Amara had spent three weeks building her kite. She had bent the bamboo sticks, stretched the paper tight and painted a fierce golden dragon across the front. It was going to win the prize for best design at the town's kite festival. She was sure of it.
On the morning of the festival, the field was crowded with families. Kites shaped like fish, birds and boats bobbed in the breeze. Amara's little brother, Kofi, trailed behind her, clutching a small diamond kite he had made from a plastic bag and two straws.
"Mine's not very good," Kofi mumbled.
Amara ran, and her dragon rose beautifully – until a sudden gust snapped one of the bamboo sticks. The kite twisted, spun and crashed into the grass. The paper ripped right through the dragon's face.
Amara's eyes stung. Three weeks of work, ruined in three seconds.
Kofi tugged her sleeve. "You can fly mine with me," he offered.
At first Amara shook her head. Then she looked at Kofi's hopeful face and took the string. Together they ran, and the little plastic kite shot up higher than any other kite in the sky. People pointed and cheered.
That afternoon, the judges gave Kofi a ribbon for "Highest Flyer". Amara clapped louder than anyone. She realised she was smiling more than she would have if she had won the prize herself.
