Your choice changes what happens next
The empty cushion
The cushion was still there. That was the annoying part. Its indigo velvet sat in a bright square of afternoon sun, looking exactly as important as it had with a trophy on it. Leela stopped beside the display. At eleven, she had brown skin, a dark braid and a yellow rain jacket that the weather had made unnecessary. She opened her small notebook, holding its short pink ribbon bookmark between two fingers. "Did a silver crescent just learn to walk?"
Imran, her eleven-year-old friend in a teal hoodie, looked toward the loading corner. "The red craft wagon has, apparently." Its usual parking space was empty too. Around them, the school's community makers' fair clattered and hummed. Nessa was feeding beans through her seed sorter. Their own crank-operated bowing puppet waited for its demonstration at 2:32. It had spent the morning bowing away from the audience.
The hall clock said 2:15. The prize presentation was at 2:40. Mr Vale, the organiser, came over with an empty display case. "The trophy should be here. I'll ask the stewards. Please don't move anything on this table." Leela tucked the ribbon back into her notebook. Imran remembered the photograph he had taken ten minutes earlier: the silver crescent, its wooden base, and quite a lot of fair behind it.