M.K.

The invitation was accepted. Nibi stepped carefully to the water’s edge, careful not to splash her shoes, and peered at the circles rippling from where her pup had taken another sip.

– I see the sky in there. Why’s it so mirror-like? Is it not real? Wait—what are you doing?!

As much as Erich wanted to hear what else she saw, his hands—and his tongue—could never sit still too long. So he saved a tiny prank for his new friend and splashed her with some murky water. Now she looked just like him. Perfectly evened up in the messiness department.

– You little fool! – She shrieked, her voice jumping up into a squeak, and she leapt straight into the puddle, dousing all of them. Now the trio—M.K. (clearly the boss of this Company), Erich, and Nibi—were all splashing around, blasting each other with invisible firehoses.

Take that! No, you take this! M.K., get in here and teach her a lesson... ahh! That’s wet!

The next day, at the latifundium (a super fancy word Erich overheard his parents say and totally fell in love with), a guest arrived for the first time since he’d been living there. And considering his very humble age, it hadn't been that long. Naturally, the proud landowner (as he saw himself) was thrilled and immediately started giving her a grand tour of all the notorious crops growing in abundance on their local beds.

No one interrupted them, since Mom and Dad were off counting the freshly harvested and thoroughly dried produce—so everything was chill. Erich strutted around with his hands locked behind his back, copying Marcel’s signature pose (he’d been studying the guy), and pointed everything out like a seasoned guide.

– These are zucchinis. Over here, we planted barley. And this one’s sugar beet. Yeah, the very one they use to make sugar and those fake sugar tablets too—can you believe it?

– I’m not sure that’s how it works… – said the smarty-pants guest, clearly unconvinced. Erich quickly switched topics, realizing he wasn’t so sure himself.

– Anyway, that’s basically everything we grow here. Sadly, we don’t have any animals. Well— except M.K., and I’m not givin’ him to anyone! – The boy squatted down and hugged his new buddy tight. His parents were actually super excited about M.K. and had already loaded him up with treats and toys. Now the pup officially lived in Erich’s room, and the boy had long ditched the idea of finding his previous owners.

Screw that! You can’t just hand a friend over to some random people! That’d be betrayal!

– Are you really not gonna return the dog to his owners? – Nibi squinted at him with that heavy, inspecting stare that made the boy feel like ants were marching all over his skin in tight formation.

– Nope. I won’t let my brother get ripped away!

– I didn’t know your brother was so fluffy. – Nibi snorted, cracking up, and the boy flashed a grin— half-toothless, since a couple baby teeth were MIA and the grown-ups hadn’t shown up yet.

The pup, tail wagging, barked and bolted toward the greenhouse—a dark green building he’d oddly taken a liking to.

– What’s over there? – The guest asked with a glance (she almost pointed but caught herself in time—manners first!).

Erich, however, had no such filter. He pointed straight at it with all the confidence in the world and said, puffing up with pride:

– Just don’t explode from the awesomeness. – Nibi giggled.

– Pff… never! So here’s the deal: that’s where we grow a super valuable plant for sale! It’s used to make rope and oil. It’s called marijuana.

– Never heard of it. – She confessed, giving Erich an even bigger sense of importance, and he dove into teacher mode:

– These are big leafy flowers grown in pots. They need light, water on time, and fertilizer—and if you do it right, you get really tall ones called sativa, and shorter, fuzzier ones called indica. My parents are super protective of this greenhouse. They always freak out when I mention cops. Like, seriously—they act like the cops are gonna come and steal their whole crop!

– I don’t believe that. – Nibi shook her head like a tiny judge. – You make the cops sound like

ruthless pirates. But police don’t act like that—they’re here to protect us and help us grow into good people. Just like your mom and dad tend the crops, police do that… but with humans.

– Maybe. – The boy shrugged. – I haven’t met any yet, so I don’t know. But their hats are cool.

– Totally agree!

While chatting, they didn’t even notice the tall, spry grandpa walking down the gravel path toward the greenhouse. Bald head shining, but with a thick, white beard streaked with darker hairs—he looked vibrant and very much alive. Nibi counted seven solid black tattoos on his right leg, while his left one was completely covered by a wild, ultra-detailed forest scene.

– Who’s that monsieur? – the guest asked.

– Oh, that’s Marcel! – Erich waved like it was no biggie. – He’s kind of like a delivery guy, but not for pizza. He takes our greenhouse plant, stuffs his backpack full, and hauls it off so factories can turn it into useful stuff. Like ropes.

– Whoa! So you guys run a whole trade network here? – The girl pretended to be amazed, and Erich gave Marcel a look like the old guy was his own personal employee:

– Of course! We've got it all covered. My parents are respected businesspeople.

– That grandpa guy’s kinda sketchy though. Looks like a bandit. – Nibi admitted, and Erich stomped his foot in protest:

– Hey! No way! Don’t even think that. Oh, look—Ardon’s coming.

Out of the house came an incredibly lean and wiry man, with pitch-black shoulder-length hair and a neatly trimmed goatee—the kind the boy proudly explained was called a – balbo (he’d activated mini-encyclopedia mode for his new friend). The man wore a dark tank top and greasy, slit-up-the- middle cargo shorts. And of course—the hat! A wide-brimmed beauty, circled by a denim strap like a cowboy crown.

– I’d totally wear that! – Nibi confessed, equal parts admiration and envy. Erich nearly launched himself to Pluto, the pride swelling inside him was that huge. He even tried to give her a spontaneous hug, but she immediately pulled away, twirling her finger near her temple. Didn’t matter. Nothing could ruin his vibe today.

Ardon quickly loaded up the courier, who came back out with a backpack and a bag in hand—the harvest this time was top tier! He waved to the kids and strutted off. Meanwhile, Erich’s dad, with a cartoonishly chipper spring in his step, approached the children and scooped up the guest in a massive hug.

– What is this, National Hug Day?! – gasped the half-squashed and now tomato-red Nibi. But Ardon (just Ardon—no -Mr. or Sir, - he couldn’t stand formalities) was already chirping away:

– So this is the famous Nibi! Our little parmesan puff with the most charming name in all of France. Gina, get out here! – He turned and yelled with lungs far too powerful for such a skinny dude.

– GINAAA! You won't believe it! Nibi’s here!

Out of the house flowed the most mysterious and dazzling woman Nibi had ever seen. In that moment, the girl realized she had found her new life idol—and would now spend the rest of her existence trying to be that flawless.

Her face, or rather mask that resembled one, looked like theatre makeup, like the kind mimes wore. Her lashes fluttered like windshield wipers. If Nibi had to compare Gina to a car, she’d call her a Ford. Or a Chevrolet! She didn’t know any other models, but that hardly mattered.

The woman’s spidery hands wrapped her in a robe covered in strange embroidered symbols— straight-up royal vibes. Heavy icicles of braided dreads hung from her collar, swaying with each step. And those shoes! Even Ninja Turtle feet weren’t that graceful… though they did look kinda similar.