The Silver Spade

Emir’s sneakers slapped the concrete stairs as he jumped down two at a time, one hand on the rail and the other hugging a plastic cup of soil. The cup bumped his chest with every step, and a tiny green stem wobbled inside.

“Careful, little tomato,” he whispered.

The stairwell smelled like dust and fried onions from breakfast. When he pushed open the heavy door to the parking lot, the smell changed. Wet soil, crushed leaves, and cold spring air rushed into his nose.

The old parking lot didn’t look like a parking lot anymore. Wooden beds lined the cracked asphalt, full of dark dirt. Bright bags of compost leaned against the fence. Watering cans waited by the spigot, their metal sides shining. Kids and parents bent over the beds, talking. A baby cried somewhere, and a car horn beeped on the street.

At the far corner, where the fence met the brick wall, sunlight poured down like a golden square. Emir squinted. He had watched that corner from his bedroom window all week. It stayed bright even when the rest of the lot went stripy with shadows.

“That’s where you’re going,” he murmured to his seedling. “The sunniest spot.”

Near the tables of plants, Nana Zlata stood in her flowered headscarf and long coat, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hands moved quickly over the soil trays. On the table beside her lay a shiny trowel with a silver scoop and a green handle.

The Silver Spade.

Emir’s chest gave a jump. He had seen it last week when they helped build the beds. It fit his hand just right. All week at school, when math got boring, he had drawn tomatoes and a silver spade in the margins of his notebook.

“Emir!” a voice puffed beside him.

Haris skidded to a stop, curly hair sticking to his forehead. He held his own cup with a taller tomato seedling, its leaves larger and greener than Emir’s.

“I thought you overslept,” Haris said, breathing hard. “I’ve been thinking about that sunny corner all week. Did you see it? I’m gonna plant right there with the Silver Spade.” He pointed, grinning.

Emir’s stomach tightened. His hand tightened too. The cup crinkled.

“I… I called it,” he blurted. “Yesterday. From my window. I said ‘that corner’s mine.’”

Haris’ smile paused. “But… we didn’t even come down yet,” he said. His thumb stroked his cup.

Emir’s ears felt hot. “Well, I called it first,” he said, louder. “You can get another spot.”

Before Haris could answer, Emir shot forward. Gravel crunched under his sneakers as he dashed toward the table. His heart thumped in his throat. If he just grabbed the spade and got to the corner, it would be fine.

“Boys, slow down,” Nana Zlata called.

Emir’s hand stretched for the Silver Spade at the same moment another hand reached from the other side. Their elbows knocked. Emir’s shoulder bumped Haris’ chest. Both cups jerked.

There was a soft snap.

Haris’ tomato stem broke in the middle. The top half flopped into the dirt at their feet, leaves smearing with soil.

For a moment, the parking lot sounds faded. Emir stared at the broken plant, his fingers still wrapped around the Silver Spade’s handle. The metal felt suddenly cold.

Haris’ mouth opened, but no sound came. His eyes shone, and he blinked hard. His knuckles were white around his empty cup.

“I—” Emir started.

Haris set his jaw, scooped up the limp green top with shaking fingers, and dropped it back into the cup. Soil dusted his palms.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, but his voice scraped. He turned away, shoulders stiff.

Nana Zlata stepped closer, her boots crunching on the gravel. She picked up a spare tomato seedling from the tray, not as tall as Haris’ had been, and pressed it into his cup.

“Here, Haris,” she said. Her eyes moved from one boy to the other. “You two are old enough to sort this out yourselves.” She nodded toward the beds. “Plenty of soil. Not so many sunny corners.”

Emir swallowed. The Silver Spade’s handle pressed a line into his palm. He had it. He had the corner, too, if he just moved.

He walked to the sunny bed, each step heavy and light at the same time. He knelt and pushed the spade into the soft earth. The soil gave way with a wet sound.

Behind him, he heard Haris’ footsteps stop.

“You can… you can dig a little hole next to mine,” Emir said over his shoulder. He kept his eyes on the dirt. “Like, on the side. I’ll plant first, though.” He scooped out a circle.

Silence stretched. A car rumbled by outside the fence.

“I don’t want leftovers,” Haris said.

Emir twisted. Haris’ chin was up, but his eyes were red at the edges. He clutched the smaller tomato plant close.

Haris turned and walked away, past the busy middle beds, toward a narrow patch by the chain-link fence where the building’s shadow lay long and cool. He knelt there alone, his back to Emir.

The sunny corner suddenly felt smaller. The warmth on Emir’s neck prickled.

All around, kids called to each other.

“Hand me the watering can, please!”

“Don’t step on my beans!”

“Baba, is this deep enough?”

Emir planted his tomato in the brightest middle of the bed. He patted the soil around it with careful fingers, but his eyes kept sliding to the fence.

Haris’ patch looked gloomy. The soil there was dry and clumpy. Haris’ shoulders were hunched as he pressed his seedling into the ground. No one knelt beside him.

Emir carried watering cans for the aunties. He fetched compost bags for Nana Zlata. He helped a little girl press three carrot seeds into a row. The whole time, his gaze tugged back to that shadowy strip.

Haris’ plant leaned crookedly. A bit of root showed where the soil didn’t cover it. When Haris poured water from a plastic bottle, most splashed onto his sneakers.

Every time Emir tried to walk over, his feet slowed. The Silver Spade’s handle bumped his leg where he had tucked it into his belt. He kept touching it, like it might vanish.

An hour passed. The sun slid higher. Sweat dampened the back of Emir’s neck. The bright square of the corner bed still glowed.

Finally, he took a breath so deep it hurt and marched to the fence strip.

Haris pressed his fingers into the dirt, making tiny walls around his plant. He didn’t look up when Emir’s shadow fell across him.

“Hey,” Emir said. His voice came out thin. He cleared his throat. “So… I was thinking. You can have part of my corner.”

Haris’ hands paused.

“I’ll keep the middle,” Emir rushed on. “But you can have the side. Like, a small slice. We can say it’s… both of ours.” He tried to smile. “I’ll still be in charge, though, ‘cause I started it.”

The fence rattled as a bus roared past. A dry leaf skittered along the asphalt and bumped Emir’s shoe.

Haris sat back on his heels. He looked at the bright corner bed, then at Emir’s face, then at the Silver Spade.

“That’s just the part you don’t care about,” he said quietly.

Heat crawled up Emir’s neck. His fingers tightened on the handle.

“It’s not really both of ours that way,” Haris added.

He turned back to his crooked plant and pushed soil around it with the side of his hand. Crumbs of dirt stuck to his wrist.

Emir stood there, the Silver Spade heavy at his side. The bright corner felt far away now, though it was only a few steps.

“Everyone!” Nana Zlata called. “Last seedlings! We will put the small fence up before lunch. If you have one more plant, plant it now!”

Heads popped up.

“I still have peppers!”

“Where can I put these marigolds?”

Emir looked down at his tray. One last tomato seedling waited there, its leaves reaching for the light. Strong, straight, ready.

His eyes slid to Haris’ plant. The stem drooped, leaning toward the fence. Only the top leaves caught a little sun that sneaked through the gaps.

If he did nothing, his last tomato would go into the sunny corner. It would grow big and red. From his window, he would see it every day.

If he gave it up, there would be no second sunny tomato for him. Just his first one in the corner and maybe a skinny one somewhere else.

His tongue felt thick. He imagined Haris going upstairs later, walking past him in the hallway without talking. He imagined looking down at the garden and seeing that bent plant by the fence.

He picked up his last seedling. The cup was cool in his hand. The Silver Spade glinted.

His feet moved before his thoughts finished.

He walked to the sunny corner bed. Kids parted to let him through.

“That one’s nice,” a boy said.

Emir stopped at the edge of the bed. The soil there was soft and dark, already warm from the sun. A perfect place. His fingers tightened around the cup until the rim dug into his skin.

He turned.

Haris still knelt by the fence, pressing the dirt again and again like he could squeeze more sun out of it. A smear of soil darkened his cheek. His lips were pressed together.

Emir’s heart thumped so hard he could feel it in his throat. He walked back, each step slow now. Gravel clicked under his shoes.

When he reached Haris, he didn’t stop at the edge of the shadow. He stepped into it. The air felt cooler.

Haris didn’t look up.

Emir crouched so his knees brushed the asphalt. He held out the Silver Spade. The metal caught a strip of sunlight and flashed between them.

“Here,” he said. His hand shook once, then went still.

Haris glanced at the spade, then at Emir’s face. His eyebrows drew together.

“You can have the sunny corner,” Emir said. His voice was plain, not rushed. “All of it. There’s space for one more plant there. Your tomato can go in that spot. I’ll help, if… if you want.”

Behind them, the sounds of the garden softened. A watering can clanged. Someone’s phone buzzed. The city hummed beyond the fence.

Haris’ fingers slowly uncurled from the soil. He wrapped his hand around the spade’s handle. For a second, both their hands held it.

“You sure?” Haris asked.

Emir’s throat bobbed. He nodded.

They walked together to the corner bed. The sun pressed warm hands onto their necks. Emir’s first tomato plant stood there, small and straight, leaves open.

“Here,” Emir said, pointing to a clear spot beside it. “This is the best place. It gets sun from morning.”

Haris knelt. Emir knelt too, their knees making shallow dents in the soil. Emir dug the hole with the Silver Spade, the earth parting easily. Haris lowered his plant in, holding the stem between two fingers.

“Wait,” Emir murmured. He cupped soil around the roots with both hands, pressing it firm, careful not to bend the stem.

Their fingers bumped. This time, neither pulled away.

When the plant stood on its own, straight and snug in the earth, Haris let out a breath he had been holding. He brushed loose dirt from the leaves.

“Looks better here,” he said.

Emir nodded. A bit of sun slid across Haris’ face, lighting the drying tear tracks on his cheek.

Later, when the last fence posts were hammered in, Emir carried his remaining seedling to a thin strip of soil by the brick wall. It was not as bright. The wall felt cool when his elbow brushed it. He dug a narrow hole with his fingers and tucked the plant in.

His hands were tired, but they moved steady. He patted the soil down and poured water from a small can. The droplets made tiny dark spots on the dirt, then vanished.

A shadow fell beside him.

“You need something,” Haris said.

Emir looked up. Haris held a wooden popsicle stick and a black marker. The cap was between his teeth. He pulled it off, wrote quickly, then stuck out the stick.

“Here,” Haris said.

On the pale wood, in crooked letters, it read: “Emir & Haris”. A little tomato shape sat under the names.

Haris pushed the stick into the soil next to the wall-side plant, pressing it deep with his thumb until it stood firm.

Traffic hummed beyond the fence. A window slammed above. Sunlight slid down the brick, reached past Haris’ shoulder, and touched the tiny leaves by the wall.

Emir brushed soil from the writing on the stick. His fingers left a small brown smudge on the E.

He didn’t move his hand away.