The Pottery Wheel
1Priya had been waiting all week for her first turn at the pottery wheel. On Saturday morning, she tied on a stiff canvas apron and sat down on the low stool. The wheel was flat and gray, and a lump of wet clay sat in the middle like a scoop of chocolate pudding. Her friend Leo was already working at the next wheel, his hands slick and brown up to the wrists.
2"Keep your elbows on your knees," said Mr. Okafor, the teacher. "Press gently, and let the wheel do the work." Priya pressed the pedal, and the wheel began to hum. The clay spun so fast that it made her dizzy. She cupped her hands around it, but the lump wobbled and bumped against her palms like a restless puppy.
3Slowly, the clay rose into a short, smooth tower. Priya pushed her thumbs into the top to open up a bowl. "Look, Leo!" she called. "It's actually working!" Her heart thumped, and she leaned in closer. She pressed a little harder to make the walls thinner.
4Then the walls began to sag. One side folded over, then the other, and the whole bowl slumped into a flat, muddy pancake. Priya lifted her foot off the pedal. Her shoulders sank, and her cheeks burned. "I ruined it," she muttered, staring at the mess.
5Leo rolled his stool over. "Do you know how many pancakes I made last month?" he asked. "Seven. I counted." Priya let out a small laugh in spite of herself. Mr. Okafor scooped up the clay, squeezed it into a ball and set it back on the wheel. "Every potter starts with a few pancakes," he said with a grin. "Try again, and this time, stop pressing when the walls feel even." Priya wiped her hands on her apron, took a deep breath and pressed the pedal.