Rock Skipping

Rock Skipping

I skipped a rock over the creek. It hopped five times. The current record is ten. Darn, have to practice more.

“You are pitiful.” Marcie said with that irritating laugh of hers.

“When did you get here?” I had another rock in my hand. It was the perfect size and shape; thin, round and flat.

“I’ve been watching from the woods. I had to laugh when one stone only skipped three times.” She bent over, looking for the ideal skipping stone.

Perhaps if I could aim my rock at her little butt, that would take some sting out of her remarks. That would show her. But she’s bigger than me, she could pop me a good one. I threw my stone over the water. It skipped six times.

“Darn. I’ve been here for an hour. Who holds the record?” I needed to know their secret.

Marcie waded into the creek to find more stones then glanced my way, a sly look on her face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I splashed her with a rock. “Come on, tell me.”

“Ancient secret of the fellowship of the rock-skippers.”

“Stop it. There’s no such thing.”

As soon as I said that, out of the woods stepped ten people. All races, boys, girls, men, women, and one strange looking dude.

“Here they are, the fellowship.”

Those ten skipped rock after rock. They beat the current record. Some made it up to twenty. That strange looking dude made it skip 89 times. Then he started to explain, “It all has to do with fluid dynamics. You see, the stone grazes the water …” ending with “…it helps that your gravity is less than on Jupiter.”




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