The blue cover had a strip of silver tape along the spine where it had split during the second week of construction. Theo knew the tiny glue stain near the bottom corner. He knew the dent where he had rested a compass too hard.
His father knew it too.
“That’s his,” he said.
Mr. Pritchard stepped forward. “We don’t know that yet.”
Theo’s father looked at him. “You just said it was missing.”
The judge’s face tightened.
The teacher held out her hand.
Logan did not give her the notebook.
“The first page,” she said quietly. “You heard my question.”
Logan’s eyes filled.
Theo felt something inside him shift.
Until that moment, he had wanted the notebook opened more than anything. He had imagined the truth arriving cleanly, the lie collapsing, the bridge safe on the table again.
Now Logan looked twelve years old.
Not innocent.
Not harmless.
Just twelve.
Theo still wanted the truth.
He no longer wanted it to crush his friend.
“Logan,” he said.
Logan looked at him.
“Just give it to her.”
His fingers loosened.
The teacher took the notebook and opened it.
The first page was covered in Theo’s handwriting.
Measurements. A rough sketch of the first bridge shape. Three crossed-out ideas for the center span. In the upper corner he had drawn the same missing-inch ruler and written a reminder to add one inch before cutting.
The second page was Theo’s too.
So were the third and fourth.
Logan’s handwriting appeared later, after a date written nearly two weeks into the project.
Priya exhaled.
Theo had not realized she was holding her breath.
