Sunshine Picklelime by Pamela Ferguson Read Free Book Online

shoulders and practically covered his face. He wore black-rimmedglasses, a black T-shirt, black jeans, and red-and-white-striped high-tops. His eyes matched Ruth’s.
    “Hey, PJ.” He waved. “Are you staying for dinner? Mom’s making enough pasta to feed the world.” Joshua’s voice was all crackly, just about to break.
    “Wow, some other time maybe, you guys. I need to go. My mom’s probably out looking for me,” she said.
    Ruth tossed the rope ladder to the ground. “See you after school tomorrow? Joshua, hold the ladder steady for PJ. Can’t you see it’s wobbling?”
    “Bye, Ruth. Thanks for a great time,” said PJ as she climbed down.
    “You’re welcome,” Joshua said. He held the ladder with one hand and grinned up at his twin. “Coming, too, Ruth? Or do we call room service?”

    When PJ returned home, she found her mom eating alone at the kitchen table, reading a book.
    “Where’s Dad?”
    “He went out for a walk,” said Mrs. Picklelime. She got up to ladle bean-and-veggie soup for PJ out of a large glass pot bubbling happily on the stove.
    “Thanks, Mom, this smells
so
good,” said PJ, taking her bowl to the table. They sat there enjoying soup and crusty whole-wheat bread while PJ told her mother about Ruth’s tree house and Squirt, Oohoo, and Cardy and the funny way the twins spoke to one another.
    “It’s a wonderful opportunity for you, PJ,” Mrs. Picklelime said. Then she launched into,
“‘The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea in a beeeeee-you-tiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money …’”
    “Mom, be serious,” giggled PJ.
    “Who wants to be serious? It’s
sooooo
boring,” said Mrs. Picklelime.
    Later PJ sketched the tree house in the wavy oak tree, with Ruth in her purple T-shirt, Oohoo, Cardy, and Squirt, while her mom read all sorts of poetry to her about wild swans and goats that she didn’t really understand. Long after she went to bed, PJ finally heard her dad unlock the front door.

the chocolate dream
    After school the next day, PJ collected Oohoo from Ruth’s tree house and hid the owl down the front of her mottled gray-and-brown peasant shirt. PJ had picked the shirt that would best blend with the owl’s feathers. She started on her bike toward the Chocolate Dream but decided to swing around to see Mrs. Patel first.
    “PJ, slow down, child,” said Mrs. Patel. “The way you cycled around that corner! Are Mr. Splitzky’s bees chasing you? And what’s that in your shirt?” Mrs. Patel lowered her shears and smoothed clippings off the top of her flowering purple sage hedge into a bucket for her compost pile.
    PJ parked her bike against the sidewalk and opened the top buttons of her shirt. The tips of Oohoo’s ears popped up.
    “Good grief, PJ! First you’re hiding birds in your hair. Now they’re down your shirt. Whatever is next? Who’s this?”
    “Oohoo the owl, Mrs. Patel. Ruth says she’s catatonic, so I’m taking things slowly. What makes a bird catatonic?”
    Mrs. Patel stared at the bulge in PJ’s shirt. “Trauma, PJ. Your new friend has seen something
dreadful
. Otherwise she wouldn’t just sit there like a statue. But”—Mrs. Patel nodded—“it’s good for her to feel your heartbeat.”
    “I also like to feel hers.” PJ laughed. “I’m rehabbing her.”
    “How, child?” Mrs. Patel continued to snip stray branches off her hedge.
    PJ rubbed some of the cut sprays of purple sage between her hands so she could enjoy their lovely smell. At that moment, their neighbor “bearded beekeeper” Mr. Splitzky ambled by with his caramel-colored retriever mix, Blossom. Ever curious, Blossom lifted her head and sniffed, nose twitching.
    Knowing the dog sensed more in the air than humans and purple sage, PJ placed a protective hand over Oohoo.
    “Afternoon, Mrs. Patel. Afternoon, PJ,” Mr. Splitzky said.
    “Afternoon, Mr. Splitzky,” they chorused.
    “C’mon, Bloss,” he said. He gave the retriever’s leash a