The vending machine at Lincoln High still eats your dollar if you press B7. I found that out the hard way—again—on my first day back.
“Double tap B first,” said a voice behind me.
I turned. A girl with a backpack full of band patches gave me a quick smirk, then disappeared down the hallway before I could say anything.
So yeah. Some things hadn’t changed.
Three years is a long time to be gone. When my parents moved us to Sweden for my mom’s job, I figured I’d come back with some new language skills and a few cool photos. I didn’t expect to feel like a visitor in my old life.
I wandered the halls between classes, pretending I remembered which stairwells were faster. Then I passed Room 212. Through the glass, I saw wires, laptops, and soldering irons scattered across tables—and Marcus, tall and laser-focused, orchestrating it all like always.
We hadn’t talked much since freshman year. A couple texts. One happy birthday video. Then nothing. I hovered for a second, then walked away.
At lunch, I sat at the edge of the cafeteria with a slice of pizza that tasted like cardboard and regret. I couldn’t stop thinking about Room 212.
When I got home, I opened the bin under my bed. Still had the battery pack. The busted charger. A pile of plastic forks.
I built something fast—a janky little robot with fork wheels and a buzzer. It beeped like a microwave every time it bumped into a wall. I laughed out loud for the first time all day.
I tossed it in my backpack and headed back to school before Robotics Club ended.
The hallway outside Room 212 was quieter now. I slipped inside, left the robot on the table with a sticky note that read “For old time’s sake,” and slipped back out.
Five minutes later, I was halfway through a vending machine Snickers when I saw Marcus walking toward me, holding the robot.
“You still use forks for wheels?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Only if I want it to collapse during a demo.”
He grinned. “Still dramatic, huh?”
“Still bossy?”
He sat down beside me on the bench. “You left this?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know if you’d remember.”
Marcus pulled something from his pocket—a tiny keychain made of fork wheels and wire. “Been in my drawer for years.”
I laughed. “We made that during lunch in eighth grade.”
“Trash Cruncher 3000,” he said.
“Worst name ever.”
“But it worked.”
He leaned forward. “We’ve got regionals coming up. Want in? Could use someone who knows how to make chaos run on AA batteries.”
“You’re still all about the blueprints?”
“Sure,” he said. “But even a good plan needs a wild card.”
I looked at the robot in his hands. Bent wheels. Still beeping. Still ours.
“I’m in.”
“Forks Wheels and Fresh Starts” by Nina D. Smith © 2025. Retelling of “HYNDE HORN” from Stories from the Ballads Told to the Children by Mary MacGregor.
“Fork Wheels and Fresh Starts” is ideal for grades 6–8, offering relatable themes of friendship, reconnection, and identity, all woven into a realistic school setting with light STEM elements and emotional depth.
Discussion Questions
- How does Henry’s small gesture of leaving the robot help restart his friendship with Marcus?
- Why do you think neither Henry nor Marcus talked about the years they spent apart?
- What does the story suggest about rebuilding connections and how people grow over time?
This content is provided under fair use for educational purposes only. Commercial use is strictly prohibited by the creator.
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