Avery & Riley's Paper Sky
Avery folded and folded until her plane looked perfect; she could almost feel it flying before it left her fingers.
Riley rested his chin on his sketchbook and said, 'Paper airplane contests are the best kind of science—force and motion on a playground.'
They both signed up for the neighborhood paper airplane contest with high hopes, and the next day's field promised a sky full of wonder.
On contest morning, the grass smelled like cut clover—but a wind began to dance and tease the launch line.
Avery's fastest dart slammed down too soon, and Riley's steady glider drifted lazily off-course—neither could predict the gusts.
Just then the judge announced a surprise twist: each plane had to carry a tiny paper 'passenger' and sail through three hanging hoops.
Avery tried pinning a passenger to her nose-heavy dart, and the plane nosedived into a puddle of muddy laughter.
Riley's glider made the hoops but the passenger slid off; he tapped his chin and whispered, 'We need balance, not just speed.'
Avery's jaw tightened—she didn't like being told to change her plan—but she watched Riley test a small stabilizer and felt an idea spark.
They decided to combine their best parts—Avery's speed nose and Riley's stabilizer—and build a twin glider that clipped together like two wings.
Their twin glider looked strange but hopeful, two planes joined like friends ready to fly together.
At the final launch a sudden gust ripped through, and for a heartbeat the twin glider trembled as if deciding between staying or soaring.
Instead of ripping apart, the clip caught a pocket of wind and the twin glider rode the gust like a bird, weaving through all three hoops together.
The judges awarded them a special prize for creative teamwork, and Avery felt proud to change her plan while Riley felt braver to take a risk.
That night, they hung the twin glider from the classroom ceiling as a reminder that force, motion, and friendship can lift anything.
