Student Publishing Program ::

Elissa B.

First Encounter

The boy peers down at the flat rock.
It is round and crumbly, unlike any other rocks he had ever seen.
His plump, stubby arms are tired from crawling, so he slumps down to contemplate the stone.
He had watched it form from a sticky blob to a hard circle.

Mama had made many of them, working them into balls, placing them on a flat pan, putting the pan in the heat-box, taking them out again, as one slipped to the floor for him to investigate.
Now he knows how rocks are made!

As he reaches down to pick up the flat stone, a flap of his winter hat flops into his face.
The hat is much too big for him, but it had formed from a knot of strings sitting in Mama’s lap, pointy sticks working in and out.

He pushes the flap out of the way, careful that it does not skim the odd rock just ahead.
With cushiony fingers, he lifts the rock deliberately off the floor.
Its minimal weight surprises him.
He studies the rock more closely, his face the epitome of concentration.

The breakable rock has crumbled pieces onto his fingers and clothes.
Maybe it is not a stone.
He inspects the thing, slowly turning it over in his hands, feeling its crisp, rough edges with his padded fingertips.

As he moves the circle closer to his eyes, a sweet aroma wafts around his face.
It smells like cake, and his eyes brighten.
He gently brings the weird, good-smelling rock to his lips and nibbles off a morsel with his new teeth.
It crumbles around the bite, spilling pieces onto his lips and hat flaps.

A second passes.
His face lights up when the taste hits him, eyebrows jumping up, a delighted smile forming on his little lips, eyes widening.

He takes another bite, caressing the small chunk to extract as much of the sweet taste as possible.
His chubby cheeks jiggle with each happy jaw movement.
He takes a few more flavorful tidbits and promptly decides he has had his fill.

Just then, Mama’s hands come swooping down on him, whisking him off the ground.
His hat floats to the ever-distant floor as Mama cradles him in her arms.
“Honey, you silly little boy! These cookies are for your grandparents! I can’t turn my head for two seconds…”

She gently removes the yummy cake-thing from his hands.
Mama’s words mean nothing to him besides the soothing cadence of her voice.
But he sees the treat over his mother’s shoulder and knows that they will meet again.

[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2011 EDITION]