Pickle Pizza Read Free Page A

the class. Mr. Albert and Miss Lana. Stacy and the other kids. All of them had been very nice.
    The NOT nice thing was in his box. The yucko bird sculpture!
    Eric put the box on the floor—and stuck his tongue out at it.
    Stacy and her mom were talking in the front seat. They were making Father’s Day plans. They were planning how to gift wrap the eagle sculpture.
    Eric slapped his hands over his ears. He didn’t want to hear about Father’s Day. He didn’t want to hear about Stacy’s eagle.
    A lump choked Eric’s throat. He missed his dad.
    But he had a terrific grandpa. Eric wanted him to know how special he was. Very special.
    Sometimes at night, Eric would tip-toe down the hall. He’d peek into Grandpa’s room and listen. In the darkness, he could hear Grandpa talking to God. “Please bless Eric, my grandson,” Grandpa would say.

    Those prayers made Eric feel good. And strong.

    Stacy turned around in the front seat. Her eyes were kind.
    Eric took his hands away from his ears.
    â€œAre you OK?” Stacy asked.
    Eric shrugged his shoulders.
    Just then, Stacy’s mom made a left turn. The box holding Eric’s project slid toward the door. The unfinished bird rolled out. Eric kept his seat belt on. He stared at the bird.
    When the car pulled into the driveway, Eric picked up his sculpture. Quickly, he scooped it into the box. Heclimbed out of the car. “Thanks for taking me.”
    â€œRemember what I told you,” Stacy said. “You can finish your sculpture later. Then give it to your grandpa.” Her voice was soft.
    â€œI know,” Eric said. But more than anything he wanted something for tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day Grandpa deserved a special gift.
    Eric closed the lid on the box and headed for home. Someday he would finish the sculpture. Maybe for Grandpa’s birthday. Or Christmas.
    But today he would think of something. Something to give Grandpa for Father’s Day.
    There was no time to waste!

EIGHT
    Eric carried the box upstairs. He shoved it under his bed. Then he went to Grandpa’s room to return the bird book.
    Eric decided to go outside.
    Carly Hunter was making chalk drawings on the sidewalk. Big, bright drawings.
    Dee Dee Winters, Carly’s best friend, came skating down the sidewalk.
    â€œHello-o, Eric!” Dee Dee called.
    Eric wandered over to the girls. Hestood there quietly with his hands in his pockets.
    Carly looked up at him. “Aren’t you talking?”
    Eric shook his head. “Not much.”
    â€œHow come?” Dee Dee asked.
    â€œLong story,” Eric said. He was thinking about Father’s Day. Again.
    Carly stood up. She put her arm around Dee Dee. “Well, maybe we can help.”
    Dee Dee agreed. “Yeah, we make a mean batch of cookies.” She turned to Carly. “Baking cookies—and eating them—always helps if you’re sad.” Dee Dee’s face burst into a big smile. “That’s what we made for Father’s Day gifts.”
    Whamo! An idea struck Eric.
    His hands flew out of his pockets. “Got any recipe books?”
    â€œDo I ever!” Dee Dee said.
    â€œCan I borrow one?” Eric asked.
    â€œYou mean— may you?” Dee Dee said.
    Eric smiled to himself. Another speech lesson?
    â€œWait here!” Dee Dee skated down the street.
    When she came back, Dee Dee showed off her favorite recipes.
    Carly peered at the book. Then at Eric. “Are you gonna bake cookies?”
    Eric stared at the recipe book. He scratched his head. “Maybe.”
    Beep, beep! Dunkum and Jason came riding their bikes. “Look out!” yelled Jason.
    Eric played along and acted scared. He jumped onto the sidewalk. Dunkum and Jason dropped their bikes on the grass.
    â€œWhat’s up?” asked Jason.
    â€œNothin’ much,” Eric said.
    Dunkum spotted the recipe book.“Are you making Father’s Day cookies?” he asked