Kai and the Little Wooden Boat

Chapter 1: Letting Go

Kai had a toy boat named Pepper.

Pepper was small and wooden, painted red with a white stripe, with a tiny yellow sail that had been stitched back on twice. Grandpa had carved it for Kai's fifth birthday, and Kai had taken it everywhere: into the bathtub, to the park, and onto the windowsill at night, where it sat watching the moon.

"Pepper's the bravest captain on the seven seas," Kai liked to say.

One windy Sunday, Kai and Dad walked to the creek behind the school. The water was high from the spring rain, and it sparkled as it rushed along. Kai set Pepper on the surface, holding the string tied to its bow, and watched it bob and spin.

"Hold on tight," said Dad.

"I am!" said Kai.

But a gust of wind snapped the sail sideways, and the little boat gave a sudden lurch. The string slipped through Kai's fingers.

"Pepper!"

The creek swept the boat away. It bobbed past the willow tree and around the bend, its yellow sail growing smaller and smaller, until it disappeared.

Kai ran along the bank, shouting, and Dad ran beside him. They searched the reeds, peered under the bridge, and followed the water until the creek ran into a wide, muddy pond. They looked until the sun sank low and Dad gently said, "Kai, it's getting dark. I'm so sorry. I don't think we'll find him today."