Pickle Pizza Read Free

it was for his grandpa. Maybe she didn’t want to say that Eric’s dad had died.
    Eric looked at her. Stacy’s a good friend , he thought.
    The teacher scooted a table next to Stacy’s. He found an extra chair. “There we are,” said Mr. Albert. “I will be glad to help you, Eric.”
    â€œThanks.” Eric showed him the bird book and the picture of a red robin. The teacher gave him some basic pointers.Then he went to help another student.
    Stacy got Eric started. She stuck her hands into his sculpey. Right into the middle of it. She worked it like bread dough. “There, that’s how to begin. Now you try.”
    Eric stared at the white clump. He picked it up. The sculpey felt cool in his hands. And a little hard.
    Smasho!
    He jammed it between his hands.
    Stacy grinned. “That’s it!”
    Eric glanced at Stacy’s eagle. What a beautiful sculpture—the smooth body and graceful wings.
    He stared at his blob of nothing.
    Flip-flop.
    Eric’s stomach lurched.
    Beside him, Stacy began to paint. He watched her work. Then he looked down at his table. Ee-e-yew , he thought. Thisglob is supposed to be a Father’s Day present?

    Eric pulled his fingers out of the sculpey. They were shaking. What am I doing here?

SIX
    Eric’s heart was pounding.
    He got up and left the room. He stood in the hallway.
    Stacy rushed out. “What’s wrong, Eric?”
    He stared at the floor. “I don’t belong here.”
    Stacy grabbed his arm. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
    Eric knew she was right. “What if it turns out all yucky?” he asked.
    Stacy said, “Just do your best. That’s what counts.”
    Eric agreed to try.
    He went back into the classroom with Stacy. He walked past young artists. He saw their small statues. Dolphins, lions, a clown, and even a T-rex. This was work in progress.
    Eric sat at his table and took a deep breath. He picked up the bird book and flipped through the pages. The red robin picture was on page 33.
    With his finger, he traced the lines of its round shape. He was ready to form the body. Next came the tiny head, and wings.
    Eric worked for two hours. Several times, Mr. Albert came to help and give advice. Stacy helped, too.
    By the end of class, Eric’s work in progress was only half finished. He frowned. “Tomorrow’s Father’s Day. I can’t givethis mess to my grandpa.”
    Stacy said, “Just tell him you’re working on a top-secret project. When the sculpture’s done, give it to him.”
    Eric shook his head. “It might take weeks. I want something for tomorrow !”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with giving him the unfinished robin?” she asked.
    â€œI just told you.” Eric put his robin glob in a box. “It isn’t done.”
    Stacy wiggled her nose. Off she went to clean up her work area.
    Mr. Albert stopped by. Eric thanked him for his help.
    â€œPerhaps you can join us,” Mr. Albert suggested.
    â€œI’d like that,” Eric said. But he knew it was impossible. Besides, he wasn’t an artist.
    Eric went outside to wait for Stacy. He gripped his cardboard box. On top of it, he carried the bird book. Inside thebox was a blobby globby robin.
    One after another, the young artists came with their sculptures. Eric tried not to stare.
    If only my sculpture were finished! he thought. If only I could come to class like Stacy all the time.
    Father’s Day tomorrow—and no present. Eric felt sorry for his grandpa.
    He felt sorry for himself, too.

SEVEN
    Honk! Honk!
    Eric and Stacy ran to get in the car.
    â€œHow was art class?” Stacy’s mother asked.
    Stacy glanced at Eric. “I finished painting my eagle.”
    Eric slumped down in the backseat. The bird book lay on the seat beside him.
    â€œWhat about you, Eric?” Stacy’s mother asked.
    â€œI . . . uh, it was nice.” Eric thoughtabout