Zadie’s Helmet Pie Huddle — The grass behind Aunt Jo’s house smelled like cold leaves and cinnamon, and Zadie crouched beside the football helmet with one finger in the air. Read the full story →
The grass behind Aunt Jo’s house smelled like cold leaves and cinnamon, and Zadie crouched beside the football helmet with one finger in the air. She had invented Helmet Pie Huddle: everyone had to guess the pie flavor before the next leaf touched the ground. If they guessed wrong, they had to gobble like a turkey through the face mask.
“Ready, huddle up!” Zadie called. Cousins shuffled in, sneakers squeaking on damp grass. A maple leaf spun down. “Pumpkin!” “Sweet potato!” “Mystery orange!” The whipped cream wobbled, and Zadie laughed so hard her scarf slipped sideways.
Then Uncle Ray lifted the helmet, and a tiny paper turkey stuck inside the shell peeped out with a speech bubble: I PICK LEFTOVERS. Nobody had drawn it. Or everybody had. The game changed at once: now each wrong guess earned a ridiculous leftover name. Cranberry Linebacker. Gravy Goalie. Stuffing Sneak.
By dessert, the joy was too big for Zadie’s own giggles, so she made the whole yard play. Next time a leaf drifts near a helmet and pie, listen closely—someone may be calling, “Huddle up!”
