Pickle Pizza (2 page)

“Hi,” Eric said back. He didn't know what else to say.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Oh . . . uh, nothing.” Then he remembered what Dunkum said. “I heard
you were making something.”

Stacy's face burst into a grin. “I'm working on a gift for my dad—for Father's Day.”

“Oh.” The rest of the words got stuck in Eric's throat. The words he couldn't speak.

“My dad's coming on Sunday,” she said. “I haven't seen him since Easter.”

Eric remembered. The Cul-de-sac Kids had surprised their parents with an Easter pet parade. Stacy's dad had come to see it, too.

“I'm glad about your dad,” Eric said.

She nodded. “I can't wait. I really miss him.”

Eric understood. He missed his dad, too.

“What are you making?” Eric asked.

Stacy opened the door. “Come in. I'll show you.”

Eric followed Stacy downstairs. They
went through the family room and into a smaller room.

“This is my new art room,” Stacy said. “My mom and I just finished it.”

Eric looked around.

An easel stood at one end of the room with paints and brushes. There were drawings hanging on the wall. “Wow,” Eric said. “This is really great.”

“It used to be a storage room,” Stacy explained. “My mom decided I should have a place to work.”

Eric spotted a lump of green clay on the worktable. “What's that?” he asked.

“Just some practice clay. But look what else I'm sculpting.” She opened a cabinet door. Stacy reached in and pulled out an eagle sculpture. She held it high. “What do you think?”

“It's terrific!” Eric couldn't believe his eyes.

Stacy smiled. “I hope Daddy likes it.”

“I'm sure he will,” Eric said.

Stacy smiled and set the eagle down.

Eric crept over to Stacy's worktable. He studied the eagle. The wings were folded down, close to the bird's body. The eagle's head was turned toward one wing. “What's it made of?” Eric asked.

“Sculpey.”

“What's that?” Eric asked.

“It's like soft clay. You bake it in the oven, and it gets hard. When it cools off, you can paint it.”

“Wow,” Eric whispered. He wished he could make something like this. For Grandpa.

“Here, feel it,” Stacy said.

Eric reached out with his pointer finger. Gently, he touched the eagle's head. “It feels smooth. No bumps or lumps.”

Stacy nodded. “Thanks. I worked hard.”

Eric stood up. He looked at Stacy.
Should I ask about going to her art class?
he wondered.

“What are you staring at?” Stacy asked.

Eric looked away. “I . . . uh . . . oh, nothing.”

Father's Day was coming fast. Would Stacy invite him to art class?

Eric hoped so. He
really
hoped so.

THREE

Eric couldn't stop thinking about the art class.

“I wonder if—” He stopped.

Stacy blinked her eyes. “What did you say?”

Eric tried again. “I . . . er . . . AUURGH!” The words didn't want to come out. Not the ones he wanted to say.

Stacy's eyes grew wide.

At last, Eric said, “I like your eagle sculpture. Thanks for showing me.”

Stacy grinned. “Anytime.”

“Well, see ya,” Eric said.

Stacy walked upstairs with him. “Thanks for coming,” she said.

“Goodbye.” The screen door slapped shut behind him.

Eric clumped down the sidewalk. He wished he'd asked about the art class. He wished he weren't so shy sometimes.

Zippo!
A flash of green leaped past him.

Something green with skinny legs.

Jason's frog, Croaker, was loose!

Eric chased after the bullfrog. “Come back!” he called.

Croaker
  hopped
    all
      the
        way
          down
            Blossom Hill Lane.

Eric ran after the frog. “Croaker, come back!”

Boink!
The frog leaped into a bush in front of Dunkum's house. Out of sight.

Eric got down on his knees. He pushed the branches back. But Croaker was out of reach.

“What're you doing in there, Croaker?” Eric called.

Suddenly he heard footsteps. Eric turned around.

It was Jason Birchall.

“Who are you talking to?” Jason asked.

“To your frog.” Eric pointed to the bush. “He disappeared in there.”

Jason leaned down and peered into the bush.

“How'd he get loose?” Eric asked.

“Your grandpa came over to borrow some sugar. He wanted to see my frog up close,” Jason explained. “So I took
Croaker out of the aquarium.”

Eric scratched his head. “My grandpa wanted to see your frog?”

“Yep.” Jason stood up and brushed off his jeans. “And he said something really weird.”

“Like what?” Eric asked.

“Something like: frogs and pickles look alike.” Jason laughed.

“Hey, don't make fun.”

Jason poked playfully at Eric. “Frogs and pickles
do
have something in common.”

“Yeah. They're both green,” Eric said. “And they have bumps.”

Jason pushed up his glasses. “How do frogs taste?”

Eric laughed out loud. “That's gross! But some
pickles
are sweet. My favorite!”

“Not me,” Jason said. “I like
dill
pickles.”

“So does my grandpa.” Eric thought
about Father's Day again. “Are you making something for your dad?”

“First I have to find my frog.” Jason inched around the bush, looking.

“Well, good luck finding your four-legged pickle,” Eric teased.

Frogs and pickles
. Grandpa should do stand-up comedy!

Quickly, Eric headed up the cul-de-sac. He wanted to stop by Stacy's house again.

He stuck out his chin.
This
time he'd get brave. He would invite himself to Stacy's art class.

It was now or never!

FOUR

Eric ran up the steps to Stacy's house.

He could see inside the screen door. Sunday Funnies wagged his fluffy tail.

“Hey there, boy,” Eric said.

The white cockapoo always found the Sunday comics first. That's why he had such a silly name.

Sunday Funnies yipped and jumped up.

Eric hoped Stacy would hear her
puppy. He wanted her to come to the door, so he wouldn't have to knock.

Seconds passed, but Stacy didn't come.

Eric decided to knock. A soft, shy knock. The screen door flapped gently against the frame.

He waited.

Sunday Funnies kept barking and running around. He wanted to play.

At last, Stacy came to the door.

Eric stood tall. “Hi, again.”

“Hi.” She stared at him.

Eric felt silly. He looked down at his sneakers.

“What's wrong?” Stacy asked.

“Uh . . . nothing.”

“Really?” she said.

“It's just . . .” He was having trouble saying it.

“Why don't you say what you're
thinking?” Stacy opened the screen door and came outside.

OK, here goes
, Eric thought. He took a deep breath. “Can I go to your art class tomorrow?”

“
Can
you?” There was a twinkle in her eye. “I don't know if you can.”

“I can't?” Eric asked.

Stacy frowned. “Are you allowed to come?”

“Allowed?” Eric was mixed up.

“Yeah, did you ask your mom?”

Eric shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Well, the correct way to ask is: ‘
May
I go with you?' ”

Eric sat on the front step.

“Just remember,
can
means able to,” Stacy said. “
May
means allowed to.”

Eric sighed. He hadn't expected a speech lesson.

“OK,” Stacy said, smiling. “That's settled.” She pulled a piece of green
bubble gum out of her pocket. “Want some?”

“Sure, thanks.” Eric stuffed the gum in his mouth.

Stacy opened a piece of pink bubble gum for herself.

“I want to make a bird tomorrow,” Eric said. “What's the name of that stuff again?”

“Sculpey.”

Eric smiled. “That's what I'm going to use.”

“Good choice,” she said.

Whamo!
Eric socked the air.

Now he felt good.

Just then, Eric spotted Jason across the street. He had Croaker between both hands. And he was running.

“Hey, Jason!” Eric called to him.

Jason glanced over his shoulder. “I finally caught my frog. It took all this time.” Then he hurried into his house.

Eric blew a giant green bubble. He thought about Grandpa wanting to see Croaker up close. And he thought about Father's Day.

His sculpting project was going to be perfect. Eric couldn't wait to get started.

I'll have to work hard
, he thought.
Father's Day is almost here!

FIVE

It was Saturday. At last!

Eric delivered newspapers extra early. Extra fast.

When he was finished, he came home and took a shower. Then he dressed for art class.

Eric tiptoed into Grandpa's room.

Z-z-ziz-zaz-zuk!
The snoring shook the old bed.

Eric crept past the dresser. Past the closet. He peeked into Grandpa's bookcase.

Good! The bird book was there. Eric slid it under his arm. He would borrow it for the class.