Trophy Rock

A championship track isn't complete without a trophy for the winner. As twilight set in around the lot, I scanned the weeds until I spotted a jagged chunk of grey quartz glinting under the hall's floodlight. I marched over, wedged my boots into the mud, and pried it loose from the dirt with both hands. It was heavy and caked in grit, so I wiped it vigorously against my trouser leg before carrying it straight to the track. With a firm slam, I planted the sparkling stone squarely atop the cedar log grandstand. Whoever beats my racer tomorrow earns the rock.