Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie Read online

  or how you know someone loves you.

  And write that down.

  Ask me any questions you want.

  And don’t worry about this a bit.

  It’s our very first day, after all.

  We’re just getting warmed up.”

  So I got paper and a pencil.

  And I did some thinking.

  Then I wrote my poem.

  I wrote:

  Soon Mr. Campanelli walked around the room

  and checked our work.

  “An excellent job,” he said, when he read my poem.

  “But you’re making me thirsty!”

  He didn’t say anything about my handwriting.

  So I guess it was fine.

  And I thought

  I might like third grade.

  The rest of the day went very fast.

  Soon Natalie was there to pick me up.

  “Here,” I said, when she came in.

  “This is for you.”

  I handed her one of the pictures I had drawn earlier.

  A picture of flowers

  in a little garden

  just off a sidewalk.

  “I love it,” Natalie said.

  “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  Then Pearl came over.

  I didn’t want her to say anything about Bibi.

  And she didn’t.

  Instead she said to Natalie,

  “You have the most beautiful hair

  I have ever seen.”

  “Goodness,” Natalie said.

  She ran her hand over her ponytail.

  “Thanks.”

  Then Natalie smiled at Pearl

  and Pearl smiled at Natalie.

  And I felt happy.

  Natalie and I walked Pearl and her mom to their building.

  Then we headed home.

  And as we turned the corner

  we saw Val,

  who saw us, too,

  and raised her arm

  and waved and waved

  and shouted,

  “Come quick, you two!

  Run!”

  So we ran.

  All the way to Val.

  When we reached Val

  she handed me a letter.

  A letter to Miss Eleanor Abigail Kane

  from Ms. Bibi Bholasing.

  I took that letter

  and thanked Val

  and ran with Natalie

  all the way to my apartment.

  Then I wasn’t sure what to do.

  I wanted to read Bibi’s letter by myself.

  But I didn’t want Natalie to feel bad.

  Natalie must have read my mind.

  “Would you like to take the letter to your room?”

  she asked.

  “While I make us a snack?”

  I smiled at Natalie

  and nodded my head

  and went in my room

  and sat on my bed

  and read my letter from Bibi.

  It said:

  I like reading Bibi’s letter.

  I read it every single day,

  which is good.

  Because reading is important for third grade.

  I think Bibi’s words are beautiful,

  like the poems we’re reading with Mr. Campanelli.

  And like Natalie’s hair.

  I keep the letter right by my bed

  so I see it when I wake up in the morning,

  and when I go to sleep at night.

  Bibi will always be my first babysitter.

  My very special babysitter.

  And she will always be my Bibi.

  Even if she is waiting for the breeze in Florida,

  and I am far away.

  I am grateful to the real-life Bibi Bholasing, for inspiring this book and for so much more.

  Many thanks as well to Amy Hest and Roslyn Streifer, my dear friends and advisors, for their ceaseless support; Tamar Brazis, my editor, for her graciousness and vision; and Rosemary Stimola, my agent, for making me laugh and for holding my hand.

  Most of all, I thank my family, for everything.