Pickle Pizza by Beverly Lewis

Author:Beverly Lewis [Beverly Lewis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781441260703
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group

Eric pulled his fingers out of the sculpey. They were shaking. What am I doing here?

SIX

Eric’s heart was pounding.

He got up and left the room. He stood in the hallway.

Stacy rushed out. “What’s wrong, Eric?”

He stared at the floor. “I don’t belong here.”

Stacy grabbed his arm. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Eric knew she was right. “What if it turns out all yucky?” he asked.

Stacy said, “Just do your best. That’s what counts.”

Eric agreed to try.

He went back into the classroom with Stacy. He walked past young artists. He saw their small statues. Dolphins, lions, a clown, and even a T-rex. This was work in progress.

Eric sat at his table and took a deep breath. He picked up the bird book and flipped through the pages. The red robin picture was on page 33.

With his finger, he traced the lines of its round shape. He was ready to form the body. Next came the tiny head, and wings.

Eric worked for two hours. Several times, Mr. Albert came to help and give advice. Stacy helped, too.

By the end of class, Eric’s work in progress was only half finished. He frowned. “Tomorrow’s Father’s Day. I can’t give this mess to my grandpa.”

Stacy said, “Just tell him you’re working on a top-secret project. When the sculpture’s done, give it to him.”

Eric shook his head. “It might take weeks. I want something for tomorrow!”

“What’s wrong with giving him the unfinished robin?” she asked.

“I just told you.” Eric put his robin glob in a box. “It isn’t done.”

Stacy wiggled her nose. Off she went to clean up her work area.

Mr. Albert stopped by. Eric thanked him for his help.

“Perhaps you can join us,” Mr. Albert suggested.

“I’d like that,” Eric said. But he knew it was impossible. Besides, he wasn’t an artist.

Eric went outside to wait for Stacy. He gripped his cardboard box. On top of it, he carried the bird book. Inside the box was a blobby globby robin.

One after another, the young artists came with their sculptures. Eric tried not to stare.

If only my sculpture were finished! he thought. If only I could come to class like Stacy all the time.

Father’s Day tomorrow—and no present. Eric felt sorry for his grandpa.

He felt sorry for himself, too.

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