The Soup Thermos Trade
Anselm unscrewed his thermos at lunch, and a rich, spicy steam rose up toward the cafeteria ceiling. His grandfather had made lentil soup the night before, with garlic and lemon. At home, it was his favorite meal in the world. At school, it felt like a flag that said, "Look at me!"
At the next seat, Kiki watched him from behind her sandwich. "What is that?" she asked. She did not sound unkind, because she sounded extremely curious.
Anselm shrugged and tried to cover the thermos with his arm. "Just soup. It's weird."
"It smells amazing," Kiki said. "Mine is peanut butter, again. My dad makes it the same way every single day."
Anselm hesitated. Then he poured a little soup into the thermos lid and slid it carefully across the table. "Try it," he said. "Careful, it's hot."
Kiki sipped, and her eyes went wide. "Whoa. Can I have more?"
The next day, she brought a small container of her own, which held crispy rice crackers that her aunt had sent from far away. She split them with Anselm, and soon the whole table was trading bites. Someone brought dumplings, and someone else brought sweet bread.
When Anselm went home, his grandfather asked how lunch had gone. "Perfect," said Anselm. "Next time, make extra."