Tara had one goal for summer: do absolutely nothing. After a grueling school year, she'd earned the right to sleep until noon and binge-watch her favorite shows. When her mom signed her up for volunteer work at the community garden, Tara was furious.
"I didn't ask for this," she complained on the first morning, standing at the edge of the garden with her arms crossed. The July sun was already brutal, and dirt was everywhere.
Mr. Okonkwo, the garden coordinator, handed her a trowel. "The tomatoes need weeding. Think you can handle it?"
Tara rolled her eyes. She knelt in the soil, yanking weeds aggressively, counting the minutes until she could leave.
But something shifted during the second week. An elderly woman named Mrs. Chen started working in the plot next to Tara's. She moved slowly, her hands shaking slightly as she planted seeds.
"This garden feeds my whole building," Mrs. Chen explained. "Twelve families who can't afford fresh vegetables. Some of them are children who've never tasted a tomato straight from the vine."
Tara looked at her own tomato plants differently after that. She started arriving early, not because she had to, but because the plants needed water before the heat peaked. She learned which weeds to pull and which bugs were actually helpful.
On the last day, Mr. Okonkwo found Tara teaching a younger volunteer how to stake tomato plants properly. "Thought you didn't want to be here," he said with a small smile.
Tara wiped the dirt from her hands. "Turns out I was wrong. I thought doing nothing would make me happy. But this - helping something grow, knowing it matters to someone - this is better."
For three years, Damon had been the undefeated chess champion of Jefferson Middle School. He'd beaten every opponent, memorized thousands of openings, and practiced until chess felt like breathing. His confidence was absolute.
"No one at this school can touch me," he told his friend Ryan before the annual tournament. "I don't even need to prepare."
The first three rounds proved him right. Damon crushed his opponents, barely paying attention. But in the semifinal, he faced someone new: Amira, a sixth grader who'd just moved from another state.
Amira played differently than anyone Damon had faced. Her moves were unconventional, almost random-seeming. Damon's memorized strategies didn't apply. Twenty minutes in, he realized he was losing.
He tried to focus, but his hands were sweating. He'd never been in this position before. When Amira announced "checkmate," Damon sat frozen, unable to comprehend what had happened.
"Good game," Amira said, extending her hand.
Damon ignored it. He swept the pieces off the board and stormed away, leaving Amira standing with her hand in the air.
That night, Damon couldn't sleep. He kept seeing Amira's extended hand, her surprised face when he'd refused to shake it. He'd been so focused on winning that he'd forgotten how to lose - and in losing, he'd become someone he didn't recognize.
The next morning, he found Amira before school. "I'm sorry about yesterday," he said. "That wasn't who I want to be. Would you show me that strategy you used? I want to learn."