave (Sometimes) by Lisa Yee

felt an old, familiar sensation. Panic swept over him. He knew what it meant when he started wheezing, and once it started, there was no stopping it. Bobby struggled for air. With each attempt at a breath, the wheeze got bigger and more labored until it sounded like Darth Vader breathing in an echo chamber.
    Unable to romp or bark, Bobby made the only sounds he could between wheezes … whimpers.
    â€œSandy’s not supposed to cry,” Daddy Warbucks hissed. Jillian Zarr was glaring at Bobby, and Holly looked worried.
    But Bobby couldn’t speak. It hurt as he tried to get air in and out. When he tripped over his tail and fell, the audience applauded, thinking it was part of the show. At last the song ended, but when he didn’t get up, no one, including Bobby, knew what to do. His chest was tightening and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Finally, he managed to croak, “Help.”

    In a nanosecond, someone bolted from the back of the audience and shouted, “I’m coming, Bobby! Hang on!”
    It was The Freezer, barreling full speed ahead. When he growled and did a flying leap onstage, Swoozie screamed and St. James fell off the edge.
    In a sweeping movement, Mr. Ellis-Chan scooped his son up in his arms and then jumped off the stage over St. James. He ran right up the middle aisle of the auditorium, deposited his son in the car, handed Bobby his emergency inhaler, roared out of the parking lot, and drove straight home.

I nvisibility. That’s the superpower Bobby wished he had. It would certainly come in handy during football or school musicals. Even though he was at home now, the pain of what had just happened was so sharp that Bobby was doubled over.
    Having an asthma attack was humiliating enough. But to have one onstage with an audience watching? To see your father come running up yelling, “I’m coming, Bobby! Hang on!” Then to be carried away like a baby? It was just too much.
    Stupid asthma. Stupid, dumb, rotten asthma.
    By now, Bobby was used to asthma attacks, but being used to something didn’t necessarily mean you liked it. As he sat still on the couch with his nebulizer mask on, Bobby listened to the never-ending drone of the machine. It was a sound he hated, even though it meant that as he breathed in, the medicine was rushing into his lungs to make him better. The nebulizer reminded him of all the things he couldn’t do.
    It meant that he always had to be careful not to overexert himself. It meant that he couldn’t have a dog, because he was allergic to fur and that could trigger an asthma attack. And, he now realized, it meant that he couldn’t even be a dog, because he was allergic to his Sandy costume.
    As wisps of mist escaped from the nebulizer, Bobby looked at his dad, who was slumped in his Laz-E-Guy recliner, gripping a football and staring off into space. Was he embarrassed that his son had stopped the musical cold by having a mega asthma attack in front of an auditorium full of people? When his father was in front of a crowd, he did amazing things like score touchdowns, not fall over and make weird noises.
    Just when Mr. Ellis-Chan turned the nebulizer off and Bobby could breathe normally, the front door burst open and Mrs. Ellis-Chan and the girls rushed in.
    â€œHow are you, honey?” his mother asked. Her face was etched with worry. “We would have come home sooner, but your father took the car and Casey was scared to walk in the dark. So we got a ride home from the Harpers.”

    Casey nodded. “There are scary cats in the dark. Bobby, are you going to die?” She had tears in her eyes.
    â€œNo, I’m not going to die,” Bobby assured her.
    â€œWell, that was some drama!” Annie said, laughing. “It was the best part of the show. Oh man! To see Dad charging up on the stage like some superhero. Totally cool!”
    Bobby felt his jaw tense. He could never face the kids at school again, not