That was when I looked at the scorer’s table and saw the valve.
My hands suddenly felt like ice. The valve did not just fall off. It had a locking mechanism. It had to be intentionally twisted and pulled to be removed. I picked it up. The hard plastic was still warm.
Coach Miller blew his silver whistle, bringing the defensive drill to a sudden halt. He turned and walked toward the bench, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, looking annoyed by the interruption.
"Elias," he barked, his voice booming in the cavernous room. "Make sure those bottles are full. We are doing sprints next."
I held up the purple valve, stepping directly into his path, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Where is my brother?"
Coach Miller barely glanced at the object in my trembling hand. He just grabbed his clipboard. "I told him to wait out in the north hallway until practice is over. I don't mind him sitting in, but I'm not competing with a toy noise while I'm trying to install a new offense."
"A toy?" I asked. My voice sounded thin, stretched tight over the sudden pressure building in my chest.
"That little plastic whistle thing he was blowing into," Miller said dismissively, pointing his pen at my hand. "I asked him to put it away. He ignored me. I took it. He can have it back when the final bell rings."
He didn't know. He hadn't bothered to look closely enough to realize it wasn't a toy in Leo's mouth, but a medical device attached directly to the opening in his neck.