That was the nice thing about Slurpy. He was always ready to gobble up Stanly’s problems. No matter how big and stupid.
“Why don’t we play a game?” said Stanly. If Miren didn’t stop screaming soon, he was pretty sure his head would actually explode.
“That’s a good idea,” said Mom, hands clenching the steering wheel. She always got stressed out when she had to drive in traffic. “Why don’t you play I Spy? Okay, sweetie?”
Miren squinched up her face, suspicious. “What if I don’t want to play?”
The stoplight turned red at the last minute, and Mom slammed on the brakes.
Stanly knew it was time to step in. “Come on, Mir-Bear. I’ll even let you go first.”
“And second?”
“All right, and second.”
“Okay.” She squeezed her eyes shut, which she always did when she was thinking really hard, and then she blurted out, “I spy with my little eye something white hiding in the backyard that Stanly doesn’t want me to know about!” Miren was so excited, she pounded her fists on the seat, knocking over Stanly’s soda.
“Ugh, stop doing that!” Stanly snatched his can and wiped up the bit that had spilled with the inside of his T-shirt. In his mind, he fed a little bit more of his frustration to Slurpy.
“Tell me, Bony-Butt! Bony-Butt, Bony-Butt! Tell me about your secret!”
“I don’t have any secret!” Stanly didn’t mean to shout, but he couldn’t help it. Miren always got whatever she wanted, no matter what, but the bone was different. It was his. Besides, the last thing Stanly needed was for Mom to find out about the bone. She’d probably call pest control to come remove it. Since Dad left, she hated everything that reminded her of him, like dusty books or digging or the smell of his cinnamon aftershave.
In the front seat, Mom turned up the radio so loud it was mostly static.
Miren curled into a tiny ball and buried her head in her hands. Stanly didn’t like seeing her like that, but sometimes she made him so angry. Good thing he had Slurpy to keep the whole brain-exploding situation under control.
“Let’s just keep playing, okay?” he said.
Miren didn’t answer. She curled up tighter and sniffled into her hair. That was her little sister superpower: No matter how annoying she got, she could always make you feel bad for yelling at her.
“I’ll let you go first, second, and third,” he said, staring at the droplets of soda sinking into the fabric.
Miren peeked out from behind her fingers. “What about fourth?”
“Fine, you can go fourth, too.”
“I spy with my little eye …” Miren paused. Stanly was sure she was going to say something else about the bone, but just then the station wagon lurched into the Spring Hill Pediatric Clinic.
Mom pulled Stanly aside once they got to the waiting room. “Thank you for taking care of Miren back there … It’s just … things have been really hard lately.” She squeezed him so tight her orange peel shampoo clogged up his nostrils. “I’m proud of you, Stanly. You’ve been a big help with your little sister. I hope you know that?”
For a moment, Stanly felt guilty for keeping a secret from Mom and Miren, but only for a moment. “It’s okay, Mom. No big deal.”
They sat down in cushy chairs with stiff arms. Mom flipped through a copy of Dog Fancy magazine. She ran her chipped fingernails over a picture of a Pekingese with perfect, flowy hair. Last year, she’d saved $1,500 to go to school to be a dog groomer, but then she’d spent it all on Miren’s doctor bills.
“She’ll get better soon,” Mom always said.
Stanly sure hoped so. If Mom could be a dog groomer instead of a cashier at Walgreens, things would be better, like before Dad left. She would smile more, and she could work from home, so Ms. Francine wouldn’t have to come watch them after school. And maybe Stanly could finally afford a computer that didn’t crash every time he tried to install the latest version of PixelBlock. Or a camera that didn’t take a hundred years to develop.
“The doctor’s ready for you now,” said a nurse in light purple scrubs. She gave Miren a lollipop shaped like a duck. The kind of thing you’d give a two-year-old. “Follow me, sweetheart.”
“We’ll be back in a few minutes,” Mom said. “Find a magazine to read.”
Stanly never got to see the doctor with Miren and Mom. Like all of a sudden he was too young to hear about her problems. He slouched down in his chair and stared at the wall. It was covered in faded Halloween decorations. If he had an iPad, like Jaxon, he could play PixelBlock or Ancient Aliens Attack! or, even better, Skatepark Zombie Death Bash.
Instead, he picked up an old copy of National Geographic magazine. His dad used to buy him a subscription to it every year, but this last year he’d forgotten. Stanly skimmed past articles about owls and hunters in Alaska until he found a section about some guys in Africa who had uncovered the skeleton of a new type of dinosaur. One nobody had ever heard of before. An image flashed inside his head. There he was, wiping sweat from his brow as he swung his pickax into the rock. Ping, ping! The rock would crumble away, and there, underneath … a bone.
The daydream faded and was replaced by an image of a finger sticking up through blades of grass. He still had the archaeology toolbox his dad had given him for Christmas two years ago. It had chisels and tiny brushes for uncovering bones. Going to Egypt or India or somewhere far away to dig for bones would be amazing, but what if he had an undiscovered species buried in his own backyard?
He flipped through the rest of the magazine, and then his heart stopped. On the back cover was an ad for something called the Young Discoverer’s Prize. It showed a picture of a boy holding a dinosaur tooth in his hand, but that wasn’t the best part. Next to the boy’s head, in puffy gold text, was the number ten followed by three zeros. As in $10,000.
Stanly skimmed all the way to the end of the ad, his palms tingling. “Send us a picture of your discovery by midnight on October 31, and you and one guest will get a chance to win a trip to a real archaeological dig site worth $10,000!”
That was a lot of money, but it wasn’t the part that leapt off the page and pinged, pinged, pinged in Stanly’s head. The article said, “you and one guest.” Stanly scanned the fine print. The guest could be anyone the winner wanted, as long as they were over eighteen. Well, that was fine by Stanly.
Dad might not be good at returning calls or checking his email, but if Stanly won this contest, he’d have to come and see him. He’d be his one guest. Archaeology had been Dad’s one true dream, before he gave it up to go to law school. No way he would turn down a trip as awesome as this one, no matter how busy he was at work.
The door to the doctor’s office swung open. Stanly had to think fast. He ripped the page out of the magazine and slipped it into his pocket before Mom could see. He knew that tearing up other people’s magazines was wrong, and Mom would flip if she saw it, but he had no choice. The contest was too important.
“The specialist will call you to set up an appointment.” The nurse put a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “We’ll find out what’s going on. Don’t you worry, Ms. Stanwright.”
“Look, Stanly, I got a horsey and a sticky hand. See?”
The sticky hand slapped Stanly’s forehead. “Yup, I see.”
Miren giggled. “Hold up your hand.”
“Okay.” Stanly sighed.
Miren gave him a high five with the sticky hand.
“Amazing,” Stanly said.
“Let’s go, you two. I’ve got to be at work by twelve.” Mom’s eyes were red, like she’d been crying.
“What’s wrong?” Stanly said as they walked out the front doors into a drizzly rain.
“Help your sister get strapped in, okay?”
Miren gave him a big, wet kiss on the forehead when they dropped her off at Happy Friends PlayHouse, aka baby day care. “Bye Stanly, I’m sorry I called you Bony-Butt, so don’t be mad at me, okay?”
Stanly couldn’t help but laugh. Miren might be m
ega annoying, but she was still his little sister. Also, she had a sad face that made her look exactly like a baby spider monkey he’d once seen on the nature channel. It was her second little sister superpower, and it was impossible to ignore. “Okay, I guess I’m not mad at you. For now.”
“Score one for team me!” Miren punched the air and ran for the front doors, Mom chasing after her.
Stanly was too old for day care, and Ms. Francine had that Saturday off, so he got to spend the day at Jaxon’s house. Which was way better than sitting at home all day while Ms. Francine boiled cabbage and played sad songs on the radio.
Outside, rain splattered the car window, making Stanly’s reflection go all long and wobbly. They pulled up to a stoplight, and Stanly caught Mom frowning at a doctor’s bill in her lap. The edges of her mouth went all creasy, and he thought he knew why. Down at the bottom of the page was a number in bold, red type. He couldn’t see the first part, but it ended in three zeros.
A car honked behind them. Mom stuffed the bill back into her purse and slammed on the gas.
“Have fun today,” she said once they got to Jaxon’s house. “Call me if you need me.”
Stanly didn’t say anything. He was too busy thinking about the Young Discoverer’s Prize. Maybe he could trade in the trip for cash. He was sure $10,000 would be enough to pay off Miren’s doctor bills, maybe even with enough left over to buy a new camera or an iPad. But then, he might never get to see Dad.
“Sweetie, are you all right? You look a million miles away.”
“What? Oh, it’s nothing, I’m fine.” He looked at Mom, the way her eyes were still pink and puffy. “Did something bad happen today at the doctor’s?”
Mom’s thin lips cracked into a smile. “Oh, Stanly, you don’t need to worry about that. It’s just …” The words caught in her throat. “Promise me you’ll have fun today, okay?”
“Okay, Mom.”
Stanly watched the station wagon drive away. He wished Mom would tell him what she was thinking instead of always keeping secrets. He crammed his hands into his pockets, and that was when he remembered the photo.
He smoothed it out and held up his jacket to keep it from getting wet. It didn’t look like a gray blob anymore. It was definitely a finger bone. And it wasn’t pointing straight in the air, like it had been when he’d snapped the shot. It was pointing directly at him.
Copyright © 2019 by Kim Ventrella
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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First edition, March 2019
Jacket art by Katya Longhi, © 2019 Scholastic Inc.
Jacket design by Yaffa Jaskoll
e-ISBN 978-1-338-04275-7
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