The parents were behind, cheering on their little darlings. Lots of mothers. A whole flock of mothers. A man in a straw hat was talking through a bullhorn. The grass at the bottom of the hill was tall, shaggy. The man said that’s where the eggs were, in the grass, in front of the trees. David stared and squinted as hard as he could. But darn if he could make out a single egg. He wondered if this whole thing was a trick just to get him to make friends. “Get ready!” commanded the bullhorn voice. Several big kids darted forward. “Hey!” David heard himself say. But the big kids were already swaggering back to the line, laughing. “Alright, once more, get ready!” Again, the same kids broke. This time they went halfway down the hill. The bullhorn yelled at them, told them they would be kicked out if they did it again. They came back making honking noises. Big kids. “One last time. Get ready!”
Eggs by Jerry Spinelli
