Inspirational Stories for the Young Reader. Bettina DiGiulio

      The Treasure

      Forgiveness is the final form of love.

      —Reinhold Niebuhr

      Francesco glanced at the clock above the chalkboard. Five more minutes until freedom, he thought. Making eye contact with Brian across the aisle, he whispered, “I’ll meet you at the quarry in fifteen minutes.”

      Brian nodded approval. As he put his books away, he heard Tamika whispering to Francesco, “You boys should not be fishing at the quarry.”

      Brian glared at her and whispered, “It’s none of your beeswax what we do, so just butt out.”

      With a jerk of her head, Tamika turned away.

      As the dismissal bell rang, Miss Bailey announced, “Don’t forget, your rock projects are due tomorrow.”

      “Yes Miss Bailey,” they all chorused.

      The boys were physical opposites. Blonde haired and green eyed, Brian was short and stocky and looked as if he’d be a good wrestler. Almost a head taller and lanky, Francesco’s Italian heritage showed in his black hair and big brown eyes, fringed by long lashes. By their teens both would turn girls’ heads. Best friends since kindergarten, they did everything together, liked the same things, hated the same things, and had no secrets between them—that they knew of.

      At the bicycle rack they grabbed their bikes and peddled home to change clothes and get their fishing gear. Arriving at the abandoned quarry, they settled down at the edge of the bank, baited their hooks, cast their lines, and waited patiently for a bite.

      The long-abandoned quarry was their escape into nature. A small forest surrounded the flooded pit with rocky banks. Plants and ferns grew among the tailings and at the forest’s edge; seagulls and geese searched for food. The boys would see fish leap from the quarry water and watch the gulls swoop down and snatch them. Sometimes the boys brought along bread for these scavengers. The graceful flight of the gulls captivated them, and they fantasized flying with them high above the clouds.

      They spent hours searching the perimeters for unusual rocks to add to their collection.

      “Look at all the shale and sandstone around here,” Francesco pointed.

      “I’ll bet no one can top what we have in our project,” Brian said, grinning.

      “Nosy Tamika was butting into our business again,” said Francesco. “I hope she and Big Mouth Jillian don’t come around here bothering us.”

      “Oh, they’ll be around, especially if they know we are here,” said Brian. “Let’s go farther down. We might get lucky and catch something. There’s nothing here.”

      Rambling along the bank, kicking at loose rocks, Francesco saw something unusual. “Look at that rock,” he said as he reached for it. “It looks like the trilobite in Miss Bailey’s fossil book. It is—it’s a real trilobite.” It just fit in the palm of his hand.

      They could clearly see the head, the thin bony spine, and tail sections imprinted on the thin grey shale. Running their fingers along the rock, the boys observed its segmented body, which proved it was a trilobite.

      “Wow, it’s the real thing,” Brian whispered, awed by their find.

      They immediately began to speculate on their future with this treasure.

      “We could donate it to the museum, and we’ll be on the news! We’ll be famous,” said Francesco.

      Just then, they heard the girls coming.

      “Quick, hide it,” whispered Francesco. “If they see it, they’ll blab to everyone.” Francesco tucked the stone into some tall weeds on the bank.

      “Get lost,” ordered Brian as the girls approached.

      “No! You can’t make us,” said Jillian.

      The boys went back to their fishing and ignored the two girls, who kept on walking. Then Francesco impatiently whispered to Brian, “They’re on the other side. Quick, get the rock! I want to see it again.” They had seen many shale rocks before, but not one like this.

      “Let’s leave it there for now,” Brian said. “We’ll come back and get it after supper. Then we’ll decide what to do with it.”

      Francesco agreed. They picked up their fishing gear and headed back.

      When their paths parted, and Francesco was riding home, he thought, I want that fossil. I saw it first. It’s mine and I’m not sharing it with Brian. He immediately turned around, rode back, picked up the rock, and put it in his pocket. He felt good riding home.

      Brian could hardly eat his supper, thinking, “Why couldn’t I have found it? I want it for myself. I’m going back for it before Francesco does.” After supper, he rushed out, got on his bike, began to peddle faster, and looked around to see if Francesco was in sight. His front tire hit a large stone and he lost control, toppled over and fell, badly scraping his right arm and knee on the pavement. Driven by the fossil, he got up and, ignoring the pain, kept riding.

      Arriving at the spot ten minutes before his friend, Brian frantically looked around. Where was it? He searched and searched, but the fossil wasn’t there. He knew the girls didn’t take it; they were too far away to see it. It’s gone! Darn, did Francesco beat me to it? he thought angrily. If he did . . . he’s not getting away with it. Just wait ‘till he comes. With torn pants, two scraped-up knees, and a bleeding right elbow, he sat nervously waiting for Francesco.

      As soon as Brian saw his buddy riding up the path, he shouted, “You took the fossil! We made a deal, but you just had to have it. YOU STOLE IT!”

      Francesco couldn’t look at him for guilt. He had betrayed his best friend. They had agreed to share the fossil. “So what,” he said, sounding sheepish. “I found it . . . it’s mine! I knew you were going to come back for it.”

      Yelling at each other, the two were soon out of control. Francesco gave Brian a hard shove. Brian tripped, stumbled over some rocks, and then fell backwards into the quarry,