At dinner, an orange moon sat on Pip’s plate. It was round at one end, pointy at the other, and much too new. ‘No thank you,’ said Pip, moving it as far away as the plate allowed.
Dad nodded. ‘You do not have to eat it. We can investigate it.’ Pip liked investigations. Investigators did not take surprise bites. Investigators looked for clues.
First Pip looked. The orange moon had tiny lines like a road map. Then Pip poked it with a fork. Soft in the middle, firm at the edge. ‘Two clues,’ Pip announced.
Next came the smell clue. Pip lifted it close, then closer. It smelled a little sweet and a little like the garden after rain. Dad wrote the clues on an invisible clipboard.
Pip touched the smallest corner to their lips. Nothing terrible happened. The kitchen stayed exactly where it was. The moon did not roar. ‘That counts as exploring,’ Dad said.
Pip licked one bright-orange dot. It was not a favourite. It was not awful either. It was simply new. Pip placed it back on the plate beside the safe, familiar rice.
‘Case closed?’ Dad asked. Pip shook their head. ‘Case paused. Investigators can try again another day.’ Dad agreed. Some mysteries needed more than one visit.
The next time an orange moon appeared, Pip already knew three things about it. Looking felt easy. Poking felt easy. Smelling felt almost ordinary. And that was enough adventure for one dinner.