Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie (6 page)

We saw lots of things.

I saw a baby in a stroller

crying and crying and crying

all the way down the block

while its mother said,

“Shh shh shh shh shh.”

I figured that baby was tired.

Natalie saw a plastic grocery bag,

hanging from the branch of a tree, swaying.

“Like a magnolia,” she said.

“A plastic grocery bag magnolia.”

I saw Agnes and her brother walking toward the park.

I waved at Agnes

and she waved back at me.

“That's Agnes from upstairs,” I told Natalie.

“You should hear her sing.”

Together we counted three,

then four,

then five

joggers rushing by,

their faces drip drip dripping from the heat.

And then we saw the ice-cream truck

turning the corner

playing its tune.

We hopped up

and ran after it

and bought soft ice-cream cones

dipped in chocolate.

We ate those cones up fast,

before they melted.

And when we got back to our bench,

there she was.

The mail carrier lady.

Wheeling her big bag of mail

up the path to our building.

“Wait!” we yelled. “Wait!”

The mail carrier lady waited

while we looked both ways

and crossed the street

and ran to her.

“Do you have Bibi's letter?” I asked.

“A letter from Bibi Bholasing?”

“I might,” she said.

She looked serious.

“To whom is this letter addressed?” she asked.

“To me,” I said.

“Eleanor Abigail Kane.”

“It's nice to meet you, Eleanor Abigail Kane,”

the mail carrier lady said.

“I'm Val.”

I smiled at Val.

“Do you know your apartment number?” she asked.

“I need it to find the letter.”

“It's 2C,” I said.

“One moment, please,” Val said.

Then she dug through her bag

until she found a stack of mail

labeled 2C.

She took off the rubber bands

and the three of us looked at every letter in that stack.

But there was no letter from Bibi.

“I'm sorry about that,” Val said.

“I'll keep a special lookout for it from now on.

I promise.”

I knew it was too early for Bibi's letter.

But still.

I wanted my letter from Bibi.

Then Natalie said,

“Maybe it's time to play mancala.”

So we went upstairs and played mancala.

I think Natalie might have practiced at home.

Because she did a little better.

But I still won.

The next morning

I tried calling my best friend, Pearl.

But she was still away.

Everyone in the world was still away.

Except for me.

So I got grumpy.

When Natalie came,

I said,

“I already hate this day.”

“Oh dear,” she said.

“But look what I brought.”

She held up a bag

and opened it

and showed me

lemons and sugar and a big plastic pitcher.

“If we're going to hate this day,” she said,

“then at least let's not get thirsty.”

So we squeezed lemons

and scooped sugar

and added water

and stirred

and made a big plastic pitcher

of lemonade.

We made a big sign, too.

We took our pitcher and our sign,

and we set up a lemonade stand,

right next to the bench where we waited for Val.

We poured cups of lemonade for ourselves.

So at least we wouldn't get thirsty.

Then we sold the rest for a nickel.

We decided on a nickel

because
nickel

rhymes with
pickle
.

The joggers jogged right by us.

But Agnes and her brother each bought a cup.

And one thirsty lady bought two.

That lady drank both of those cups of lemonade

right then and there

all by herself.

While we were waiting for more customers

I asked Natalie,

“Do you remember third grade?”