Mom, There's a Dinosaur in Beeson's Lake Read online

  He closes his mouth. Good dog. He understands. I keep tiptoeing across the backyard. I put my hand on the gate latch—

  “Woof.”

  I hold. I count to ten.

  Please, Joe. Please understand. I can’t take you.

  Nothing.

  Good dog. Okay, let’s try this again.

  I slowly lift the latch.

  “Woof. Woof.”

  I run. Not through the gate but back toward the house. I jam my key in the lock and throw open the door. Joe comes bounding out. I shut the door. We take off down the street. Before we cross the intersection, I glance over my shoulder. There are no lights on at my house. Big relief.

  “You’re late,” says the willow tree guarding the path to Beeson’s Lake.

  “Sorry,” I reply to the lazy branches.

  Doyle steps out from behind the thick trunk. He’s carrying his fishing pole and tackle box. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “Arf,” barks Joe as if to say, ‘Me neither.’ I pat his head. Bug spit! In all of the rush, I forgot to grab Joe’s leash. “Stay with me, you hear?” I say firmly. “Stay with me.” I look around. “Where’s Will?”

  “Paper route. He’ll meet us there.”

  I yawn. “Lewis?”

  Doyle smirks. “No sign of him.”

  When we get to the lake, I pick a spot on the west side opposite the tippy dock. I inspect the water to make sure there aren’t any big rocks in the way. “This is it,” I say, opening my backpack. “This is our launch site.”

  “What are we launching?”

  I lift my new invention out of my pack.

  “A toy submarine?”

  “Scab’s Surveillance Submersible.” I pop the top off my yellow model submarine.

  “You got a Weeble in there for a pilot?” laughs Doyle.

  I do not laugh. “Inside the submersible is my specially rigged digital camera,” I say seriously, which shuts him up. “Once I push this button, it will snap a photo every thirty seconds for one hour. The photos will then be wirelessly sent to my computer. We’ll be able to study the images when we get back to my lab. Clear?”

  Doyle bites his lip. “Clear.”

  I flip on the remote control, set the boat in the murky water, and wait for Doyle’s countdown. But it doesn’t come. When I look back, Doyle is kicking the moss off a log.

  I stand up. “What’s the matter?”

  “When you said we were going to catch Zenobia, I didn’t think you meant with a camera.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I thought we were going to do it with a net or something.”

  “Catch a dinosaur? With a net?”

  “Or something. I bet that’s what Lewis would do.”

  “Yeah, I bet that snotball would,” I mutter. “Look, Doyle, whatever’s in the lake, it already broke my fishing pole. And if it is an eighty-foot apatosaurus, do you think a net is going to hold him?”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know.”

  “But this”—I hold up the sub—“will get us proof that Zenobia exists.”

  “Uh-huh.” He’s still taking it out on the moss.

  “If we get a good shot, I’ll bet they’ll print it in the Granite Falls Gazette.” I dig around in my backpack. “They’ll probably do a story about how we found Zenobia and interview us and everything. We’ll be famous—”

  “Famous?” He catches the bag of mini marshmallows I toss to him. “What’s this for?”

  “Zenobia liked them the first time around, so I figured we’d try again.” A ray of light slices the trees in half. The sun is coming up. If we’re going to do this, we have to do it now. “Come on, Doyle,” I say. “It’s the best we’ve got. You bait your hook and I’ll run the submersible and let’s just see what happens, okay?”

  He gives me a slow grin. “Okay.”

  I hold up my hand. “Did you hear that?”

  “Where’s Joe?”

  “Here.” I point to my dog, who is sniffing around a log. I haven’t taken my eyes off of him the whole time we’ve been here. I sure wish I had that leash.

  “Somebody’s coming. It must be Will—”

  “Or Lewis.” I shove the sub under my sweatshirt. Doyle stuffs the bag of marshmallows down his pants. Why he does this, I have no idea. We aren’t trying to hide snacks from Lewis. We hear whistling. Relax. It’s okay. Only one person whistles “Jingle Bells” in the middle of May.

  “You almost missed the launch,” Doyle says when Will steps through the tall grass. He taps his watch. “I’m setting my timer for one hour. T minus ten seconds to launch.”

  I race to the water, juggling the remote, the submersible, and a roll of duct tape. “Wait!”

  “You know the rules. Can’t stop the launch count once it’s started. Nine . . .”

  USES FOR EVERY INVENTOR’S

  #1 TOOL: DUCT TAPE

  Patches the rip in your jeans you got when you went through the Mighty Maze (don’t tell my mom).

  Reattaches the tail of your sister’s plastic horse, Sugar Pie, which may have accidentally broken off while he was bungee jumping from your bedroom window (baaaaad horsie).

  Wrap it around a yardstick (sticky side out) so you can pick up coins behind the couch.

  Makes a watertight seal for your dino-hunting submersible!

  I push the automatic shutter on the camera. I snap the top onto the submersible.

  “. . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . .”

  I wrap duct tape around the top seam twice to make a watertight seal. I rip the duct tape off with my teeth. Ouch!

  “. . . five . . . four . . . three . . .”

  I set the submersible in the water and pick up the remote control unit.

  “. . . two . . . one . . .”

  My heart pounds in rhythm to the count.

  “Dive, Scab! Dive!”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Deep Water Rescue!

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  It’s Doyle’s watch. He’s fishing off an old tree stump nearby. “Time’s up!” he calls.

  “Bring it back,” I tell Will, who’s holding the remote unit. We’ve been taking turns running my submarine. “I hope we got some clear photos on the computer.”

  Will lets out a sigh. “Me too.”

  I know what he means. Swatting away bugs for an hour while Scab’s Surveillance Submersible crisscrossed the bottom of the lake wasn’t much of an adventure. We wanted to see Zenobia’s massive, scaly, brown neck rise out of the water. We wanted to see a thick tail whip through the lily pads. We wanted to hear the roar of an ancient dinosaur echo through the forest. Now that I think about it, maybe it’s good those things didn’t happen. The only camera I brought is ten feet under water.

  “Come on, boy.” I gently wake Joe, who’s been snoozing on a pad of thick, dewy grass. “We’re going home. I bet you’re hungry.” I know I am.

  “Check this out!” Doyle holds up a scrawny gray minnow.

  “Sure took a lot of marshmallows,” I tease when I see the empty bag.

  “I didn’t get breakfast.”

  I check Doyle’s watch. Six minutes after seven. Bug spit! My dad gets up at seven thirty. “I have to get home,” I say, turning to Will. “Are you bringing it in?”

  He’s jerking the toggle. “I’m trying, but it keeps stopping—”

  “Here, let me do it.” I take the remote unit from him. I punch the blue button. We wait. We scan the water. It should have been up by now. “Let’s split up and start looking.”

  DID YOU EVER WONDER . . .

  HOW DID EARTH’S DINOSAURS GO EXTINCT?

  ANSWER: NOBODY KNOWS FOR SURE. SCIENTISTS say it might have happened after a large meteorite hit Earth about 65 million years ago. The dust it stirred up may have blocked out the sun for months or years, changing the climate and destroying the very plants dinos like the apatosaurus needed to survive. Personally, I think they died out after eating my sister’s m
uffins (which could easily be mistaken for meteors).

  Doyle and Will trot off in opposite directions down the shoreline.

  The power light on the remote is flickering. No! The batteries are dying. My parents will kill me if I lose another digital camera. Don’t ask. I hit the blue button again. Come on, surface! Surface!

  “I see it,” shouts Doyle from about fifty yards away. “Over here!”

  I pound on the side of the remote as I run for Doyle. Joe is on my heels. Will is on his paws. When I get there, my best friend is pointing to a spot about thirty feet offshore. My yellow sub is caught in a clump of lily pads.

  “Woof, woof!”

  “It’s not a duck, Joe,” I laugh. “He thinks it’s a—”

  “Woof, woof!”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” I say as he pushes past me. I lunge for Joe’s collar.

  And miss.

  My dog charges for the lake.

  “No!” I shout. “Joe, don’t go in the—”

  Ker-splat!

  “Joe?” My voice breaks.

  “Bring the boat in,” orders Doyle. “He’ll follow it—”

  “I can’t. I’m dead,” I say, flicking the power switch to prove it.

  “Joe! Joe, come back!” We scream, but it’s no use. All we can do is watch the top of his golden head glide through the water as he paddles toward the submarine. Bad dog!

  I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle. Nothing comes out. It wouldn’t matter. When Joe has ducks on the brain, nothing works. Wait. Why am I freaking out? Joe loves to play fetch. He will snag the submersible and swim back to shore. Everything is going to work out perfectly, after all. Good dog!

  “What’s he doing?” asks Doyle.

  Joe is close to the sub, but he hasn’t grabbed it in his mouth. I’m not sure why. He’s treading water. “Come on, boy.” I cup my hands over my mouth. “Get the duck and come back. Get the duck, Joe.”

  But Joe doesn’t take a hold of the sub. Instead, his head dips under the water.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Will.

  “He’s okay,” I say. My breath is coming faster. My heart is beating harder.

  Joe lets out a yelp.

  “I think he’s stuck,” says Doyle.

  “Stuck?” I gulp.

  “In the lily pads. I think he’s stuck in the lily pads.”

  “What do we do?” asks Will.

  I kick off my shoes. I pull off my sweatshirt. Racing down the rocky shore, I hurdle a log and splash out into the lake. When the water hits my knees, I throw my body in headfirst. The cold water sends a jolt through me. I start swimming the crawl stroke. It’s my best stroke. I can hear Will and Doyle shouting, telling me to hurry.

  I am. I am.

  I windmill my arms. I breathe. I stroke. And I kick. I kick hard. Am I moving? I’m not sure. I could be staying in the same place for all I know. I slap the water, trying to push it behind me. I look ahead. Yes! I am moving.

  Don’t forget to breathe.

  I keep going. It feels like I am splashing wildly, kicking forever.

  Kick. Stroke. Kick. Stroke. These are the only two words my brain knows.

  I don’t feel cold anymore. I see Joe’s head. He’s low in the water. I’m almost there. I reach out to pull my dog to me. He kicks me in the stomach. Water floods my nose and throat. It tastes like . . .

  . . . like what?

  Like old sauerkraut and mud pies and dandelions and cat litter . . .

  Breathe! Breathe!

  I am coughing. “Easy . . . boy,” I choke, spitting out water. I slide my arm down under his legs to feel the thick, intertwining stems of water lilies. “I’m here, Joe. I’m here. I’ll get you . . . out of here.”

  He relaxes. A little. Maybe he knows I won’t let him go. Or maybe he’s too tired to fight. I bring my legs up as if I am sitting in a chair. Cradling Joe against my knees, I reach down and grab at the lily stalks. I yank again. And again. A cramp slices through my collarbone. This isn’t working. I’m going to have to try something else.

  “I’ll be right . . . back, Joe,” I huff. “Keep paddling.” I take one big breath to fill my lungs with air. Then I dive. As I go down, I throw my left arm above my head, to help support my dog. With the other arm, I reach out to unravel the stems from his leg. I open my eyes, but it stings. It’s dark. And still. And strange. Like slow motion. Like a dream. With bubbles. I grope around, feel for a stalk, and pull on it. I pull again. And again. I can’t tell if I’m doing any good. I am running out of air.

  Something smacks me in the chin. It’s Joe’s leg! He’s free.

  Go! Go! Go!

  I break the surface, my mouth open wide. After a few breaths, I take hold of Joe and start swimming for the shore. I use the frog kick and do a half-breaststroke with my right arm while my left arm hangs on to my dog. I hear Ashlynn’s voice in my head.

  Push out. Nice, even strokes. Just let it flow.

  “We’re doing good, Joe . . . doing good . . .” I sputter as we close the distance to the beach.

  My leg hits something. Or something hits my leg. “Ow!”

  “What’s wrong?” shouts Doyle.

  “Something just . . .”—I gasp—“. . . bit me.”

  “Zenobia!” my friends scream.

  “Get out of there,” yells Doyle, waving his arms.

  Thanks for the advice, buddy.

  I tell myself not to panic. But myself isn’t exactly listening.

  I can feel Joe’s lungs going in and out. My shoulders ache. My legs feel as if every last muscle in them has withered and died. We are slowing down. My chin slides into the paisley pattern of green and black algae. I’m so tired.

  Don’t give up. Keep going. Just let it flow.

  My toes are dragging in mud. Thank goodness. Doyle and Will are here. “T . . . take him,” I wheeze, sliding Joe into Will’s arms.

  I start to crumble. Doyle grabs me. On the beach, I drop to my knees. My chest heaves. I can’t get enough oxygen. There isn’t enough air in the world. “I . . . I . . .”

  The sky is twirling. So is the sand. I see streams of blood. It’s coming from a gash in my leg.

  “Stay here with Will,” I hear Doyle say. “I’m going to get your dad.”

  “O . . . kay.”

  I know I am going to be in a garbage truck full of trouble. The list of my crimes is a long one.

  Sneaking out of the house while grounded.

  Losing an expensive model submarine.

  Losing my more expensive digital camera.

  But none of it makes any difference. Everything that matters is right here. Right now.

  I fling a shivering arm around Joe’s neck. I bury my head in his wet fur. He licks my ear, then my whole face. Will doesn’t say anything. He lets me rest. And he lets me cry. And for that I am glad. I don’t let go of Joe until my dad comes for us.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Raisins and Realizations

  Scab?”

  Joe yawns. He’s beside me, his head on my airplane pillow.

  I slap my comic book over my face. “Shoo. Scram. Esca-lator,” I say.

  “I brought you peanut butter and celery sticks. I even put a bunch of the yogurt raisins you like on top.”

  “Not hungry.”

  I hear a dish clatter. “I’ll leave it here on your lab desk in case you want it later.”

  Might as well. There’s plenty of room on my desk now.

  “Mom and Dad took your computer away?”

  No need to answer when the answer is obvious.

  “A month isn’t so long.”

  It is when you’re an inventor. I shut my eyes. Isabelle has no idea what I am going through. My sister never breaks a rule.

  Is she still here?

  “What were you thinking, sneaking out to Beeson’s Lake when you’re grounded?”

  Yep, still here. And I’ve already answered this question once today. Or tried to.

  After my mother bandaged my
leg and after she made me take a hot shower and after she made me eat a whole bowl of butternut squash soup, it was time to make me face my punishment. So this is what I did. I looked directly at my parents. I did not fidget, bob my eyebrows, or let my ears turn red. Nope. I stayed perfectly still. Then, in a calm, steady voice I said, “Mom and Dad, there’s a dinosaur in Beeson’s Lake.”

  TODAY’S MATH LESSON

  4 new weeks of being grounded + 2 weeks I had left from my first grounding = 6 weeks.

  0 computer + 0 video games + 0 TV + 0 phone calls + 0 fishing with Uncle Ant this summer = 0 life!

  My father looked directly back at me and then, in a calm, steady voice he said, “Son, it’s going to be a long time before you can prove it.”

  Isabelle is still jabbering away. “. . . and you could have fallen climbing out your window. And then diving into the deep, cold water after Joe? You both could have drowned. And for what? To find some stupid dinosaur? Have you completely lost your marbles?”

  My eyelids fly open. What did she say? Joe sits up.

  I sit up too. “What did you say?”

  “I asked if you were crazy, which is dumb, I know, because clearly you are—”

  “Before that. You said ‘diving into the water after Joe.’”

  “Uh . . . yeah. You did rescue the dog, didn’t you?”

  I am already leaping off the bed to sock-slide across my hardwood floor. I did rescue Joe. More importantly, I dove into DEEP WATER to do it. “Yeah!” I shout, doing a spin. “I did dive. I really, really did!”

  TOP SECRET! SCAB’S PERSONAL 411

  SCAB’S FEARS

  FEAR

  WHY?

  Enchiladas

  I don’t trust food that’s folded. (Who knows what it’s hiding?)