“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Mostly.”
I pulled back.
“What does mostly mean?”
He smiled.
“Mr. Alvarez helped with the saw.”
Of course.
Mr. Alvarez lived four houses down.
Retired carpenter.
Eighty-two.
Missing two fingers.
Suddenly the garage made sense.
The sawdust.
Mom holding onto the key.
The mysterious trips down Ferry Road.
“You worked with Mr. Alvarez?”
“Tuesday and Thursday.”
“Since January?”
“Sometimes Saturday.”
I looked at Mom.
She was laughing through tears.
“You knew?”
“Obviously.”
“You told me he was doing a project.”
“He was.”
“I thought school project.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
I wanted to be mad.
I couldn’t manage it.
Danny picked up the little sparrow.
“I did this one three times.”
“Why?”
“The first one looked like a potato.”
I laughed.
“The second?”
“Dead potato.”
I nearly fell apart again.
He handed me the third one.
It still barely looked like a bird.
It was perfect.
After the ceremony, people kept stopping Danny.
Not me.
Danny.
Ellie’s brother from Parsons asked how he’d burned the letters into the wood.
Sibling relationship books
Marcus’s sister wanted to see the hinges.
Our principal shook his hand.
Danny answered every question with total seriousness.
At one point, a girl from my chemistry class said, “Your gift was the best one.”
Danny frowned.
“No.”
She looked confused.
“No?”
He pointed toward the stage.
“Marcus got a boat thing. That was good.”
The shadow box.
Sentimental gifts
“And Ellie’s picture was very good.”
Then he shrugged.
“They’re different.”
I was standing six feet away.
That’s when I realized Danny understood something I’d been afraid nobody else would.
The gifts weren’t supposed to compete.
I’d turned them into a competition because that’s what I did with everything.
I measured.
Ranked.
Compared.
Danny had literally broken the ruler.
On the drive home, the wooden box sat on my lap.
Mom drove.
Danny sat in the back eating fries.
I kept opening the lid.
MARIANNE IS NOT THE BEST BECAUSE SHE IS FIRST.
SHE IS THE BEST BECAUSE SHE COMES BACK.
Finally I asked, “Who helped you write this?”
Danny stopped chewing.
“What?”
“The sentence.”
“Nobody.”
“Really?”
He looked offended.
“I know words.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Marianne.”
I turned.
He pointed a fry at me.
“I have Down syndrome. I am not a baby.”
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The car went silent.
Mom looked at me in the mirror.
I felt terrible.
“I know.”
Danny raised his eyebrows.
“Do you?”
That stung.
Because apparently, sometimes, I didn’t.
“I think I worry too much.”
“Yes.”
“About you.”
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