adventures, but more than anything, she loved orange juice. The sweet, tangy taste and the way it made her feel fresh and happy filled her heart with joy.
One warm morning, Bibi was staying at her grandma’s house while her parents were away for the weekend. Grandma was kind and loving, but she had strict rules about sweets and treats. “Too much sugar is not good for little girls,” she always said. Unfortunately for Bibi, this included orange juice from the café down the street.
Bibi sat at the kitchen table, swinging her legs as she watched Grandma prepare breakfast. Oatmeal again! She sighed. She wanted something exciting, something delicious, something… orange and juicy!
She knew exactly where to get it—the cozy little café on the corner, with its bright yellow umbrellas and the smell of fresh pastries in the air. She had been there before with her parents, and she still remembered how the orange juice tasted—freshly squeezed, cold, and just perfect.
But Grandma had already said no. “You can have milk or water,” she had told Bibi firmly.
Bibi frowned. She wanted orange juice! She had to think of a plan.
She looked at Grandma, who was busy washing dishes. Maybe if she was very, very quiet, she could sneak out, run to the café, and come back before Grandma even noticed. Yes, that was a great plan!
Bibi tiptoed to the front door, slipped on her tiny shoes, and slowly turned the knob. Creak! She froze. Grandma turned around.
“Where are you going, my dear?” Grandma asked, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Uh… just outside to play,” Bibi said, giving her best innocent smile.
Grandma looked at her for a moment and then nodded. “Alright, but stay close to the house.”
Bibi grinned and dashed outside. As soon as she reached the sidewalk, she ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. The café wasn’t too far, just at the end of the street, past the bakery and the flower shop. Her heart pounded with excitement.
She could already imagine the taste of the delicious orange juice. She would walk in, order it like a grown-up, and take small, fancy sips while sitting on a tall chair. It would be the best adventure ever!
When she reached the café, the smell of fresh bread and coffee filled her nose. The café owner, a kind old man named Mr. Pierre, saw her and smiled. “Ah, little Bibi! What brings you here all alone?”
“I came for some orange juice, please!” Bibi said, standing on her tiptoes to reach the counter.
Mr. Pierre chuckled. “Where’s your grandma, little one?”
“Uh… she’s at home,” Bibi said quickly. “But it’s okay, I just want one small glass.”
Mr. Pierre hesitated. He knew Grandma well, and he wasn’t sure if she would be happy about this. But Bibi looked up at him with such hopeful eyes that he couldn’t say no.
“Alright, little lady, one orange juice coming up.” He squeezed fresh oranges right in front of her, filling the glass with golden, pulpy goodness. “Here you go!”
Bibi’s eyes sparkled with excitement. She took a big sip. Ahhh! It was just as amazing as she remembered. Cold, sweet, tangy—perfection!
She giggled as she drank, swinging her feet happily under the chair. This was the best morning ever!
But back at Grandma’s house, something was wrong. Grandma had finished cleaning the kitchen, but she hadn’t heard Bibi playing outside. She called out, “Bibi?” but there was no answer.
Grandma’s heart started to beat fast. She stepped outside and looked up and down the street. No Bibi.
Worried, she walked to the neighbor’s house. “Have you seen Bibi?” she asked.
“No,” the neighbor said. “She was outside a little while ago.”
Grandma’s eyes narrowed as she looked toward the end of the street. Then it hit her. “The café!” she gasped.
Without wasting a second, Grandma grabbed her shawl and marched toward the café. When she reached the entrance, she didn’t need to look far—there was Bibi, sitting happily on a stool, drinking a glass of orange juice, completely unaware of the storm coming her way.
“BIBI!” Grandma’s voice rang through the café.
Bibi nearly choked on her juice. She turned slowly and saw Grandma standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyes wide with shock.
Uh-oh.
Mr. Pierre cleared his throat. “Ah, Mrs. Thompson, what a surprise! Your granddaughter was just enjoying some fresh juice.”
Bibi looked at Grandma with big, guilty eyes. “I just wanted orange juice,” she whispered.
Grandma sighed and walked over. “Oh, Bibi,” she said, kneeling beside her. “Running away was not the right thing to do. You scared me!”
Bibi’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I just love orange juice so much.”
Grandma’s face softened. “I know, sweetheart. But you must always tell me where you are going. What if something had happened to you?”
Bibi nodded sadly. “I won’t run away again, I promise.”
Grandma smiled and kissed her forehead. “That’s my good girl. Now, let’s go home.”
Mr. Pierre, who had been listening, cleared his throat again. “Mrs. Thompson, if I may suggest something? Why don’t we make a little compromise? How about Bibi gets a small glass of orange juice once a week if she asks for permission first?”
Grandma thought for a moment and then nodded. “I suppose that’s fair.”
Bibi’s face lit up. “Really?” she asked, eyes wide with excitement.
Grandma chuckled. “Yes, really. But only if you promise to behave.”
“I promise!” Bibi said, bouncing on her chair.
Mr. Pierre handed Bibi the rest of her orange juice with a wink. “A deal is a deal.”
Bibi finished her drink, feeling happy and satisfied. As they walked back home, she held Grandma’s hand tightly, knowing that adventures were fun—but being safe and honest was even better.
And from that day on, every Saturday morning, Bibi and Grandma would walk to the café together, where Bibi would enjoy her special glass of orange juice. It was even sweeter now that she knew she had earned it.
The end.
