(July 4, 2026)
The Adventures of the Little Lovelies - Backyard Edition
The Puzzle Planet
The Puzzle Planet Psalm texted from her summer job at the coffee stand: Save me some stardust. Shift ends at 3. So she was out again. That left the home team. It was Wednesday afternoon and Go-Diddy found the crew by the fort. Ocean had a clipboard and a tape measure. Harbor had his three-string guitar from Jeffrey and a bag of floop fruit “for science.” Dassah had chalk. Bitty had her leaf whistle. Nation was thee in his G-Soccer hoodie, hood up, and on his wrist was his “WWBDD?” bracelet — That was an acronym for "What Would Big Daddy Do?" - it was the one Big Daddy gave him before he moved to Anchorage. Nation twisted it when he was thinking "Pig Naddy" thoughts. “New planet today,” Go-Diddy said, pulling out the old list. “Your sister Memory wrote this one down when she was 12.” He pointed. P2X-PUZ – “The Puzzle Planet. The ground is all pieces. Step smart.” – Memory Ocean lit up. “Spatial reasoning challenge. Perfect.” Harbor groaned. “Puzzles mean no napping.” Nation tugged his hoodie sleeves down. “I like puzzles." Go-Diddy dialed. Seven chevrons locked. The wormhole opened, clear as glass, and it smelled like pencil shavings. “Thirty minutes,” Dad said. “Stay together. Lovely Law #1. And if you get stuck, ask for help. Lovely Law #2: nobody solves alone.” They stepped through. P2X-PUZ The whole planet was flat. Like, really flat. And the ground was made of puzzle pieces. Giant ones. Each piece was about as wide as the kitchen table, all different shapes, all different colors — red, blue, yellow, green. Some were already locked together. Others were floating just a little above the dirt, waiting. In the distance was a big hill made of finished puzzle, with a Stargate-sized arch at the top. “Objective identified,” Ocean said, pointing with his tape measure. “We have to get to the arch.” Bitty stepped on a red piece. It clicked under her foot and lit up. Then the blue piece next to it lit up. Then a yellow. A path. “Whoa,” Dassah said. “It’s listening.” Harbor tried to step on a green piece off to the side. It buzzed and sank an inch. “Nope. Not that one.” Nation looked at the pattern. “It’s like G-Soccer. You have to see the play before you move.” He twisted his WWBDD bracelet. “What would Big Daddy do? He’d say, ‘Look for the open man. Then pass.’” He pointed. “Bitty, step on the blue. Then Dassah, the yellow after it lights. Then Harbor.” They tried it. Click. Click. Click. The path held. Ocean wrote fast. “Sequence-based pressure activation. It wants teamwork.” They moved together, one at a time, Nation calling the plays. When Bitty got scared at a gap, Nation reached back without looking and said, “Got you.” He didn’t let go until she was on the next piece. Halfway across, the pieces started moving. Slowly spinning. The path changed. Harbor froze. “I’m gonna fall.” “You won’t,” Go-Diddy said from behind him. “Nation, what’s the call?” Nation looked at the spinning colors, then at his bracelet. He took a breath. “Ocean, count the spin. Bitty, when Ocean says ‘now,’ you step. We all step together.” Ocean counted. “Three… two… one… now.” They stepped. The pieces locked under their feet and a bridge of light shot forward to the next section. Dassah giggled. “We’re puzzle people!” At the base of the hill, the last challenge was waiting. A big circular piece, split into four parts. Each part had a handprint: one tiny, one small, one medium, one big. Go-Diddy understood first. “Family piece.” Bitty put her hand on the tiny print. Dassah on the small. Harbor on the medium. Go-Diddy on the big. It didn’t click. Nation stepped up. “What about me?” There was no print for him. He looked down, then at his bracelet. Ocean said, “Wait. Nation, put your hand in the middle. You called the plays. You’re the connector.” Nation set his palm in the center of the circle, right over the seams. The WWBDD bracelet touched the puzzle. The whole thing lit up white, then spun, then locked with a ka-chunk so big they felt it in their shoes. Stairs made of puzzle pieces rose up the hill, all the way to the arch. They ran up, laughing, and at the top there was a box. Inside: a single puzzle piece made of glass, with a picture of all of them inside — from today, on this planet, holding hands. Bitty held it up. “It’s us!” Mom Brandy, who’d come through last with extra water bottles, wiped her eyes. “Memory always said this planet was for families who forgot how to work together. Guess she knew we’d need it someday.” Go-Diddy’s watch beeped. Thirty minutes. They stepped back through the gate one by one, Nation last, turning to wave at the planet like you wave at a coach after a good game. Home They landed in the moss back in Wasilla, all talking at once. “I didn’t know you were that good at puzzles,” Harbor told Nation, strumming his guitar. Nation shrugged, but he was twisting his bracelet and grinning. “Big Daddy taught me. ‘See the whole field,’ he said.” Psalm got home at 3:07, smelling like espresso. “Did you save me stardust?” Dassah handed her the glass puzzle piece. Inside it, all six of them — Bitty, Dassah, Ocean, Harbor, Nation, and Go-Diddy — were frozen mid-laugh, hands linked, standing on a puzzle planet. Psalm held it to the light. “You guys look like a team.” “We are,” Nation said, pulling his G-Soccer hoodie tighter. “Lovely Law #2: nobody solves alone.” That night, after grilled cheese and pudding mud pie, they all sat on the fort platform under the stars. No Stargate. No planets. Just Alaska sky, which meant two or three stars because the sun is always out this time of year. And when Mom came out to say bedtime, they all stood in a circle, hands in, just like on the planet. “1… 2… 3… thank You, Lord Jesus!” they yelled, and the echo went all the way to the spruce trees and back.
The End... for now.