Free Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie by Julie Sternberg Page B

skill at all.
    â€œYou were born under a lucky star,” Bibi says.
    â€œLet’s play mancala,” I said to Natalie.
    In mancala you move rocks around in a certain way
    and if you have the most rocks at the end
    you win.
    No one has ever beaten me at mancala.
    Natalie didn’t beat me, either.
    â€œLook at that,” she said.
    â€œI may have met my match.”
    After that we played lots of different board games.
    She won some and I won some.
    Then it was time for her to go.

    â€œNext time can we play mancala again?” she asked.
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    â€œYou can take it home with you now if you want.
    To practice.”
    â€œGood idea,” she said.
    Then she went home with our mancala.

I decided to sit outside
    the very next day
    and wait for my letter from Bibi.
    â€œToday?” my mom asked.
    â€œToday,” I answered.
    â€œBut you just sent your letter to Bibi,” my mom said.
    â€œThe mail takes time.
    It’s much too soon to get Bibi’s letter back.”
    â€œI know,” I said.
    But I thought,
    Maybe it will come.
    Maybe.
    So I said, “I want to wait anyway.”
    â€œNatalie will be here soon,” my mom said.
    â€œMaybe she will wait with you.”
    As soon as Natalie walked in I said,
    â€œI want to sit outside and wait for a letter from Bibi.”
    My parents must have told Natalie about Bibi.
    Because she didn’t ask any questions.
    She just said, “That sounds nice.”
    Together we went outside
    and sat on a bench across the street from my building
    and waited for Bibi’s letter.
    â€œYou look to the left,” I said,
    â€œand I’ll look to the right.”
    So Natalie looked to the left.
    And I looked to the right.
    And we watched carefully for the mail.

    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,
    â€œShh shh shh shh shh.”
    I figured that baby was tired.

    Natalie saw a plastic grocery bag,
    hanging from the branch of a tree, swaying.
    â€œLike a magnolia,” she said.
    â€œA plastic grocery bag magnolia.”

    I saw Agnes and her brother walking toward the park.
    I waved at Agnes
    and she waved back at me.
    â€œThat’s Agnes from upstairs,” I told Natalie.
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œWait!” we yelled. “Wait!”

The mail carrier lady waited
    while we looked both ways
    and crossed the street
    and ran to her.
    â€œDo you have Bibi’s letter?” I asked.
    â€œA letter from Bibi Bholasing?”

    â€œI might,” she said.
    She looked serious.
    â€œTo whom is this letter addressed?” she asked.
    â€œTo me,” I said.
    â€œEleanor Abigail Kane.”
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you, Eleanor Abigail Kane,”
    the mail carrier lady said.
    â€œI’m Val.”
    I smiled at Val.
    â€œDo you know your apartment number?” she asked.
    â€œI need it to find the letter.”
    â€œIt’s 2C,” I said.
    â€œOne 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.
    â€œI’m sorry about that,” Val said.
    â€œI’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