Finchosaurus

by Gail Donovan

  “Let’s make a list,” whispered Finch.

  “And split it,” agreed Noah. “So, write everyone down.”

  They both knew all the names of the kids in their class by heart, alphabetically. Finch started writing, beginning with the first name: Angelika.

  And then there she was, right out of nowhere, just like last time!

  “What are you guys doing?” she demanded.

  “Nothing,” said Finch.

  “Nothing,” agreed Noah.

  Angelika knelt down beside them. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” she said, pointing to the list. “It looks like my name!”

  How did he get here again? Him against T. rex, with the same two options: Get into another fight—and that hadn’t gone so well the last time—or tell the truth. But before he could make up his mind, things got worse. What was worse than a showdown with a T. rex?

  Momosaurus!

  “How’s everybody doing?” asked his mom. “Did you find something to read?”

  “Bone Poems,” said Finch, “and Dinosaur Valley.”

  His mom frowned. “How many times have you read those books?”

  Finch grinned. “About a hundred?”

  “I knew that,” she said. “How about you, Noah? What are you reading?”

  Noah looked at the book in his hand and said the title as if he was seeing it for the first time. “For Laughing Out Loud: Poems to Tickle Your Funny Bone,” he said. “That sounds good!”

  “You sound surprised,” said Finch’s mom.

  “No—I mean, this is a really good book, Mrs. Martin. You really should read it.”

  “Thank you for the suggestion, Noah. Maybe you’d be willing to write up a Who Loves This Book? Noah Does! recommendation?”

  “Definitely,” said Noah. “Absolutely.”

  “Excellent,” said Finch’s mom. “How about you, Angelika? What did you find?”

  “I found a book on birds,” she told Finch’s mom. “It looks really good.”

  “Great!” said Finch’s mom, with a big smile for Angelika and an I’m-not-done-with-you-yet look for Finch.

  Now that Acorn Elementary had become Acorn Comprehensive, Finch was going to have to wait until high school before he didn’t see his mom at school every day. But what if his mom switched jobs and went to the high school when he did? What if she followed him around for the rest of his life?

  “Thanks,” said Finch, when his mom had moved on.

  “You owe me,” said Angelika. “Big-time.”

  “I know,” admitted Finch, trying to think of what he could trade with Angelika so they’d be even. “I could put your name in for a Sunshine,” he suggested.

  A Sunshine was an award you got for “spreading sunshine.” Any student who was nominated got their picture pasted to a yellow construction-paper sun and taped to the wall in the front lobby, around the giant construction-paper oak tree that was supposed to represent Acorn Comprehensive.

  Hugging her knees to her chest, Angelika rocked back and forth. Thinking about it. She wore lime-green Crocs on her feet and a lime-green scrunchie at the end of her dark brown braid.

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m already on there for holding the door for some kindergartners.”

  “How about candy?” asked Noah.

  Angelika pointed to her braces. “Not allowed.”

  Finch sighed. “What, then?”

  “You tell me what you guys were talking about,” she said. “And I won’t tell your mom you were writing down my name, on the day after you went into my locker.”

  Yesterday, the Help note had been his secret. All his.

  By lunchtime today he had told Noah, but that was cool. You could have a secret with your best friend.

  But now, was he going to have to tell Angelika, too?

  He thought about the story of Sue Hendrickson, the day she found a fossil in South Dakota. For a while, she had worked by herself, scratching the soil and brushing it away. Hoping this was something big. All by herself. And that must have felt amazing.

  But when her dig-mates came back from town, she got to show them. She got to let them in on it. And then they were in it together, unearthing what turned out to be one of the best, biggest, most complete T. rex fossils ever found. Tyrannosaurus Sue. And that must have felt . . . Tyrannosaurus-amazing.

  Finch pulled the tiny Band-Aid tin from his pocket. He took out the scrap of paper and unfolded it, showing the single word: Help.

  “I’m trying to find out who wrote this,” he said.

  “Help,” said Angelika, reading the note aloud. “Wow. Where’d you find that?”

  “In our class garden,” he said. “Buried.”

  “So why were you looking in my locker?” she pressed. “Did you think I wrote it?”

  “No,” said Finch. “I mean—I don’t know. It was a little random. I was standing there and I saw your angel magnet, and I wondered how come you don’t raise your hand, even when you know the answer?”

  “Hello?” interrupted Noah. “I don’t raise my hand when I know the answer.”

  “Yeah, but I know you,” said Finch. “I don’t know Angelika.”

  Angelika’s lime-green Crocs rose and fell as she rocked back and forth again. “It’s because I’m busy,” she finally said.

  “Busy doing what?”

  “I kind of . . . make up stories. In my head. I know I can half-listen and still get the assignment.”

  Noah summed it up. “You mean you’re spacing out?”

  “You’re spacing out,” she said, grinning. “I’m using my imagination.”

  Noah grinned, too. “So, you’re not going to tell his mom, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Thanks,” said Finch. “You really should get a Sunshine!”

  “Except you can’t nominate me because you’d have to say what for, and this is secret,” she said. “Right? Nobody else knows?”

  “Yep,” agreed Finch. “Just us three. So, what do we think? Who was it?”

  8. Broccoli!

  Angelika, Atticus, Charlotte, David, Fatouma, Finch, Graciela, Haley, Kael, Khalid, Millie, Mohamed, Noah, Oliver, Oscar, Quinn, and Samantha.

  Those were the kids in their class, and that’s how they wrote down their names. Alphabetically, including themselves, because that’s the way they knew it by heart.

  “It could be Atticus,” said Finch. “Something’s up with him. He came in late today and looked really bummed.”

  “What about David?” asked Noah. “He gets shaken down for milk money every day by Oscar and Oliver.”

  “For real?” asked Angelika. “How come?”

  Noah shrugged. “They think it’s funny.”

  “That is so not funny,” said Angelika.

  “Not cool,” agreed Finch.

  “What about Charlotte and Haley?” asked Angelika. “They both got head lice, and Charlotte’s mom thinks Haley gave them to Charlotte, and Haley’s mom thinks Charlotte gave them to Haley. So now their moms won’t let them go over to each other’s houses after school.”

  “Wow,” said Finch. “How’d you know that?”

  “Look,” said Angelika, pointing to where Charlotte and Haley were sitting together, reading, their heads wrapped in blue bandannas.

  “Bandannas!” said Finch. “Angelika, that was smart!”

  “Thanks,” said Angelika.

  “All right, people,” said Noah, in his best Mrs. Adler imitation. “Let’s focus! It’s gross to have lice on your head, right?”

  Finch and Angelika nodded. Yes. Gross.

  “And not being allowed to hang out with your best friend stinks, right?”

  Finch and Angelika nodded. Yes. Stinky.

  “But are either of those reasons enough to make you write a note for help?”


  “Sure!” said Angelika.

  “So which one of them wrote it?” asked Noah. “Charlotte or Haley?”

  “Maybe they did it together,” said Finch. “Since they’re best friends.”

  “Maybe,” said Noah.

  “How come you’re acting like it couldn’t be them?” demanded Angelika. “ ’Cause you don’t want me to be the one who figures it out?”

  “Whoa,” said Finch. “Come on, you guys.”

  Noah and Angelika ignored him.

  “I didn’t say that!” said Noah.

  “But you’re acting like it!” said Angelika.

  Uh-oh. This was out of control. He had to do something.

  “Hey, uh—broccoli!” he hissed.

  Noah and Angelika stopped squabbling and stared at Finch.

  “Somebody needs help,” he said, “and it doesn’t matter which one of us figures it out. It’s not a contest!”

  That’s what his mom and dad said when he and Sam were fighting. And he hated when they said that—because it basically was a contest with him and Sam. But this shouldn’t be a contest between Noah and Angelika.

  “It doesn’t matter which one of us figures it out, ’cause we’re on the same team,” he said. “Right, guys?”

  Noah and Angelika were quiet for a little bit. Deciding.

  Finally, Angelika asked, “Like Green Team?”

  “Like Green Team,” agreed Finch. “Except we’re not about recycling. We’re about finding out who buried the note.”

  Angelika agreed. “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay,” echoed Noah. “Except we need another name—not Green Team.”

  Angelika’s hand shot up. “I’ll think of something,” she said. “I’ll come up with a name.”

  “Awesome!” said Finch.

  “Whatever,” said Noah.

  “But I still don’t get why anybody would bury a note,” said Angelika. “Because how would that get you any help?”

  Finch had thought about this a lot. Maybe the kid who needed help didn’t want anybody to know. Maybe whoever it was needed it to stay secret.

  “Burying the note was like making a wish,” he said. “Whoever did it didn’t want anybody to know. But they still need help. Which means we’ve gotta find out who it was, and what kind of help they need, and then give it to them, in secret!”

  His mom’s voice carried through the library. “I need all of Mrs. Adler’s students to be lining up and checking out their books!”

  Finch scrambled up and headed for the end of the line. Now that he had started looking, he saw problems everywhere, multiplying, like . . . lice! It made his head itch, just thinking about it.

  But inside his itchy head, Finch was making a list:

  Figure out how to help the kids whose problems

  they already knew about.

  Then investigate all the other kids, and try to help them, if they needed it.

  And the whole time, keep the peace between the two kids who were supposed to be helping him.

  9. Busted

  Finch called a meeting. Friday. Recess. Playground. They sat on the green grass freckled with yellow dandelions.

  “Can we decide on our team name first?” asked Angelika. “Remember, you said I could come up with a name? So, I have three ideas. And we can vote on them, okay?”

  “Umm, sure,” said Finch. “Let’s hear them.”

  Angelika sat with her knees hugged to her chest, her green Crocs bobbing up and down as she rocked back and forth. “First, Candy Stripers. That’s what they call people who volunteer in hospitals. My mom did it when she was young, and now she’s a nurse.”

  “Hate it,” said Noah. “No offense.”

  “You didn’t tell your mom about the note, did you?” asked Finch.

  “Of course not!” said Angelika. “I can keep a secret!”

  “Okay, sorry,” said Finch. “So, go: next idea?”

  “Shleep Team!” said Angelika.

  Noah burst out laughing. “What?” he cried. “Sheep?”

  “No,” she said. “Shleep. It’s the letters of ‘helpers,’ rearranged. And it rhymes, like Green Team. And it’s cool because nobody will know what it means. Like if we say, ‘See you later for Shleep Team,’ they won’t know what we’re talking about!”

  Noah was still laughing, and Finch was trying not to.

  “What happened to the R?” he asked. “There’s an R in the word ‘helpers.’ ”

  “I had to leave it out,” said Angelika. “It’s not perfect,” she admitted. “And my last idea is Cake Club. It stands for Caring Kids, because there’s a C for caring and a K for kids in the word cake. If we want to have a meeting we can say, ‘Are you going to have cake later?’ Get it?”

  “I get it,” said Finch. “I like it. Cake Club!”

  “Shleep Team!” said Noah. “That’s my vote. Shleep!” He said the word like a sheep baaing. “Shle-ee-ep! Shle-ee-ep! Shle-ee-ep!”

  “I vote for Cake Club,” said Finch.

  “Well, I like Candy Stripers,” said Angelika.

  “Shle-ee-ep!” baaed Noah. “Shle-ee-ep!”

  Finch was beginning to understand why his dad got mad when nobody would “stay on track” during a conversation at supper. “How about we decide our name later?”

  “Shleep!” spluttered Noah, cracking himself up.

  “Stop saying that!” ordered Angelika. “Finch, make him stop!”

  “Come on, Noah,” said Finch. “Cool it.”

  But Noah had got the giggles. He kept saying shleep until finally Finch dug the tin box from his pocket and held it out in the palm of his hand. “Earth to Noah,” he said. “Remember what’s in here?”

  Noah stopped joking around. “The note.”

  “The note,” said Finch, nodding. “So, what did you guys find out?”

  Noah made his report. He had found out that Oscar and Oliver would stop shaking down David for milk money, if somebody else paid them off.

  Angelika had learned that now Graciela had head lice, too.

  Finch hadn’t made any progress figuring out Atticus. But he had found out a bunch of other stuff. Yesterday he’d been having another friendly chat with the social worker (more questions and more one-word answers and more “Awesomes!”), and he had been looking at all the drawings on the wall. And there was a drawing of a really cool dog with three heads, like they’d read about in Greek mythology, and it was signed in the corner: Kael.

  Also, Millie was on the same list he was on—kids who hadn’t finished their times tables—and she needed to finish, to keep Mrs. Adler from having a serious talk with her parents about her math placement for sixth grade.

  And Mohamed was obsessed with reading every single Captain Underpants book.

  “So now what?” asked Angelika.

  “Now we try to help them,” said Finch, “in case any of them was the notewriter.”

  “That’s kinda lame,” said Noah. “No offense.”

  “I know,” admitted Finch. “But we need to do something.”

  “Or we need more clues,” said Angelika.

  “Like what?” asked Noah.

  “Like that,” she said, pointing to the Band-Aid tin that held the note.

  The three of them stared at the box and then, as if they’d all had the same idea at the same time, they all began talking at once.

  “Maybe there’s another one—”

  “Where the first one came from—”

  “In the garden—”

  They scrambled up and set off running across the dandelion-speckled grass. They sped past kids roaming the playground, kids climbing on the spiderweb, kids playing foursquare on the blacktop, over to where the garden plots were laid out. And where, right in the middle of the plot for Mrs. Adler’s
class, stood a skinny kid with sandy, shaggy hair.

  The Atticus who went by Atticus.

  “Hey!” said Finch.

  Atticus turned around with a startled look on his face. “Uh . . . hey.”

  Uh-oh—now what? Finch couldn’t imagine coming right out and asking Did you bury a note here? Do you need help?

  “What’s up?” he asked instead.

  “Nothing,” said Atticus. He popped something green in his mouth and munched it.

  “Whatcha eating?” asked Noah.

  Atticus held out a handful of snow peas. “Want one?”

  Noah took one but Angelika hesitated.

  “Did you get permission?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said Atticus, sounding a little mad. “Grammy Mary said I could. Go ask her!”

  “Sorry,” she said, taking a peapod. “Thanks.”

  “Thanks,” echoed Finch. He took a peapod from Atticus, checking out the palm of his hand and making a note in his mind: clean. Not the hand of a kid who had been digging in the dirt. He ought to know.

  “Later,” said Atticus, and ambled off.

  They waited until he was out of earshot.

  “That was weird,” said Angelika.

  “Definitely,” agreed Noah.

  “He wasn’t burying anything,” said Finch. “His hands were totally clean. I checked.”

  “But there was something funny,” said Angelika. “Like he didn’t want us to know what he was doing.”

  “We need more clues,” said Noah. “Maybe we should look in his locker.”

  “No way,” said Finch. “Too dangerous. Last time I tried that I got sent to Mr. White’s office.”

  “Busted!” said Noah, grinning.

  “Which kind of served you right,” said Angelika.

  “Yeah, but now he thinks there’s something wrong with me,” complained Finch. “He tried to get me to tell him what was going on, and he was asking all these questions. But I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “Hey,” said Noah. “Hey, Finch.”