Pickle Pizza Read online

  Beverly Lewis Books for Young Readers

  PICTURE BOOKS

  In Jesse’s Shoes • Just Like Mama

  What Is God Like? • What Is Heaven Like?

  THE CUL-DE-SAC KIDS

  The Double Dabble Surprise

  The Chicken Pox Panic

  The Crazy Christmas Angel Mystery

  No Grown-ups Allowed

  Frog Power

  The Mystery of Case D. Luc

  The Stinky Sneakers Mystery

  Pickle Pizza

  Mailbox Mania

  The Mudhole Mystery

  Fiddlesticks

  The Crabby Cat Caper

  Tarantula Toes

  Green Gravy

  Backyard Bandit Mystery

  Tree House Trouble

  The Creepy Sleep-Over

  The Great TV Turn-Off

  Piggy Party

  The Granny Game

  Mystery Mutt

  Big Bad Beans

  The Upside-Down Day

  The Midnight Mystery

  Katie and Jake and the Haircut Mistake

  www.BeverlyLewis.com

  Pickle Pizza

  Copyright © 1996 by Beverly Lewis

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2012

  Cover illustration by Paul Turnbaugh

  Story illustrations by Janet Huntington

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6070-3

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  For

  Matt Whiteis,

  my pickle-lovin’ fan.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  The Cul-De-Sac Kids Series

  About the Author

  Other Books by Author

  Back Cover

  ONE

  Eric Hagel was flat broke.

  He sat in the dugout with his buddy Dunkum Mifflin. Eric shoved his bat into the dirt. “Only two days till Father’s Day,” he said.

  “Two days—and I can’t wait.” Dunkum thumped his fist into his catcher’s mitt. “My dad’s gonna be so surprised.”

  Eric was silent.

  Dunkum kept talking. “I bought a giant crossword-puzzle book. My dad has a puzzle habit, you know.”

  Eric nodded. “Did you buy it with your own money?”

  “I saved up for a couple weeks,” Dunkum said.

  Eric wished he had money of his own. He wanted to buy a Father’s Day present for his grandpa who lived with them.

  There wasn’t much money to go around. His mom baked special-order cakes for extra money. Grandpa repaired watches, but his eyes weren’t strong anymore. He worked only three afternoons a week.

  “What about you?” Dunkum asked. “Have you been saving up?”

  “Not much. My paper route money goes to the family,” Eric answered. He’d had the route for a whole year. But there never seemed to be money left over. At least not enough for a Father’s Day present.

  “Are you going to celebrate with your grandpa?” Dunkum asked.

  Eric smiled. “He’s been kinda like a father to me since my dad died. Only one thing . . .”

  “What’s that?” Dunkum asked.

  “I’m broke. I can’t buy anything.”

  Dunkum stood up. “Why don’t you make something?”

  Jason Birchall walked up to them. “Make what? What are we talking about?”

  Eric shrugged his shoulders. “It’s about Father’s Day. Dunkum thinks I should make something for Grandpa.”

  “Sure, why not?” Jason said. “Some of the other Cul-de-sac Kids are making things.”

  Dunkum nodded. “Abby Hunter always says, ‘homemade gifts are the best.’ ”

  Eric got up and swung his bat around. “Sounds good. But what? What can I make?”

  Eric, Dunkum, and Jason made a huddle. A think-huddle.

  “What does your grandpa like?” Dunkum asked.

  Eric thought a moment. “Birds. He’s bird-crazy.”

  Jason started laughing.

  Eric frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  “I saw him spying on a bird’s nest yesterday,” Jason replied. “He was up on his step stool—wearing those weird field glasses.”

  “They’re not weird,” Eric said. “They come in handy sometimes.” He was thinking about last Christmas. Grandpa’s field glasses had helped solve a mystery. “Remember those crazy Christmas angels next door?” Eric asked. “At Mr. Tressler’s house?”

  “Hey, you’re right!” Jason said, laughing. “Remember those Christmas cookies Dee Dee and Carly made?”

  Dunkum’s eyes lit up. “And Stacy made a card with gold glitter. Remember that?”

  “Hey! I have an idea,” Jason said. “Why don’t you ask Stacy about her art class?”

  Eric’s mouth pinched up. “Why should I?”

  “Because Stacy’s a good artist,” Dunkum stated. “Maybe she’ll give you some ideas for Father’s Day.”

  “Or maybe she’ll take you to art class with her,” Jason said. He danced around like it was a big deal.

  Eric shook his head. “How can I get her to invite me?”

  Jason laughed. “Just ask her, silly. She doesn’t bite.”

  Eric’s face got red. “I know that.”

  “Then ask her,” Jason teased.

  Eric scratched his head. “I’ll think about it.”

  TWO

  Eric ate supper fast.

  It was still light out when he finished. He dashed across the street to Stacy Henry’s house.

  She opened the door. “Hi,” Stacy said.

  “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 stoo
d 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 s
culpting 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.

  Stacy was waiting outside when Eric arrived. She was holding a small box. Her unpainted eagle was inside.

  Eric showed her the big book. The bird book.

  “Wow,” she said. “This is great.”

  They sat on the step looking at the book. Stacy turned the pages carefully. “What bright colors! And the pictures are so big.”

  “Grandpa likes them that way.”

  Stacy said softly, “I hope his eyes get better.”

  “Me too,” Eric said. “Grandpa wears a magnifying glass when he repairs watches. But not when he’s looking at this book.”

  Stacy smiled. “He wears his field glasses for bird watching, too.”

  Eric smiled back. “Watching birds is his favorite thing. But his eyes are getting weak.”

  “Then your idea is perfect,” she said. “Sculptures are great to touch. Even if your grandpa loses his sight, he’ll be able to feel your bird!”

  Eric hadn’t thought of that.

  Soon it was time to leave for art class. Stacy’s mom was a careful driver. But Eric wished she would zoom around the corners. To make the time pass, he studied the bird book.

  At last, they arrived in front of a redbrick house. A white sign hung from the lamppost. It said: Young Artists’ Studio.

  Stacy’s mom waved goodbye and pulled away from the curb. Eric followed Stacy up the stony walkway.

  “This is where I come every Saturday,” she said. They went inside. Rows of sketches, cartoons, and paintings decorated the walls. A dark-haired lady sat behind a wide desk.

  Stacy went up to the desk. “This is my friend Eric,” she told the lady. “He’s my guest today.”

  “Welcome.” The desk lady smiled.

  Stacy turned to Eric. “Eric, this is Miss Lana. She signs kids up for classes.”