Free Pickle by Kim Baker Page A

whispered.
    â€œWe can make it appear to be an ode to the pickle, but I’ll encrypt a password to see the good stuff,” Frank said.
    â€œWhat’s the good stuff?” Oliver said.
    Silence.
    â€œDuh, pranks!” Bean shook her head. “How about if we post videos?”
    â€œToo risky. Someone might identify us. Reports,” Frank said.
    â€œWhat kind of reports? Like a book report?”
    â€œNo. Incident reports. Like the cops do. Pranks, Instructions. Kids from all over could come and learn how to do pranks at their schools if we tell them the password. We could still keep some stuff hidden. The P.T.A. could be HUGE,” Frank said.
    â€œWe could go viral,” Bean said.
    â€œLike a computer virus?” I asked. I wasn’t allowed to download stuff without checking it for viruses. Maybe it was because of Bean.
    â€œLike a flu virus,” Bean said. I ignored her. “Catch up, Ben. Not like a computer virus. Like something that spreads around the Internet so that people all over see it. Like a kitten video.” Points for not mentioning her own website. She hardly ever had kittens in the videos. Not that I check. I have at least five kitten videos bookmarked, from other websites, but I wasn’t going to tell them that. I just nodded.
    â€œI’ll get started on this and have something for you guys to see next week,” Frank said. He shooed us out of the library, and we went to check on the pickles we had made in the lab. We’d take them to the Pioneer Fair, everybody would be impressed that kids made pickles, and we’d get a cash prize. It was perfect.
    Except one thing: When we got to the lab, the pickles were gone.

 
    23
    Check-In
    â€œWhy don’t you tell me what’s been happening,” Ms. Ruiz said. She had asked me to stay after school Friday for another League of Pickle Makers check-in meeting.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I said.
    â€œWell, how are things going for the Pioneer Fair?”
    â€œOh, right,” I said. “Fine, I guess.”
    â€œWhat have you decided to prepare à la the pioneers?”
    â€œPickles,” I said.
    â€œWell, of course, Ben! I assumed you’d be preparing pickles. You are a pickle maker. Which variety of pickle do you plan on preparing?” Ms. Ruiz smiled at me. I wanted to tell her that she talked like a tongue twister, but I didn’t.
    â€œWell, we made some … basic … pickles, and left them in the lab to … sit. But, somebody took them.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI went to check on them yesterday, and they were gone. The jar and everything,” I said. Ms. Ruiz nodded and looked like she thought that it was totally reasonable that there would be a pickle thief at the school.
    â€œWhere were the pickles?” she asked.
    â€œJust up on the counter in the laboratory,” I said. Ms. Ruiz nodded again.
    â€œRick probably thought they were left over from a science experiment. I’ll arrange for a cupboard to be set aside exclusively for the League of Pickle Makers.” Ms. Ruiz made a note on a notepad covered in coffee stain rings. I thanked her and got up to leave. There just isn’t that much pickle business to discuss.
    â€œBen, you had better gather your picklers together to prepare for the Pioneer Fair. It’s just a few weeks away,” she said. “Most of the better pickling recipes take that long to cure.”
    â€œWe’ll get started on something,” I said.
    â€œExcellent. I’ve been making arrangements with the other club advisors. The baking club will definitely be participating, and some of the others. The art club made arrangements for a leather-punching demonstration.” I pictured people fighting motorcycle jackets, but I felt pretty sure it was something else.
    â€œThat’s great,” I said, and got up from my chair.
    â€œOne more thing, Ben,” Ms. Ruiz said.