Exactly as I predicted.
Child after child draws a silver token. Some look disappointed. Most just shrug and run off to play.
The line shrinks until only Samuel remains, still hovering at the back like he’s hoping no one will notice if he doesn’t participate.
“You there!” I point at him. “Young wizard! Don’t be shy!”
He startles and looks around like maybe I’m addressing someone else.
“Yes, you! Come draw your token!”
Samuel approaches the bag tentatively, his hands shaking slightly. The two bigger boys from earlier are watching, smirking.
Samuel reaches in and pulls out the gold token.
Samuel stares at it. Then up at me. His face cycles through disbelief, confusion, and something that looks terrifyingly like hope.
“We have a champion!” I bellow.
The children cheer. Even the two bullies look impressed, their smirks fading into something almost like respect.
“Supreme Magical Champion, what is your name?”
“S-Samuel,” he whispers.
“Samuel!” I repeat, making it ring. “Samuel the Magnificent! Samuel the Brave! Come, take your place beside Snugglesaurus Rex!”
Leo waddles over and extends one tiny dinosaur arm. Samuel takes it, still looking stunned.
I catch Leo’s eye through the mesh of the costume. He grins.
My heart gives a traitorous thud.
I wrench my attention back to Samuel.
For the next thirty minutes, we make Samuel the star of everything.
He gets to wave the magic wand. He gets to say the magic words. He gets to pull the rabbit from the hat.
With every reveal, his spine straightens a little more and his smile grows wider.
The other children crowd around him.
“You were so good at that,” one girl tells him.
“How did you make the scarf change colors?” another demands.
Watching Samuel blossom under the attention reminds me exactly why I do this job, and exactly why I’ll never stop.
The children are herded off for cake, leaving a trail of glitter and balloon debris in their wake.
Leo deflates the suit and steps out of it, surfacing like a man escaping a green plastic prison. His hair is damp with sweat and his T-shirt clings to his chest in a way I’m choosing not to notice.
Leo catches my eye. Neither of us says anything, but we don’t need to.
Then Leo reaches over and straightens my pith helmet, which has been listing to the left for the last half hour. His fingers brush my temple as he adjusts the strap.
It’s nothing. A practical gesture. Three seconds at most.
