Fish Finelli Book 1: Seagulls Don't Eat Pickles (10 page)

I shoved the map back under my shirt.

“Me, too. What do you want to eat?” T. J. jumped up and started opening cabinets.

I made a face at Roger. The treasure map felt like it was burning a hole in my chest. The suspense was killing me.

“Popcorn.”

“Jiffy Pop is my favorite, too,” agreed T. J. He watched hungrily as Summer took off the cardboard top and put the popcorn on the stove. The Huckletons don’t have a microwave. Mrs. H. thinks the radiation is dangerous, even though I’ve told her all a microwave does is heat up the water and polarized molecules in the food.

MICROWAVE

In 1945, engineer Percy Spencer was working on a radar set when he noticed a candy bar in his pocket had melted. This gave him the idea for the microwave oven. It heats food by shooting microwave beams that are absorbed by the water molecules in food. The first food to be heated successfully was popcorn. Microwave ovens for the home went on sale in 1967.

Summer turned the flame on under the popcorn. At that moment, the phone rang. Roger picked it up. “Summer’s French-Fried Eyeballs Cafe? Oh, hi, Beck—”

“Give that to me!” Summer yanked the phone out of Roger’s hand and stormed out of the kitchen.

The coast was clear, so I pulled out the map. This was it. POP! POP! POP! went the popcorn as T. J. gave it a good shake.

“Treasure map, take two,” said Roger.

Carefully, I unrolled the crinkly old paper. I stared at it in surprise. I blinked once and then again. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“What, dude?” said Roger.

“Yeah,” said T. J. “You don’t look so good.”

POP! POP! The tinfoil expanded and filled up with popcorn. T. J. gave it another shake.

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t.

“Let me see.” Roger reached across the table and grabbed the parchment. “There’s nothing written on this.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s blank.”

“How can it be blank?” T. J. moved toward the table. “Let me see that treasure map.”

I thrust the piece of paper at him and jumped up. I needed a cold drink. I turned around and opened the fridge, looking for some orange juice. All I saw were bottles of this green seaweed stuff Mrs. H. likes.

“Quit calling it a treasure map! If there’s no X to mark the—” I started.

“STOP!”

There was a scuffling sound and a bang. One of the chairs hit the floor.

I whipped around to see T. J. in front of the stove. He was holding the piece of parchment. His eyes were so wide I could see the whites all the way around. There was popcorn scattered across the counter and all over the floor. Roger stood beside him, his face pale.

“What happened?” I asked.

Neither of them said a word. They handed the piece of parchment to me. Only it wasn’t blank anymore. There was a jagged outline of something that looked a whole lot like an island with trees marked out, and a rock—and there was a big X in the middle.

The treasure map!!!!

“Where did that map come from if the paper was blank?” asked T. J., breaking the silence.

Roger and I looked at each other. “Invisible ink!” we said at the same time.

“Huh?” said T. J. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“The popcorn!” Roger grinned. “Dropping the map on the Jiffy Pop was pure genius, T. J.”

“If you write with certain liquids, like lemon juice, when the writing dries it becomes invisible,” I explained. “Then it only becomes visible again if the paper it’s written on is held over something hot, like a fire or a lightbulb.”

“Or popcorn,” Roger grinned and high-fived T. J. “Way to go, dude!”

“Invisible ink is one of the oldest methods of sending secret messages in the world,” I said.

“Think Captain Kidd used lemon juice like we did?” Roger said. “He sure was one sneaky dude.”

Just then a gust of wind blew into the kitchen and made the paper flutter. I shivered suddenly, remembering the story of Captain Kidd’s ghost haunting whoever took the map.

A figure appeared in the doorway. It was dressed all in white, with a ghostly white face.
Oh, no!

“Fish, are you all right, dude?” said Roger. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Roger and T. J. turned around just as the ghost opened its mouth. “Is the popcorn done?” asked Summer.

“You know what,
Winter
?” teased Roger. “The abominable snowman look is really you.”

It wasn’t a ghost after all. It was just Summer in a white dress with white goop on her face. I had to stop being silly. Everyone knew there was no such thing as ghosts. . . .

Captain Kidd's Ghost Does
Not
Kid Around

"So, Nikola Tesla, what would you do if you were in my shoes?” I sprinkled some food into the fishbowl. “Not that you have feet to put shoes on. Would you dig up the treasure or return the map?”

Nikola Tesla’s googly fish eyes goggled at me as he sucked up the food.

T. J. had voted to return the map to the Lioness. Roger thought we should dig up the treasure and then return it, because we would be heroes. I thought we should dig up the treasure, too. Then I would win the bet with Bryce. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.

I quadruple-checked where I had hidden the map. It was right where it was the last three times I looked—on the top shelf of my bookcase inside my diorama of the Stone Age. I had stuck the map in the Silly Putty cave where the woolly mammoth was being stabbed by two clay Stone Age people.

NIKOLA TESLA
(1856–1943)

An inventor born in what is now Croatia (that’s in south-eastern Europe), Tesla invented early versions of the radio, the remote control, and radar. He also made “shadowgraphs,” pictures of living tissue he took using electromagnetic radiation (waves of energy associated with electric and magnetic fields), which were similar to the first X-rays.

As I climbed into bed, Shrimp came into my room, jumped up, and plopped down on top of me.

“Ouch, Shrimp! Shove over!” I said.

He lay down across the bottom of my bed. I had to curl up my legs to make room for him.

“Night, Shrimp,” I said, turning out the lamp on my dresser.

TAP! TAP! TAP! What was that sound? I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The moon was shining, making stripes of silvery light across the floor. There was a rustling noise outside the window.

Something was out there.

Something that was trying to get in!

It was Captain Kidd’s ghost! It was coming to get me for taking the treasure map!!!

Shrimp growled and jumped to the floor.
Uh-oh!
I strained my ears, listening.

WHOOSH! A gust of wind blew into the room. There was a creaking, moaning sound.

GRRR! Shrimp growled again, his eyes trained on the window. The scream froze in my throat.

CREAK! MOAN!

My heart was beating so fast, it felt like it was going to jump right out of my chest. A shadow moved across the window. It looked like an arm. The long, bony arm of a skeleton.

TAP! TAP! TAP! The skeleton tapped on the window. It was the ghost. It was coming to get me. I pulled the pillow over my head.

A minute passed. And then another. Nothing happened. I peeked out. The room was lit up with moonlight again. The skeleton arm was still there, only it wasn’t an arm at all. It was a tree branch!

Shrimp yawned and jumped back up on my bed. I yawned, too. Boy, was I crazy worrying about ghosts. I lay down beside him.

The next thing I knew, something sharp was poking me in the back.

“Give me the map, you scallywag!” yelled a gruff voice. “Or I’ll run you through with my sword.”

I gasped.

“Turn around and meet your doom,” hissed the voice. “Or prepare to draw your last breath.”

Slowly, I turned and found myself face-to-face with a ghostly pirate. His sword glinted sharply as he pointed it straight at my heart.

“Give me my treasure map, you cur!” he demanded in the same hissing voice. “For I am the ghost of Captain Kidd, and I do not kid around. . . .”

The ghost floated closer. His eyes blazed a terrible red and he let out a horrible moan. I could feel his stinky, rotten breath in my face.

Suddenly, something warm and wet dripped down my chin.

“Yuck!”

My eyes popped open. It was Shrimp! His head was on the pillow beside me. He licked me again.
Ugh!
Dog breath!!!

I sat up and looked around my room. It was morning. There was no ghost. I had dreamed the whole thing.

I hopped out of bed and hurried over to the diorama. The map was still there, sticking out of the Silly Putty cave.

Sure, I wanted to win the bet. Sure, I wanted to be a hero. But the right thing to do was to return the map to the Lioness. It wasn’t because I was scared of Captain Kidd’s ghost or anything. . . .

K-A-Y-A-K-S!