#13 The All-Seeing Pickle

Ted Miller was your average third-grader—messy brown hair, untied shoelaces, and a backpack that weighed more than he did. He had one major problem that drove his teacher, Ms. Pinkerton, absolutely bonkers: Ted couldn't decide which kid was his best friend, and it was causing a real pickle of a situation.

"Alex is my best friend," Ted would announce on Monday during recess.

By Tuesday, it would be, "Jasmine is now my best-best friend!"

Wednesday might bring, "Omar is my super-duper-ultra-mega best friend!"

You can imagine how this went down with the other kids.

"But yesterday you said I was your best friend!" Alex would whine, his lower lip trembling like jelly on a washing machine.

 

Ted's friendship announcements were causing playground chaos bigger than the time Principal Goodwin slipped on a banana peel during the school assembly. Kids were crying, friendships were crumbling, and Ted was stuck in the middle like peanut butter in a sandwich.

To make matters worse, Ted couldn't say no to playtime. Every day after school, the same thing happened:

"Want to build a fort by the creek?" Alex would ask.

"I really need to do my math homework," Ted would reply, clutching his backpack.

"Maths? BORING! We could be discovering treasure!" Alex would dramatically wave his arms.

And just like that, Ted's homework would be forgotten faster than vegetables at a birthday party.

Ms. Pinkerton's red pen had been working overtime on Ted's papers. His last math test looked like it had caught the chicken pox - red marks everywhere! His English journal entries were shorter than his attention span. Report card day was coming, and Ted was sweating like a snowman in summer.

Then came The Day of the Pickle.

It was a Tuesday evening. Ted stood in front of the open refrigerator, the cool air blasting his face as he searched for a snack. Way in the back, behind his mum's mysterious containers of leftovers, sat a jar with a single giant pickle inside.

Ted wasn't even hungry for a pickle, but something about this particular one caught his eye. It was massive—the size of a banana—and the brightest, most electric green he'd ever seen.

He closed the refrigerator door, grabbed his backpack, and flopped onto the kitchen table. Alex had convinced him to climb trees all afternoon, and now Ted had exactly twenty-three minutes to finish his multiplication worksheets before bedtime.

"I'll never finish," he groaned, his head landing with a thud on his math book.

When he lifted his head, something strange had happened. He could see the pickle through the refrigerator door! Not only that, but it had turned a sad, murky yellow colour.

Ted rubbed his eyes. "I must be losing my marbles."

But the next day, after deciding to tell Jasmine she was his "friendship queen" (which made Alex kick dirt all over the hopscotch court), Ted noticed the pickle again. Still yellow, maybe even yellower.

On Thursday, Ted told Ms. Pinkerton he'd forgotten his homework (again), but really it was crumpled at the bottom of his backpack, half-finished. That evening, the pickle looked practically brown.

But on Friday, something amazing happened. Ted was about to announce that Omar was his "friendship champion of the universe," when he paused. He remembered how upset everyone got when he kept changing his best friend status.

"Actually," Ted said instead, "you're all my friends. In different ways."

The kids looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to playing four-square. No drama. No tears. Just fun.

That evening, when Ted checked the pickle, it was GREEN again! The brightest, most spectacular green imaginable!

"No way," Ted whispered, his nose pressed against the refrigerator glass.

Over the weekend, Ted began to experiment. When he chose to finish his book report instead of playing video games, the pickle turned greener. When he told his mum the truth about who broke her favourite mug, the pickle practically glowed.

By Monday, Ted was convinced: this was no ordinary pickle. This was an ALL-SEEING PICKLE with the power to judge his decisions!

"What should I do about the spelling test tomorrow?" Ted whispered to the jar that night.

The pickle, being a pickle, said nothing. But Ted noticed it leaned slightly to the left, toward his spelling book.

"Study instead of watching TV? Fine, but you're a tough pickle to please," Ted grumbled.

For the next two weeks, Ted consulted the All-Seeing Pickle before every decision.

"Should I invite everyone to play kickball instead of picking teams?" (The pickle turned greener.)

"Should I tell Ms. Pinkerton that Alex was the one who put the rubber snake in her desk?" (The pickle turned yellow.)

"Should I do my homework now or after dinner?" (The pickle stayed the same, which Ted interpreted as "either is fine as long as you do it.")

Ted's grades started improving. Ms. Pinkerton actually smiled at him. The playground was more peaceful than it had been all year. Ted felt like he had a superpower—a pickle superpower!

But then came the class field trip to the aquarium.

"We can sneak away and go see the sharks instead of boring old starfish," whispered Alex.

Ted froze. The All-Seeing Pickle was at home in the refrigerator, not here to guide him.

"Um, I need to check with... someone first," Ted stammered.

"Check with who? Your mum's not here," Alex said.

"Not my mum. My... pickle."

Alex stared at Ted like he'd grown a second head. "Your what?"

By lunchtime, everyone knew about Ted's pickle consultant. Some kids laughed. Others started calling him "Pickle Boy." Even Ms. Pinkerton looked concerned.

That afternoon, Ted couldn't find anyone to sit with on the bus. Even Alex chose to sit with Omar.

At home, Ted marched straight to the refrigerator and glared at the pickle.

"This is all YOUR fault!" he told the pickle, which had turned an innocent shade of green-yellow. "I need to make my OWN decisions!"

For the next few days, Ted went back to his old ways. He proclaimed Jasmine his "friendship monarch supreme" (Alex didn't talk to him for a whole day). He skipped homework to build a blanket fort in the living room (and got a zero on his science assignment). The pickle turned yellower and yellower.

Ted's grades slipped again. The playground drama returned. Everything was a mess—a pickle of a situation, you might say.

Then, one night, Ted sat at the kitchen table, staring at his math worksheet. The problems looked like they were written in an alien language.

The pickle in the fridge had turned an alarming shade of brownish-yellow.

"I don't need you," Ted muttered at the refrigerator. But then he thought about it. The pickle hadn't actually told him what to do. It had just... reacted to his choices. The GOOD choices had always been there, inside Ted's head. He knew what they were all along.

Ted took a deep breath, marched to the refrigerator, and took out the pickle jar.

"Thank you for your service," he said solemnly, then did something unexpected.

He ate the pickle.

It was crunchy and sour and perfect. As he chewed, Ted felt something change inside him—not because of pickle magic, but because he'd made a decision for himself.

The next day at school, Ted approached his friends.

"I've been a bit of a jerk about this best friend thing," he admitted. "The truth is, you're all my friends. Alex, you're my adventure buddy. Jasmine, you're my puzzle-solving friend. Omar, you're my lunch-trading friend. And that's cool, right?"

The kids looked at each other, then nodded.

After school, when Alex suggested they climb the big oak tree instead of doing homework, Ted said, "How about we do homework first, THEN climb the tree? I bet we can finish in thirty minutes if we work together."

Alex considered this. "Fine, but I'm timing you!"

That evening, Ted opened the refrigerator for a snack. Where the pickle jar had been was an empty space. But Ted didn't need a vegetable to tell him right from wrong anymore. The All-Seeing Pickle now lived inside him, though he'd never tell anyone that part. Being called "Pickle Boy" once was enough for a lifetime.

As for his grades? They got better—not perfect, but better. Ms. Pinkerton even wrote "Great improvement!" on his next math test. And the playground? Well, it was still chaotic, as playgrounds should be, but the friendship drama had cooled down from a boil to a simmer.

Sometimes, when faced with a tough choice, Ted would close his eyes and imagine the pickle—bright green for good choices, yellow for iffy ones. But the final decision? That was all Ted.

After all, growing up is a bit like being a pickle—sometimes you're in a jam, sometimes you're in a pickle, but eventually, you work things out. One crunchy decision at a time.

 

This Grand Little Story for Grand Tropique, was co-authored by Cat Davis and AI, and edited by Cat Davis. Visit ⁠⁠Grand Tropique Pyjamas⁠