Steve needs a hot meal Jolly Phonics · Step 3, Unit 5: /ee/ mixed

Steve marches up from the sea, dripping wet and grinning. In his hand is a big fat cod. 'Lunch!' he yells. 'Fresh from the sea! I am the best at this.' He lifts the cod and sniffs it. His grin slips. The fish is cold, slick, and very, very raw.

Steve sets the cod down on the grass and looks at it. The cod seems to peek back at him. 'I will not eat a fish like this,' says Steve. 'A fish needs heat. Hot and crisp. So I need fire. That can not be hard.'

It is not hard at all. Steve stacks up logs and strikes a spark. Flames leap up, crackling, and thick smoke drifts into the sky. 'See that?' says Steve with glee. 'I can fish and I can make fire.' He sets the cod beside the flames. 'Now we wait.'

Steve crouches down to check his fish. The campfire snaps and pops. Heat beats at his face. 'Eek!' Steve throws up his arm. 'That is very, very hot.' He steps back, but just a wee bit. Steve will not flee from his own campfire.

Steve leans in and slides the cod deep into the flames. 'Each side needs to feel the heat,' he says, like a wise old cook. 'That way it cooks the same on each side.' He wipes his hands on the grass. 'Steve can cook. Yes, Steve can.'

The cod hisses and turns a crisp brown. It smells so sweet. 'It is done!' Steve grabs the fish from the fire with both hands. His mouth falls open. 'Hot! Hot hot hot hot!' Steve flips the fish from hand to hand, hopping round and round. Up on the hill, a sheep stops munching to peer at him.

The next morning, Steve finds a bit of raw chicken. His gut is empty. His fingers are still pink from the hot fish. 'This time I will keep still and cook it slow,' he says. 'And I will not grab it with my hands. Indeed I will not.'

Steve looks all around. Then he looks all around again. No logs. No twigs. Not one bit of wood. Just grass, huge trees, and a boat sitting there. 'I can not burn a boat!' Steve yelps. 'Where is all the wood?'

Steve treks up a steep hill and slumps down. The sun sinks low. His gut howls, and three birds flee from a tree. He grips the sad raw chicken. 'I just want a hot meal,' he whispers. 'Is that so much to ask?'

Then Steve looks down. There at his feet is a deep pool that glows with heat. It hisses and gleams. Steve gasps. 'Hot!' he yells. 'That is very hot! That is as hot as it gets! I do not need wood at all!'

Steve finds a long branch and jabs the chicken onto the end. He keeps it over the heat, nice and still. 'See that? Slow. Neat. I can wait,' he says, and he beams. 'Steve can cook. Yes, Steve can.'

Then Steve throws the chicken deep into the hot pool. A wee hiss, a puff of smoke, and then no chicken at all. The hot pool eats it up. Not one drumstick is left. The branch is in flames, so Steve drops it and stares at his hands. 'Hmm,' Steve says. 'It seems Steve can not cook after all.'