Hello, Invisible Friends.

I’m the cute lunchbox.  The social tin butterfly.  The star of the Pond hutch.  The lunchbox that doesn’t smell like bolgna sandwiches.

What?  The Blond Duck doesn’t eat bolgna sandwiches? Did she tell you that?

You know.  HER.

My evil twin sister.

The bane of my existence.

The lunchbox I loathe.

Did I tell you about the dreadful thing she did to me the other day?  I didn’t?

Well, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.  I’ve been distracted by the Return of Miss Pickles.

Speaking of Miss Pickles, did you know the original Miss Pickles book is available now? It is!  Buy it here!

You can buy it in book form or download it, whatever you like!  Just visit lulu.com!  Soon I’ll have a button up where you can just go there!

And if Christmas is already whispering in your ear, check out my The Twelve Tales of Christmas, a collection of whimsical Christmas short stories dealing with everything from love to secret Christmas wishes and a determined fruitcake.  It is is available on Amazon.com or through Lulu!

And now, for the Return of Miss Pickles…

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The next day, Mason bounded out of bed to a window dripping with sleet and washed with grey.  Glancing at the clock, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.  His bus would be here any minute.  Shivering as he pulled on his clothes, he splashed some frigid water on his face and ran a toothbrush over his teeth.  Grabbing his backpack, he hurried downstairs.

“Mason!” his mother barked, shoving a piece of limp dry toast in his hand. “I’ve-got-a-meeting-until-seven.  Your-worthless-father-will-be-at-the-club-and-your-sister-has-brownies-so-I-need-you-to-go-to-Mrs. Anderson’s.  Hurry-up!  You’ll-miss-the-bus-and-I-have-no-time-to-drive-you-to-school-I-have-to-be-at-the-doctor-in-fifteen-minutes-and-then-I-have-a-client–”

Mason left while his mother was still rambling on about her busy day.  The only difference he’d seen in her being a pregnant attorney versus a regular state attorney was she ate more and had more doctors appointments.  And she couldn’t fit in her suits, which made her really cranky.

Slipping and sliding down the driveway, Mason nearly barreled head first into the bus as it screeched to a stop.  Leaning against the musty leather seat, he stared out into the grey and white blur outside.  A few minutes later, Ralph plopped down next to him wearing a thick down coat and cheerful red scarf and earmuffs.

“You look like the Pillsbury dough boy,” Mason teased him.

Ralph scowled.  “I was going to share my mother’s special breakfast bread with you, but…”

Mason immediately grew contrite.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

The delicious breakfast bread sprinkled with nuts, pineapple, coconut and apples with a few raisins cheered Mason’s spirits.  Munching on a second piece (Ralph had a whole loaf in his backpack), he tapped his feet against the seat in front of him as the bus crawled into the parking lot.  “Think we’ll do anything fun today?”

Ralph made a face.  “The teacher said she would be out.  We’ll have a subsitute.  I hope it’s not Mrs. Gunter.”

Both boys shivered.  Mason smiled, but said nothing.  Finishing the last bit of his bread, he brushed the crumbs off his hands and followed Ralph off the bus to the classroom.  Once inside, they shed their coats and scarves and plopped down at their desks.  The rest of the class was already there, quietly writing in their black language art notebooks.  Their teacher was not there (though even when she was there, Mason was so bored he often forgot her name.  She tended to blend into the beige walls like a badly warbling speaker with a squeaky piece of chalk.)  On the board, white letters scrawled, “Please sit quietly and do questions 1-7 in your English notebook.”

Don caught his eye and made a face.  Ralph scowled and pulled out another piece of breakfast bread.  Mason sighed.  Another dull day at Ordinary Elementary.  Pulling his notebook out of his backpack, Mason groaned as a pencil rolled into the aisle.  He reached over to get it, but a thin hand swooped down and plucked it off the ground.

“Lose something, duckie?”

Mason gasped.  Biting his lip, his eyes traveled up the pink polka dot rainboots, past the rainbow knee socks, up the hot pink sweater dress to the frizzy hair peppered with pink bows and glittery hairclips.  Then he saw the smile, the beaming smile that had haunted his dreams for months.

“Miss Pickles!” he cried, leaping out of his desk and wrapping his arms around her.  “You’re back!”

The rest of the students’ heads snapped up.

“Miss Pickles!” several girls squealed, sprinting toward her.

“Welcome back!” Don shouted, shaking her hand.

“Miss Pickles!” Ralph bellowed, barreling towards her.  “You owe me a sugar fest!”

“This is not going to be productive at all,” Beatrice announced to no one in particular, folding her arms.

“Of course not, ducky!” Miss Pickles laughed.  “Production is overrated.  I said I’d return for another adventure and here I am!”  The class cheered, leaping and hopping over desks and pelting each other with balled up notebook paper in glee.

“Where are we going?” Mason asked, dodging a flying math book.  Ralph really hated the pre-algebra.

“That’s for you to decide, of course,” Miss Pickles cried, throwing her arms in the air.

“When did you get here?” Don asked, glancing out the window curiously.  “I don’t see your hot air balloon.”

“I had to park on the roof,” Miss Pickles responded, as if everyone parked on the roof in a bright red hot air balloon.  “So tell me, duckies, do you need a day or two to think about it?  Or do you know where you want to go?”

Every child began to shout and point to a globe, demanding their adventure be chosen.

“I want to go to Alaska and dance with the polar bears!” one girl cried.

“I want to go to Fiji,” another announced.  “They have apples there.”

“No!” one of the boys bellowed.  “China!”

“No!” another protested.  “Mars!”

“England!”

“Germany!”

“Detroit!”

“Italy!”

“I want to study,” Beatrice muttered, gathering her English book to her chest and frowning.  “The last time we went on one of these stupid adventures, we nearly died.  Doesn’t anybody remember that?”

No one paid attention to her.  As the shouting rose and rose, Miss Pickles laughed and waved her hands.  “Ok, ok, duckies.  Let’s break this down, shall we?  What’s some things we can all agree on?”

“Warm and sunny,” Don suggested, looking out the windows.

“With good food,” Ralph added.

“And cute things,” another girl added. “Like ladybugs and bumblebees!”

“Or butterflies and dandelions!” another girl cried.

“I want danger!” a little boy who had watched too many television shows cried.

“And pirates!” another bellowed.

“Arg, mateys!” a smaller boy affirmed.

“I want something smart,” Beatrice snapped.  “A mystery or science or something.  Not just bumbling around like we did last time.”

Miss Pickles looked at Mason and nudged him.   “And you, ducky?” she asked.  “What do you want?”

Mason looked up at her and grinned.  “An adventure,” he said.

“An adventure is what you’ll get,” Miss Pickles announced, her cheeks flushing with pleasure.  Clapping her hands, she began to dig around in her handbag.  “One little thing and we’ll be ready to go….”

“Oh no, Miss Pickles.  You’re not going anywhere.”

Mason felt his heart seep out his toes.  Mrs. Gunter lounged in the doorway, a smirk stretched across her sullen face.  “Well, Miss Pickles,” she drawled with a sneer.  “I told you this wouldn’t be so easy.”

To be continued…

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have the drama between the two lunchboxes, a new Isadora tale and a tasty recipe with a secret ingredient!  Then we have a new Dallas Jean Lee and a new creative person of the Pond!  Stay tuned!