Finchosaurus

by Gail Donovan

  Finch ignored Noah. He wasn’t done complaining. “He was all, like, I am Awesomeraptor. But I’m, like, more awesome.”

  “Finch, hang on,” said Noah.

  Finch didn’t hang on, because he was on a roll. “I am the fierce and mighty Finchosaurus!” he shouted as he leapt, landing in a fierce and mighty dinosaur pose.

  “Busted,” said Noah again. Not grinning.

  Angelika lifted her hand in a wave. “Hey, Mr. White,” she said.

  Finch froze. He froze in his fearsome dinosaur pose. The pose where he was a fierce dinosaur, more awesome than Awesomeraptor.

  “Hello, Angelika!” said Mr. White. “Hello, Noah. Hello, Finch. What’s that you’re doing—karate?”

  “Umm . . . no,” said Finch. Unfreezing, he let his arms fall to his sides. “I was . . .” He trailed off, trying to think of a good answer. Then he decided he might as well tell the truth. “I was making believe I was a dinosaur.”

  “He’s nuts for dinosaurs,” added Noah.

  Angelika chimed in, “He wants to be a paleontologist.”

  “I never told you that!” said Finch.

  “Everybody knows that,” she said with a shrug.

  “So that’s all we’re doing,” said Noah. “Talking about dinosaurs, and paleontology.”

  “Paleontology,” said Mr. White, tapping his finger to his white beard in a thinking-about-it pose. “Interesting. Is that why you like to dig so much, Finch?”

  Uh-oh. Awesomeraptor was on the prowl. But Mr. White wasn’t going to trick him into saying too much. Finch gave a one-word answer.

  “Yep,” he said.

  That didn’t stop Awesomeraptor.

  “Did you know that all you need to start a club here at Acorn is one adult adviser and three kids? So, if you three wanted to start a club for kids interested in paleontology, I’d be more than happy to help. What do you say?”

  Unfortunately, Noah and Angelika didn’t seem to see that Awesomeraptor was stalking them.

  “I know!” cried Angelika, as she waved her hand in the air. “I know, I know! Let’s call it Paleo Pals!”

  Noah looked as if he thought this was the funniest thing ever. “Paleo Pals,” he said, grinning. “Love it!”

  With a big smile on his face, Mr. White pounced. “Finch? What do you think?”

  Finch thought fast. First thought: No way!

  Second thought: Paleo Pals could be a good cover. He and Noah and Angelika could pretend it was a club for kids interested in paleontology, but they would know the truth—that they were actually, secretly, still looking for the kid who needed help.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  10. Welcome to Maine

  “Why can’t we bring Whoopie Pie?” asked Finch. “Gammy loves Whoopie Pie.”

  “What about allowance?” asked Sam. “We still get our allowance tomorrow, right?”

  “Buckle up, boys,” said their mom to Finch and Sam in the backseat. And to their dad she asked, “Ready for five hours of this?”

  Finch buckled up, then touched the tin box in his pocket. Safe. His investigation would have to wait, though. It was Friday afternoon and they were headed to Maine for the long weekend.

  Finch’s dad backed down the driveway. “Yes, Sam, you will get your allowance tomorrow. And Mrs. Duncan will check in on the cat. She’ll be fine, Finch.”

  Which didn’t answer Finch’s question. “Why can’t we bring her?”

  Sam elbowed Finch in the side. “You,” he whispered. “Me. Tomorrow. Don’t forget.” Then he stuck in his earbuds and closed his eyes. Checking out.

  Finch hadn’t forgotten the deal he’d made with Sam. He just hadn’t figured out how to get out of it. Which he needed to do, because he needed that money for Oscar and Oliver, so they would stop taking David’s milk money.

  The car rolled slowly down the leafy street. Turned a corner to a bigger street. Fewer trees. More cars. Going faster.

  “Gammy loves Whoopie Pie,” said Finch again.

  Gammy was the one who had named the cat, because he was black with a little bit of white on his throat, the same color as a whoopie pie.

  “Finch,” said his dad, catching his eye in the rearview mirror. “Settle down.”

  Finch’s mom twisted around in the front seat, so she was facing Finch. “Gammy loves the cat, but she’s not at the house, remember? She’s at Pine Grove.”

  Finch nodded. He remembered. Gammy was in the nursing home.

  “And we’re going to be busy visiting her,” said his mom, “and helping Guppy.”

  “Helping how?”

  “Helping him get organized.”

  “Is that why Dad’s coming?”

  Finch’s dad came along to Maine sometimes, but not always. But getting people organized was his specialty. His whole job was helping people declutter and downsize and move. Most of his clients were old people, leaving the house they’d lived in for a long time.

  “Yes. Guppy will be moving to an apartment in Pine Grove, so he can be closer to Gammy. And Dad can start helping figure out what goes where.”

  “Is he moving now? This weekend?”

  “No,” said his mom. “The apartment needs a fresh coat of paint. But we can look at it now to help us decide which furniture will go to the new place, and which furniture needs to go . . .” she trailed off. “Somewhere else,” she finished.

  “What about this summer?” pressed Finch. “Will he move before our summer vacation?”

  “Finch,” said his dad. “This is not about you.”

  “It’s okay, Les,” said his mom. “Finch, no matter when Guppy moves, we’ll still go up this summer. He won’t sell the house right away.”

  “Sell the house?” cried Finch.

  His mom took a big breath. “I don’t have all the answers to all your questions, Finch. But, yes. Someday they will sell the house. Any more questions?”

  Finch shook his head, no, and his mom turned around. Soon his dad zoomed up the ramp onto the highway. Finch watched the big green highway signs sweep past, naming the towns, and then the states. Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maine. Somewhere after the Welcome to Maine sign they ate the supper his dad had packed—tuna-fish roll-ups—and somewhere after that, Finch fell asleep.

  When he woke up, it took him a second to figure out where he was. Then he smelled his favorite smell in the world: low tide. Salt and mud.

  He was in Maine. He had fallen asleep in the car and now it was Saturday and he was here. He scrambled out of bed and hurried downstairs—“Why does he always galumph down the stairs?” he heard his father say—and ran over to his grandfather for a hug.

  Guppy squeezed Finch tight, then stepped back, still holding him by the shoulders. “Let me look at you.”

  “I’m as tall as you,” said Finch.

  “You grew,” agreed Guppy, nodding. “And I shrunk.”

  Finch looked around to see if anything else was different. Luckily, nothing. Finch liked this house just the way it was. Six chairs, painted green, circling the dining table. A pantry with jars of jam on one shelf, cans of soup and tuna on another, and the bottom shelf full of games. And the door frame where Gammy had marked his and Sam’s height every summer.

  It was weird how kids got taller and taller, and old people got shorter and shorter. He never heard of anybody keeping track of your height going down, though. Nobody wanted to make a big deal about that.

  Finch was as tall as Guppy now, but still not taller than his dad. Yet. At school, Finch knew which guys were about the same height as him: Kael and Khalid and Mohamed. He knew Noah and Oscar and Oliver were taller. And David and the Atticus who went by Atticus were shorter.

  He was pretty sure Gammy was shorter than him now, too, but it was hard to tell because she was sitting in a wheelchair when they saw h
er. He had to hunch over for a hug.

  “Whoopie Pie says hi,” he said.

  Gammy smiled. “You tell Whoopie Pie I said hello, too.”

  The place where she lived smelled like Brussels sprouts. Which was not a smell Finch liked. He was glad when they took her outside. He and Sam took turns pushing the wheelchair along the path that wound through the tall pine trees. Then they all went to see the apartment Guppy was moving into, next door to the nursing home. Finch’s dad measured everything and took pictures on his phone. Finch’s mom walked around saying things like, Your big comfy chair could go here. The table would fit there if we take out the extra leaves. Not room for six dining chairs, though. Finch was glad when they left there, too.

  Next stop was the grocery store. They filled up a carriage with food, and went through the checkout line.

  “Dad,” said Sam. “Dad, it’s allowance day, remember?”

  “Yes, Sam,” said their dad. “I remember.” He got cash back from the lady at the register, gave five dollars to Sam and five dollars to Finch and made the same joke he always did.

  “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he said.

  Sam didn’t shake down Finch right away. He waited as they drove out of town. Crossed the big bridge. Zoomed down the long stretch of road through the marsh, with water on either side. Their mom and dad were in the front seats, talking about furniture. Finch was in the worst seat—the middle of the back—with Sam on one side and Guppy on the other, dozing off.

  He felt Sam’s elbow dig into his ribs, and then Sam was holding out his hand, palm flat. The silent signal for Give me my money. Now.

  From his pocket, Finch scrounged out his brand-new five-dollar bill and forked it over. He didn’t exactly blame Sam. Sure, it was blackmail, but Finch had made a deal. Still—making a deal didn’t mean he wanted to see his brother’s triumphant grin. He turned his head the other way, toward Guppy. Who wasn’t dozing anymore. He was wide awake, staring at Finch with a puzzled look on his face.

  11. Digging Clams

  “Mom,” said Finch, balancing on one foot. “Mom,” he echoed, standing on the other foot. “Mom,” he said, hopping from foot to foot—one word per hop—“Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom!”

  “Finch, stop!” said his mother. “What part of ‘Wait a minute’ don’t you understand?”

  Finch stopped saying Mom, but he kept hopping. “I am waiting,” he said. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Finch,” said his dad. “Less hopping, okay?”

  “But it’s low tide,” said Finch.

  “I know that,” said his mom, “and so does your grandfather. Just—wait.”

  Finch was waiting. Except he didn’t get why people said, Let’s go, and then they said, Wait a minute. It was like saying go—no, stop. When Finch wanted to go-go. He wanted to get out on the mudflats and start digging. This was his first chance, because yesterday, when they’d gotten back from Pine Grove, the tide was high.

  Finch had done a report on the tides in fourth grade—written and oral. In front of the whole class, he had explained how it was all about the moon. As the earth rotated, all the places in line with the moon felt the tug of its gravity. The moon’s gravitational force field actually pulled all the water on earth toward the moon. That was high tide—when the place you were in was in line with the moon.

  But the earth was always turning, so pretty soon that same place wasn’t lined up with the moon’s force field. Soon that same place was where all the water was being pulled from. That was low tide.

  Then he had described the tidal bay where his grandparents lived—how at low tide you could go out onto the bay’s muddy bottom. You could walk around in a place that was deep underwater when the tide was high.

  At the end he had asked, “Does anyone have a question or a comment?”

  Noah had raised his hand. “How fast does the water come in? Is it like a tidal wave?”

  No, explained Finch. The tide came in slowly, more like a bathtub being filled. It took about six hours for the tide to go out, and six to come back in.

  Waiting for his grandfather now, Finch kept hopping. Because even if the tide wasn’t going to pour in like a giant wave, it wasn’t going to stay out forever. It was low tide now, and he wanted to get going. He was still hopping when Guppy appeared.

  “Who’s ready to dig some clams?”

  “Me!” said Finch.

  “It’s just you and Finch, Dad,” said Finch’s mom. “Les and I are going to stay here, and Sam’s still sleeping, if you can believe it.”

  They found the clam-digging rake and a bucket from the shed, and walked the short distance from the house to the shore. They picked their way over prickly crabgrass. Climbed over slippery, seaweedy rocks. Crossed the shallow channel of water at the edge of the bay. Then, finally, Finch was out in the middle of the mudflats. He wasn’t sure if the flats were more like sandy mud, or muddy sand. Either way, it was mud you didn’t sink into. Mud you could dig. It was excellent mud.

  Finch plunked himself down. He didn’t mind getting dirty. He would use his hands and Guppy could use the rake.

  “Wait!” said Guppy.

  “What?” groaned Finch. More waiting? What now?

  “Hold on,” said Guppy. “Before you get your hands dirty, I’ve got something for you.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and handed it to Finch. “Looked to me like you’re going to be a little short this week.”

  “Wow,” said Finch. “Thanks.” He shoved the money in his pocket.

  “You’re welcome.”

  They began working. Wherever a clam’s airhole dotted the mud, Guppy stuck in the rake and flipped it out, scooping up piles of mud. Searching through the piles, Finch picked out any clams and put them in the bucket.

  “Aren’t you going to ask why I gave Sam my allowance?”

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t want to know?”

  “I do,” said Guppy. “But only if you want to tell me.”

  Overhead, a seagull flapped across a bright blue sky. It dropped a shell onto the rocks, trying to crack it open to get at what was inside.

  When he first found the note, Finch had pictured himself figuring it out all by himself. Then he got a couple of helpers, Noah and Angelika. And that was cool. Even Sue Hendrickson didn’t try to dig up Tyrannosaurus Sue all by herself, right?

  But now, Guppy?

  Guppy had given him five dollars, no questions asked. And Guppy lived here, in Maine. He wasn’t going to butt into stuff at Acorn. Except, what if Guppy told his mom and dad? Finch still didn’t want them to know. If they knew, they’d probably tell Mrs. Adler. She’d probably make all the kids go talk to Mr. White, or something. The whole thing would get taken away from him, before he’d had a chance to figure it out.

  “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell Mom and Dad?” asked Finch.

  Guppy was quiet for a second. Thinking.

  “Tell you what,” he finally said. “I can’t agree to keep a secret from your mom and dad. But I can agree to a . . . surprise-in-progress. If you plan on telling them yourself, someday.”

  Finch picked another clam from the mud. It was funny: Finding something in the ground was the beginning of the story. Except clams just lived in the mud. They weren’t buried there by somebody else. But maybe after Finch had figured out whoever that somebody else was, he could tell his mom and dad. That was a fair deal.

  “I found something,” he said.

  “You found a big one,” agreed Guppy.

  Finch dropped the clam into the bucket. “No,” he said. “Something else.”

  He started with yesterday—giving Sam his allowance so Sam wouldn’t sit with him at lunch, like their parents wanted him to. When he got back to the day he was just trying to put a worm in the school garden, he ran over to the channel of
water to wash the mud off his hands. He pulled the tin box from his pocket and took out what was inside.

  Peering at the scrap of paper, Guppy read aloud. “Help.”

  “I’m going to find out who wrote it.”

  A giant grin lit up Guppy’s face. “Sounds like one of Gammy’s mysteries she likes so much. And you’re going to get to the bottom of it!”

  “Me and my friends,” agreed Finch.

  “Outstanding,” said Guppy. “And I wouldn’t mind a report now and then. You could give me a call once in a while, right? Tell me how it’s going?”

  “Absolutely,” said Finch. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

  12. Bonus Points

  “Good morning,” said Finch, “and welcome back to Acorn Comprehensive. We hope everyone had a great holiday. Today is Tuesday, May 29. Hot lunch will be mashed potato bowls.”

  Ten minutes ago, Mr. White had nabbed Finch in the school lobby with “awesome news!” He had gotten the paleontology club fast-tracked and he wanted Finch to make the announcement. In the office, Mrs. Stuckey had asked if he would like to read all the morning announcements? Definitely! said Finch. And she’d handed him the piece of paper he was reading from.

  “Acorn Comprehensive is starting a new club: Paleo Pals. It’s for any students interested in paleontology. First meeting is today, after school, in the library.”

  The library! Awesomeraptor and Momosaurus, teaming up! Not great news, but Finch didn’t have time to think about that now. He had to keep reading aloud.

  “Also, because of the Monday holiday, Green Team members will be checking recycling bins today.”

  Finch thought fast. Later today he’d be roaming around. And anybody on Green Team could roam around with him. And while they were checking out recycling boxes, he could be checking them out. He kept talking, but he wasn’t reading aloud anymore. He was making it up.

  “Green Team is always looking for new members. So, if you’re interested, see Miss Kirby or any of the kids on Green Team.”

  He got back on script.