The Pen That Drew a Pond

Ugo reached the start of the Pine Ridge bike trail at seven. He wanted to be first. He always wanted to be first.

Cleo was already there. She sat on the long wooden table by the gate. Her bike lay in the dust beside her helmet.

"You're late," she said.

"I'm early," said Ugo. "You're just earlier."

They were the two best riders in the junior club. Everyone said so. Nobody could say which one was better. That was the problem.

All summer they raced each other. Cleo won in June. Ugo won in July. In August they tied, and they did not speak for a week.

Now the club leader came out of the hut. He carried a big sheet of white card on a wooden board. In his other hand he held one black pen with thick ink.

"Good, you're both here," he said. "Forty new riders come at ten. They need a map of the trail. Someone must draw it on this card."

"I'll do it," said Ugo.

"I'll do it," said Cleo.

The leader sighed. "I thought so. So you will do it together. One board, one pen. I have to fix the gate. Please don't fight."

He gave the pen to Ugo and walked away. Cleo took the other end of it at once.

"I draw the trail," she said. "I know every turn."

"I know every turn too," said Ugo. "And my lines are straighter."

"Your lines are never straight."

They pulled the pen back and forth. Nobody won. Then the pen made a small, wet sound.

Black ink ran down Ugo's fingers. A fat drop fell onto the board. It spread into a dark spot as big as a plate.

"Look what you did!" said Cleo.

"I did nothing! The pen is broken."

Cleo found a cloth in her bag. She pressed it on the spot. The ink only moved to the edges, and the spot grew bigger.

"Great," she said. "Now the board is ruined."

Ugo looked at his hand. It was black to the wrist. He wiped it on his shirt, and the shirt turned black too.

"We have three hours," he said. "The shop in town opens at ten. That's too late."

"Then we use this pen."

"It leaks."

"Everything leaks," said Cleo. "Even good pens."

Ugo did not answer. He picked up the pen. He tried to draw the start of the trail. The line began well. Then it grew thick and wet. A new black drop fell at the end.

"Give it to me," said Cleo.

She tried next. Her line was calmer, but the pen leaked even more. She drew the first hill. By then, her hand looked like Ugo's.

They sat down on the table. For a while neither one spoke. The sun climbed over the trees. Somewhere in the woods, a bird made a loud, silly noise.

"Okay," said Ugo at last. "Maybe we need four hands."

"Maybe," said Cleo. She did not look happy about it.

They made a plan. Ugo held the cloth under the tip. It caught every drop. Cleo drew very slowly. When the cloth was full, Ugo wiped the pen. Then she began again.

It was slow work, but it worked. The first line came out thin and clean. Then came the second line. Then came a sharp turn, which Cleo drew in one smooth move.

"That's the Snake Bend," said Ugo. He pointed. "Add the root. The big one."

"I know the root," said Cleo. But she added it.

"Now the rock garden."

"I know the rock garden!"

"Then draw it faster."

She laughed. It was her first laugh in a week.

Soon the whole trail stood on the board. It went up the hill and down through the trees. It crossed the wooden bridge. Cleo drew the jumps. Ugo marked the steep parts with little arrows.

At last they came to the big black spot in the middle. It was still wet, and it shone in the sun.

"We can't clean it," said Ugo. "What do we do?"

Cleo looked at the spot. "Halfway along the trail, what do we pass?"

"The pond," said Ugo. Then his mouth fell open. "The pond!"

"It's round. It's dark. It's about the right size."

They added curved lines around the edge for the grass. Cleo made small waves with the tip of the pen. Ugo drew a tiny frog on a stone. When they stepped back, the ink spot looked exactly like water.

"It's the best part of the map," said Ugo.

"It's the only part with an accident," said Cleo. "That's why."

At ten o'clock the new riders arrived with their parents. They stood around the board. A small girl in a green helmet touched the pond.

"Is the pond really this round?" she asked.

"Almost," said Cleo.

"Who drew the map?" she asked the two riders.

Ugo looked at Cleo. Cleo looked at Ugo. For one second, both of them wanted to say, "I did."

"We did," they said together.

The club leader came back from the gate. He looked at the board for a long time. Then he looked at their black hands.

"This is the best trail map we ever had," he said. "I will buy you a new pen."

"No, thank you," said Ugo.

"We like this one," said Cleo. "It's very good with water."

Ugo held up his hand. It was still black to the wrist. "Look," he said. "Now I match the pond."

Cleo grinned. "Don't touch the map," she said. "You'll make a second lake."