Oliver’s toes wiggled in the warm sand that felt like a million tiny kitten tongues licking his feet. The air smelled of ripe bananas mixed with a whiff of salty seaweed—sniff-sniff. Flavor Island was the yummiest place he’d ever seen, with trees dripping honey and rivers that bubbled like lemonade. But today, something was different. A sound like tiny drums played in the bushes: tap-tap-tap-tap. Oliver’s heart did a little flip-flop.

"Who’s there?" he asked, peeking behind a bush as fluffy as his favorite blanket. Out popped a ladybug the size of a teacup, wearing what looked like a tiny knight’s helmet made of acorn shells. Clink! She saluted. "Sir Buzzalot at your service! We need your help, Oliver! The Great Picnic is ruined!" Her wings fluttered like a shaken ketchup bottle, and a drop of something sticky landed on Oliver’s nose—plop!—smelling like overripe strawberries.

Oliver wiped his nose. "Ruined? How?" Behind Sir Buzzalot, a line of ants marched in a panic, their tiny legs moving so fast they looked like spinning tops. One ant tripped over his own antennae—whoa!—and somersaulted into a pile of crumbs. The others giggled, but their laughter turned to gasps as a shadow loomed over them. A giant spider, no bigger than Oliver’s palm but with legs like knitting needles, blocked the path to the picnic blanket. Its web shimmered like silver thread, and it hummed a tune that sounded like a squeaky door: eeee-eeee-eeee.

Oliver’s knees wobbled like jelly. "I—I don’t like spiders," he whispered. Sir Buzzalot patted his shoe with her tiny paw. "But spiders are just misunderstood! Look—" She pointed to the spider’s belly, where a tiny sign read: "Will weave for snacks." Oliver blinked. "It’s… a baker?" The spider nodded, its many eyes twinkling like sprinkles. It held out a leg, offering a web-wrapped treat that smelled like cinnamon and sunshine. Oliver’s tummy rumbled. Gurgle.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver reached out. His fingers trembled like leaves in the wind, but he grabbed the treat. Crunch! It was the most delicious cookie he’d ever tasted—crispy on the outside, gooey in the middle, with a texture like a cloud that had been dipped in caramel. The spider beamed (or at least, Oliver thought it did—it was hard to tell with all those eyes). "Thank you," Oliver said. "I’m sorry I was scared."

Sir Buzzalot cheered, and the ants clapped their tiny hands. Clap-clap-clap! The spider scurried off to weave a new picnic blanket, this one big enough for everyone. Oliver sat down, his toes digging into the sand again. The air still smelled like bananas and seaweed, but now it also smelled like adventure. And as a butterfly landed on his shoulder—its wings tickling like feathers—he realized something: courage wasn’t about not being afraid. It was about trying anyway, even when your knees felt like jelly.

And so, the Great Picnic was saved, with extra cookies for everyone. Yum!