Wobbly Tooth Under the Plum Tree

"Wiggle, wiggle, wobble," said Florence's front tooth, or that is what it sounded like when she pushed it with her tongue.

Florence grinned at the little tree outside the kitchen door. "You hear that? Today's the day."

The tree was a plum tree, and it grew one extra ring of leaves every full moon. Nobody thought that was strange. Florence's gran said it was just a tree keeping count. Florence wanted to put her tooth in the hollow of its trunk, the way her big cousin had. Then she'd wake up to a shiny coin. But first the tooth had to come out.

She tried the first thing. She wiggled it with her finger. It wobbled, but it did not come.

She tried the second thing. She bit a crunchy apple. Crunch! Crunch! The apple broke, but the tooth held on.

"Come out, little tooth," she said. "Wiggle, wiggle, wobble."

The tooth stayed put. Florence sat on the step with her chin in her hands. A fat brown hen walked by, looking for worms. She did not care about teeth at all. She scratched at the ground by the tree, scritch, scritch, and then she gave a loud, silly "BWAAAK!"

Florence jumped. She laughed so hard that her whole mouth shook.

And something went pop.

Florence stopped. She put her tongue in the gap. It was soft and new and a little bit salty. Then she looked down. There in her hand, small and white as a grain of rice, lay the tooth.

"It came out when I laughed!" she whispered.

The hen did not look up. She was busy with a worm.

Florence walked to the plum tree and found the hollow in the trunk. She set the tooth inside, as gently as a sleeping bird. Above her, the leaves rustled, ring inside ring.

"Wiggle, wiggle, wobble," she said, and smiled her new gap-toothed smile, with the evening wind whistling softly through it.