Mrs. Grant assigned her third grade reading class to design a children’s book. I tried my hand at an adaptation and extension of Goldylocks and the Three Bears sans Goldylocks. My story detailed a day before that intrusive harlot stepped foot through their door: the day they visited the amusement park. Baby Bear got lost in the maze but was rescued eventually by his parents. They may have celebrated with a hot dog, but my memory is a bit fuzzy.

The individual pages of each book were collected, lamenated, and returned. One girl, Elizabeth by name, received special recognition, however. She had written about a child’s visit to the sea shore. In her text she chronicled his litoral discoveries: a shell, perhaps some driftwood, and a feather. Mrs. Grant’s praise inspired quiet jealousy within me.

Years later (over a decade later, in fact) Elizabeth confided in me — her story was plagerized. And still I harbor a secret jealousy.