The Fingertips of Duncan Dorfman
“Carl Slater asked Duncan Dorfman on a cold afternoon in late October. School was out for the day, and the two boys sat at Slice’s, the pizza place in downtown Drilling Falls.
“No. I did not know that,” said Duncan.
“You might have assumed that SPORK is perfectly fine, right? After all, you’ve used a spork before—one of those plastic spoon-forks. But the Scrabble people say nope, sorry, it ain’t good, at least not yet.”
“Huh,” said Duncan. “What do you know.”
“And then there are plenty of words ...that you wouldn’t think were good, but they are,” said Carl. “Your job is to move letters around until you make real words out of them.” Carl took a bite of pizza, which dripped about a quart of orange oil onto his plate. “Words are like clay, Dorfman,” he went on. “They can be shaped and messed with not only by your hands, but also by your head. So if you want to win at Scrabble, you have to learn how to move words around and totally reshape them. Do you get what I’m saying?”MoreLess
“No. I did not know that,” said Duncan.
“You might have assumed that SPORK is perfectly fine, right? After all, you’ve used a spork before—one of those plastic spoon-forks. But the Scrabble people say nope, sorry, it ain’t good, at least not yet.”
“Huh,” said Duncan. “What do you know.”
“And then there are plenty of words ...that you wouldn’t think were good, but they are,” said Carl. “Your job is to move letters around until you make real words out of them.” Carl took a bite of pizza, which dripped about a quart of orange oil onto his plate. “Words are like clay, Dorfman,” he went on. “They can be shaped and messed with not only by your hands, but also by your head. So if you want to win at Scrabble, you have to learn how to move words around and totally reshape them. Do you get what I’m saying?”MoreLess
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