Milo gripped his mom's hand as they crossed the sidewalk. Colorful lockers on the school building flashed past — pink, teal, sunflower yellow — like a row of giant crayons lined up against the morning sky.
Two kids at the entrance giggled and pointed. Milo tugged his mismatched socks into his shoes and shrank behind his mom's navy coat. The bell rang — sharp and sudden — pulling him forward toward the buzzing classroom door.
During morning circle, Milo pressed himself against his mom's leg. The teacher turned the pages of her book. A butterfly tapped its wings against the windowpane — tap, tap, tap — leaving a faint smudge on the glass.
Milo watched the butterfly's frantic journey until the teacher set her book down. "Show-and-tell time!" she announced. The other children cheered. Milo's fingers found the pocket where his rock collection waited.
Milo dumped his rock collection onto the reading rug — smooth river stones, jagged quartz, a fossilized shell. The classroom went quiet except for the hum of the overhead fan. He waited, thumbs worrying a crack in a piece of slate.
A boy with scraped knees leaned forward. "Can I see that one?" He pointed to the bumpy purple geode. Milo's breath caught. He had never shown this rock to anyone before.
Milo inhaled sharply, stepped off the rug, and walked across the room to where the boy sat. He cracked the geode open with a practiced twist. Inside, amethyst crystals caught the fluorescent light like tiny stars.
The geode split open. Amethyst crystals flashed inside, catching the fluorescent light like tiny stars. The boy with scraped knees gasped. Three other children crowded around, their sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.
At the bus stop after school, Milo and the boy with scraped knees compared their pockets. Milo's smooth stones clinked against the boy's new geode fragment. His mismatched socks peeked out from his shoes.
The boy kicked a pebble and said, "Same time tomorrow?" Milo nodded. He was already counting the hours until tomorrow.
