It was about the size of a small suitcase.
Dark stained wood.
Brass corners.
A leather handle.
Not perfectly square.
One corner sat slightly higher than the others.
The lid had several faint scratches.
But it looked solid.
Heavy.
Real.
Ethan set it on the table beside the microphone.
Then he tried to adjust the microphone.
It wouldn’t move.
He pulled harder.
Nothing.
The audience went quiet.
My stomach dropped.
A teacher started toward him.
Ethan tapped the microphone.
“Too tall.”
A few people laughed gently.
The teacher lowered it.
Ethan nodded.
“Problem solved.”
More laughter.
Something inside me loosened.
Then Ethan looked directly at me.
“I made Claire something.”
He paused.
“Actually, I made a lot of somethings.”
The audience laughed.
Ethan opened the case.
For one terrible second, every fear I’d carried for months returned.
Three hundred people were watching my little brother.
Three hundred people were waiting to see what he had made.
