Glory Girl by Betsy Byars

the first time the brothers had touched in thirteen years.
    “What’s holding you?” Uncle Newt asked, gasping, trembling from cold and desperation.
    “It’s my leg … the seat …”
    Bracing against the side of the bus, Uncle Newt pulled on the metal seat. “It’s giving a little.” He strained with all his might. “Try to pull your leg out.”
    “I can’t feel it any more. I—”
    The bus shifted again as it was washed downstream by the current. The water rose in the bus. Uncle Newt held his breath until the bus came to rest against rocks.
    A flash of lightning lit up the bus. Thunder roared. Uncle Newt saw his brother’s face, now only inches above the water. “This is your last chance, Bubba,” he gasped. “I’ll pull on the seat, and you yank your leg out of there. You hear me?”
    “I’ll try … I don’t—”
    “Do it, Bubba. This is it !”
    Uncle Newt braced his foot against the side of the bus and pulled on the twisted metal. He felt it loosen slightly. He strained harder, arching his whole body backward.
    “Now!” he yelled.
    There was a scream as Mr. Glory pulled his leg free. Mr. Glory tried to scramble out of his seat, but his leg was useless. He fell facedown in the water. He floundered, swallowed water, choked. Uncle Newt put his arm under his brother’s shoulders and lifted him. Holding onto each other, they struggled to the door.
    The water was flowing into the back of the bus now, filling it. Fighting the current and time and the weight of his brother, Uncle Newt lunged through the doorway. He plunged into the cold water for the last time. His head went under and then, as he bobbed up, his feet touched bottom for a moment.
    Towing his brother behind him, he began to swim for shore.

The Glory Family
    A NNA REMEMBERED LITTLE OF being carried up the bank on a stretcher or of her ride to the hospital in an ambulance. She heard nothing that was said to her, and the bright lights and the wailing siren had no meaning.
    In the emergency room, however, with a doctor and nurse working over her, there had been one moment of absolute clarity. In all the confusion and urgency Anna had looked across the room and seen a familiar face in the doorway.
    “Uncle Newt,” she cried through teeth that were still chattering.
    She had tried to raise her head. Hands pushed her back on the table.
    “Anna,” Uncle Newt called, somehow sensing what she wanted. “Everybody got out!” He lifted one hand, and Anna lay back, satisfied.
    The next three days were a blur. Anna slept most of the time, drifting in and out of consciousness. Her first good morning came on Tuesday.
    A nurse came into the room to take Anna’s blood pressure and said, “Well, you’re looking better today.”
    “Have I seen you before?” Anna asked.
    “Every day.”
    “I don’t remember.” The nurse tightened the blood pressure cuff around Anna’s arm and pumped air into it. “How’s my family?” Anna asked.
    “Let’s see. Your sister had a compound fracture of the left arm, a broken collarbone, and bad bruises. Your mom—she must have good padding—she’s just suffering from shock and exposure. Who else? Your dad’s the worst—five broken ribs, a punctured lung, smashed left leg.”
    “And the twins?”
    “Your brothers are driving everybody in Pediatrics crazy. Those boys are mean as snakes. They had a wheelchair race yesterday, almost ran over Dr. Perrini.”
    “They weren’t hurt?”
    “Cuts and bruises.”
    “Stitches?”
    “No.”
    Anna smiled slightly. “I bet they were disappointed about that.”
    “Those boys are tough.”
    Anna’s answer was cut off because the nurse put a thermometer in her mouth. When she could speak again, Anna asked, “Have you heard anything about my uncle?”
    “Why, your uncle is a hero. He’s been in all the headlines. ‘Former Convict Rescues Family.’”
    “I wish they hadn’t said ‘convict.’”
    “No, something like that gives convicts a good name. The