Nolan’s Welcome Plane

“My plane was going to fly all the way to the pencil sharpener,” I told my class.

I held it up so everyone could see its blue wings and pointy nose. I had folded it three times, smoothed every crease with my thumbnail, and drawn a tiny number one on each wing.

“Number One is ready for takeoff,” said my friend Otis. He had made a green plane with a tail that looked like a fork.

Our classroom had become a paper-plane derby. Ms. Bell had put two long strips of tape on the floor for a runway. At one end stood a cardboard starting line. At the other end waited the pencil sharpener, sitting on a desk like a grand finish gate.

“Each pilot gets one gentle throw,” Ms. Bell said. “We’ll see whose plane goes the farthest.”

I rubbed my hands together. I could already picture my plane sailing over the rug, past the reading corner, and right up to the pencil sharpener. The other planes would zoom behind it like tiny racers chasing a champion.

Juniper stood beside me with a purple plane. “Mine has a secret,” she whispered.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s purple,” she said. “That’s the secret.”

Soon, everyone lined up. Otis’s fork-tail plane went first. It wobbled down the runway and landed near the bookcase.

“Good flight!” called Ms. Bell.

Juniper’s purple plane went next. It swooped over the rug, turned in a slow circle, and landed beside a basket of blocks.

“Fancy turn!” I said.

Then my name was called. I carried Number One to the starting line. The classroom seemed very quiet, except for the clock going tick, tick, tick and Otis making a soft engine sound.

I aimed at the pencil sharpener. I lifted my elbow. I took one careful breath.

“Ready, Captain Nolan?” asked Ms. Bell.

“Ready!” I said.

I gave Number One a smooth, mighty toss. For one shining moment, it flew straight as a little blue arrow. My classmates leaned forward. The pencil sharpener waited at the far end of the room.

Then my plane dipped toward the floor.

Number One landed with a tiny pap against the rug. It had flown only as far as the first strip of blue tape.

My classmates made kind little claps. I smiled at them, but I stared at my plane. The pencil sharpener was still a long way away. It looked almost as far as the moon.

Otis’s plane had gone farther. Juniper’s had gone farther, too. And when Bea’s yellow plane sailed past the bookcase, Ms. Bell put a paper star beside Bea’s name.

“Bea wins the farthest flight!” she announced.

Everyone cheered. Bea held up her plane, grinning. I clapped, but my fingers felt slow. I had wanted Number One to win. Instead, it had stopped before it even reached the reading corner.

I picked it up by one wing. A little crease had bent near its nose. I thought about tossing it into the recycling bin. Then I noticed the planes scattered all over the classroom: one by the blocks, one near the bookcase, and Bea’s all the way beside the pencil sharpener.

They looked like racers who had crossed the finish line and were waiting for somebody.

“Hey,” I said. “What if my plane has a different job?”

“What job?” asked Juniper.

I carried Number One to the far end of the runway and stood it upright against a little stack of books. Its wings made it look as if it were waving.

“It can welcome the planes that fly farther,” I said. “It’s the welcome plane!”

Otis gave a salute. “Welcome-plane captain, reporting for duty!”

Ms. Bell smiled. “That sounds like a fine derby job.”

We lined up the planes again, not for another contest, but for a landing parade. I stood beside Number One at the finish end. The racers came in one by one, gliding, wobbling, and turning.

“Welcome home, Otis’s fork-tail flyer!” I called as it skidded to a stop.

“Welcome, purple loop-de-looper!” I called when Juniper’s plane made another slow circle.

Bea’s yellow champion landed last, right beside the pencil sharpener. I bowed Number One toward it.

“Welcome, fastest plane in the room!”

The class laughed and clapped. My plane hadn’t flown the farthest, but every racer had a place to land, and Number One was there to greet them.

After the parade, the classroom grew quiet again. Ms. Bell gathered the paper stars, and the planes rested along the runway like sleepy birds with folded wings.

Bea set her yellow plane beside mine. “Your welcome plane made the finish line feel special,” she said.

I gave Number One a careful pat. Its bent nose pointed up a little, as if it were still watching for racers.

Otis came over carrying his green plane. “Do you think the welcome plane needs a co-pilot?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” I said. “Tonight, it’s probably ready to rest.”

We put the planes on the wide windowsill, where they could sit in a neat row. The afternoon sun laid a warm stripe across their wings. Number One looked blue and bright in the golden light.

While Ms. Bell straightened the chairs, Juniper made a soft snoring sound for her purple plane. Otis made one tiny engine noise, then covered his mouth and giggled.

I imagined the planes telling each other about their flights. Otis’s plane would boast about its bumpy landing. Juniper’s would describe its splendid circle. Bea’s would tell the pencil sharpener how close it had come.

And Number One? It would tell them about the parade, and all the little racers it had welcomed home.

When the classroom lights clicked off, we carried our backpacks to the door. I looked back once. The planes waited on the windowsill, side by side, their paper wings quiet beneath the moonlit window.

At home, I set Number One on my desk. I didn’t throw it away. I tucked its wings close, the way a bird settles in its nest, and smiled at the tiny number on each side.

Tomorrow, it could sit beside my books and remember the derby. It had not reached the pencil sharpener in the air. But it had reached the end of the runway, where every plane came home.

I climbed into bed, and the classroom parade drifted through my thoughts: a green flyer, a purple spinner, a yellow champion, and one blue welcome plane giving a little bow as the racers landed. Soon my eyes closed, while Number One rested quietly on my desk, ready to greet the morning.