Miss Pickles

Mason was bored. In fact, he was more than bored. He was miserable. He had been plucked from a life of running outdoors and eating ice cream at nine o'clock at night to being forced to sit in a wooden desk for eight long hours a day. He couldn't move, he couldn't draw and he could barely think. It was either too cold or so hot his forearms stuck to the desk.

Lunch was a joke and recess wasn't much funnier. Parents were so terrified children might actually move that everything fun had been taken away. Most kids just sat in a field and thought about eating a bug. That's how bad it had gotten.

His teacher, Mrs. Sanders, was the definition of boring. She had a long grey face and black hair twisted into a bun. He had only seen her wear long brown or black dresses. She spoke in a monotone and rarely smiled.

Most kids counted themselves lucky if they could stay awake for the whole day.

In fact, it wasn't just the class or the teacher. It was the whole school. Lakesville Elementary was so dull most people called it OE--for Ordinary Elementary.

Until Miss Pickles came.

It had started off as a normal enough day. Mason's mother had herded him onto the school bus and shoved his lunch box at him.

"I've-got-a-meeting-at-six-so-take-the-bus-and-go-over-to-Mrs.-Anderson's," she rattled in one long breath before returning to her cell phone. "Love-ya-bye-be-good-don't-miss-the-bus."

Mason shrugged and climbed aboard the bus. His mother always had meetings. She told him that when he got older he'd appreciate the fact he had a high-powered mother who was one of the best attorneys in the state. The only thing Mason appreciated was that she let him go over to Ralph Anderson's house, one of his best buddies. And Ralph's mom made cookies every day. And pies and cakes and strudels and turnovers and muffins.

Poor Ralph had a bit of a weight problem.

After Mason got to school, he trudged down the grey hallways to his classroom. He placed his backpack under his name on the wall and hung up his coat. Then he pulled out his books and binders and plopped down at his seat.

"I'm going over to your house," he informed Ralph.

"Mom's baking an apple crumble." Ralph licked his lips and rubbed his thick fingers together.

"Why does your mom bake so much?" Their other friend Don had vegetarians and health-freaks for parents. The first time he'd eaten a candy bar he thought he contracted diabetes.

"She wants to open up a baking service," Ralph said, drooling at the idea. "She says I get to be her taste-tester. I can't wait!"

"I bet," Don muttered under his breath. Mason sighed and slumped down at his desk. The clock showed 7:30 a.m.

"Let another boring day begin," Mason muttered. He pulled out a piece of paper and began to doodle on the page.

By the time he had drawn a dog, it was 7:40.

By the time he had drawn a python, it was 7:50.

By the time he had drawn a dragon rescuing the dog from the python, it was 8:10. The room was buzzing with excitement. Mrs. Sanders was never late. This was phenomenal. It was the most exciting thing that had happened the entire year.

Suddenly, the door flung open. A skinny woman with an explosion of frizzy blond hair leaped into the room. She was dressed entirely in hot pink with staggering heels and pulling a pink wagon that was overflowing with bags. Tiny pink ribbons had been woven into various curls in her hair, making it look like a birthday cake had been dropped on her head. From his desk, Mason could see swimming Pool Noodles, a hula hoop and a pink flamingo peeking out of the wagon. Her glasses shimmered with silver glitter as she turned to them and flung out her arms.

"HELLO DUCKIES!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs. "Kimberly Gertrude Hibiscus Pickles here! Now let's start learning, shall we?"

For the first time in his entire school career, Mason knew he wouldn't be bored.