There Is Fetty In Your Spaghetti

Maya looked at the white container. It had no label. The blue lid was snapped shut, but a tiny bit of white dust rested near the edge.

Eli tugged at Maya’s sleeve. “Maybe it is sugar.”

Maya almost laughed. The words popped into her mind because of a silly rhyme her cousin had made up at breakfast.

“There is fetty in your spaghetti!” Maya sang.

Eli giggled. “There is fetty in your spaghetti!”

Mom’s smile faded a little. She knelt beside them. “That is a funny-sounding rhyme, but fentanyl is not a kind of food. Fentanyl is a very strong medicine that doctors use carefully. Some medicines can be dangerous when they are not meant for you or when you do not know what they are.”

Maya looked down at her spaghetti bowl. The noodles were bright with red sauce and sprinkled with cheese. “Could there be fentanyl in spaghetti?”

“Spaghetti from our kitchen is safe because I made it and brought it for us,” Mom said. “But we never taste food, medicine, powder, or anything else when we do not know what it is. There is fetty in your spaghetti is only a rhyme. It is not a reason to touch something unknown.”

Maya nodded slowly. The rhyme still sounded silly, but the mystery containers did not seem silly anymore.

She tried to solve the problem herself. First, she used the toe of her sneaker to nudge an empty paper cup away from the table. It rolled under the bench.

Mom reached out her hand. “Please stop, Maya.”

Maya froze. “I was only moving the cup.”

“I know you wanted to help,” Mom said. “But even a cup can have something inside it or on it. Your hands and shoes should stay away from the things we do not recognize.”

Maya pulled her foot back. The grass felt cool through her sandal. “What should we do?”

“We can tell the park worker,” Mom said. “Then we can choose another table.”

A park worker in a green shirt was sweeping leaves near the flower garden. Mom walked with Maya to speak to her. Maya stayed close, holding the wagon handle.

“Excuse me,” Mom said. “There are several containers left on the picnic table. We do not know what is in them.”

The worker nodded. “Thank you for telling me. Please keep your family away from them. I will ask another adult to check the area.”

Maya felt a small pinch of worry. “Are we in trouble?”

“No,” said the worker. “You did exactly the right thing by not touching them and by telling an adult.”

Maya let out a quiet breath. She had expected someone to be upset that she had asked. Instead, the worker thanked her.

On the way back, Eli whispered, “There is fetty in your spaghetti.”

Maya covered her mouth, but she did not giggle this time. “That phrase is just a rhyme. We should not use it to guess what is in something.”

Eli frowned. “What can we say?”

Maya thought. Then she made up a new line. “Unknown things? Leave them be!”

Eli tried it. “Unknown things? Leave them be!”

Mom clapped softly. “That is a good picnic song.”

They looked for another table. The first one near the oak tree had a few dry leaves on it, but no containers. Mom wiped it with a clean cloth. Maya helped spread the blue blanket on the grass beside it.

The wagon had bumped over so many roots that the spaghetti bowl had tipped sideways. Sauce had smeared along one side of the lid.

“Oh no,” Maya said. “My noodles look like a red mountain.”

Eli peered inside. “A delicious red mountain.”

Maya laughed. The warm smell of tomatoes returned, and her stomach gave a tiny growl.

Mom set the bowl on the clean table. “Before you eat, what do you ask?”

Maya placed both hands in her lap. “Is this safe to eat?”

Mom opened the lid. “Yes. I made it this morning, and it stayed covered in our wagon.”

Maya twirled a noodle around her fork. “There is fetty in your spaghetti,” she said, then quickly added, “but only as a silly rhyme. We know what is in our food, and we asked first.”

“That’s right,” Mom said.

They ate under the oak tree. The spaghetti was warm, the bread was soft, and the lemonade tasted sweet and cold. Maya watched a yellow butterfly land on a purple flower. Every now and then, she glanced toward the other table.

The containers were still there.

A park worker had placed a bright orange sign beside the table that said, “Please stay back.” Another adult stood nearby, making a phone call. No one touched the containers while Maya watched.

“Will they stay there?” Maya asked.

“They will stay there until the adults know how to handle them safely,” Mom said. “We do not need to find out what is inside.”

Maya nodded. She had wanted to solve the mystery, but now she understood that not every mystery belonged to her. Some things needed a grown-up with the right training and tools.

Eli held up a noodle. “Look! Spaghetti hair!”

Maya leaned close. “That one looks like a mustache.”

They both laughed, and Mom took a picture. The picnic felt cozy again, even though the first table remained closed.

After lunch, Maya packed the empty bowl into the wagon. She checked the clean table twice to make sure their napkins and cups were gone. Then she looked at the orange sign.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“If I see something I do not know, I should not taste it or pick it up. I should move away and tell you, a teacher, or another trusted grown-up.”

Mom put an arm around her shoulders. “Exactly.”

Maya felt proud. She had arrived ready to explore every part of the picnic. Now she knew that being curious did not mean touching everything. Asking for help was part of taking care of herself.

As they headed home, Eli began the rhyme again.

“There is fetty in your spaghetti!”

Maya joined in, but changed the ending.

“There is fetty in your spaghetti - so ask before you eat!”

Mom smiled, and the wagon rolled along the sunny path.

Maya had her spaghetti, her family, and a safe place to picnic, while the unknown container stayed behind for adults to handle. The warm lesson settled in her mind: Never eat or touch something unknown; step away and tell a trusted grown-up.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 8,766 words in the full book.