“That has to be some temporary volunteer position.”
“It isn’t.”
Nathan forced out a laugh.
“Mara always loved pretending she mattered.”
Eli stepped forward.
“She does matter.”
Nathan looked at him like a piece of furniture had suddenly spoken.
“And who are you?”
My son’s jaw tightened.
But his voice remained calm.
“A competitor.”
Nathan smiled condescendingly.
“Then learn something early. Talent is rare. Confidence is even rarer. Don’t waste either standing behind someone else’s bitterness.”
Ethan gave the smallest smile.
“We’ll remember that.”
The opening bell rang.
Students began moving toward the competition rooms.
Preston walked past my sons.
“Good luck,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”
Eli simply nodded.
Ethan adjusted his glasses.
My boys had never been flashy.
While Preston gave interviews and posed for scholarship newsletters, Eli and Ethan worked quietly.
They solved calculus problems on diner napkins.
Built robotics projects from secondhand parts.
