by Angela Ahn
“Coach put me up a level,” he told Joe, who had foolishly been trapped into a soccer conversation with him. “I get to play in the Gold thirteen-year-old division next season.”
“Congratulations,” Joe replied sarcastically.
“Thanks,” Ryan said smugly, missing the sarcasm completely. Joe looked at me and rolled his eyes.
To the few of us who still looked to him for direction, Mr. Costa said, “You may watch something on Netflix. Try to stick to the documentaries, though, okay?” We pulled up chairs, he turned his monitor and keyboard toward us, and I was positive he fell asleep with his eyes open.
Stephanie said, “Anybody know any good documentaries?”
“I do!” I piped up. “When Dinosaurs Ruled like Kings!”
“Seriously, Peter?” she asked, giving me her patented Stephanie look.
“It’s good. I promise. I’ve seen it a dozen times and I’m not sick of it yet.”
“Fine,” she said. Everybody else shrugged their shoulders in agreement.
While we watched, I could tell that even Stephanie thought that it was fascinating. It was a great way to spend the afternoon on the last school day of the year.
When the final bell rang, every child, teacher and administrator in Vancouver ran for the exit doors and didn’t look back.
Hammy and Haji were waiting for us, in the usual spot.
L.B. ran up to them.
“Second grade in the books!” L.B. said. “Hopefully third grade will be somewhat more stimulating!”
I wanted to say, I doubt it. But I held my tongue.
L.B. tossed Haji her backpack. “One more time before summer holidays!” she said as she launched herself into a handspring off the Big Rock.
“Freedom Day, eh, Peter?” Haji said, smiling.
“Yup!” I said.
“What was the best part of fifth grade?” Haji asked.
“Today!”
“No, come on! Serious question.”
“It’s all in the past! I’m only thinking about the future now. I know the summer trip is going to be pretty awesome.” I grinned.
“The trip is only a few days away,” Hammy said as we started walking home. “We should start packing.”
“Did you do any more research?” Haji asked.
“Oh, sure, I’ve read about all the attractions in Drumheller. There’s a bunch of other stuff we could do besides the museum, but the museum is the most important thing, obviously.”
“So many dinosaurs there, right, Peter?” Hammy said.
“So many dinosaurs!” I looked at the sky dreamily.
Chapter 7
ORGANIZATION—EXTREME
Saturday, June 29, 9:40 a.m. (3 days until our vacation)
Conditions: Sunshine, mild, gentle refreshing breeze—perfect excavation weather
I finished up today’s entry in my Field Notes and Observations journal and closed the book, feeling satisfied. I was done for the day, so I threaded the handle of my brush back through the elastic loop on the front of my vest and tucked my journal into my front left pocket. It was a perfect fit.
This particular journal contained two years’ worth of notes. My style of note-taking had evolved over time. Get it? Evolved? That’s an evolutionary science joke. First, the date. I mean, that goes without saying. Weather observations too. Then I made notes about what I saw or drew sketches of bone locations. I also numbered the bones in order of discovery.
My entries were now next level with the new excavation grid. The grid was kind of like a map to the excavation. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it to make really accurate records. Real paleontologists use these grids all the time to draw out how they found bones, so that’s what I did too. It helped keep things all in the right scale. I started off by using a ruler to draw out a grid in my notebook each time I excavated, but then I came to my senses, made one really good grid and photocopied it. Next I cut out the photocopied grids and glued them into my pages. Science is learning.
I also liked to label the bones with identifying markers while they were still in the sand—little pieces of cardboard I folded up into tents with the names of the bones written on them, along with their numbers. When I unearthed a bone, I placed a marker next to it. When I was all done and I was satisfied with my sketch, I would sit back and look at my work. I always felt like I had really accomplished something.
I couldn’t wait to get to Drumheller and put all these skills to use. I tidied up my work area—the shovel, grid and bones were all returned to their usual spots—and lastly I covered the pit.
I dusted the sand off my hands, and Hammy opened the back door, holding the phone to her ear. I waved.
She motioned for me to come inside. “Your mom says she dropped L.B. off at Dr. Stephanova’s, so you come home now.” When she said Stephanova, it sounded like steppin’ oba.
I nodded. I gave both my pant pockets a tap.
“Hammy, I’m going to take the vest home because I need to pack it,” I told her as I came inside.
“Good idea. You will need it!” She nodded. “We leave for Toronto in four days, right?”
“Toronto?” I said, surprised. “No, Drumheller!”
Hammy looked at me, confused. “I said, ‘Drumheller.’ ”
“No…ah, never mind.” I waved it off.
“You can walk home by yourself?” Hammy asked.
“Sure,” I said. I took off the vest, draped it over my arm and walked home, daydreaming about the best way to chisel through ancient rock.
Monday, July 1, 2 p.m. (1 more day!)
Conditions: Crystal clear blue sky
“Peter!” Mom shouted at me. She was holding a duffel bag.
“What?” I was playing a game called Dinosaur Extinction, trying to solve puzzles while avoiding being eaten by a T. rex; it required great concentration and I hadn’t even noticed she had come into my room.
“Why is your mouth all blue?”
I put down my tablet.
“Is it?” I thought for a minute before I realized why. “Oh, Joe and I had freezies.” I probably should have told her that we had had them for lunch. But I didn’t want her to ban me from going to his house all summer because together we made poor food choices.
She furrowed her brow.
“We’re leaving bright and early tomorrow. It’s time to start packing.” She put the bag on my bed and turned to walk out of my room.
“Wait! You haven’t packed yet?” I said, surprised. “You don’t want me to pack, do you?”
“I think you are old enough to plan ahead, anticipate what you may need and then pack accordingly.”
“What?” I had never packed for a trip before because we really didn’t travel much. I suddenly missed the days when Mom would just do everything for me. If this was growing up, I was fine with staying young.
“If I were you, I’d definitely pack dinosaur underwear!” L.B. shouted from across the hall. She was playing an old Korean game called yut with Hammy in her room. You tossed four sticks in the air—one side was flat and one side was rounded. When the sticks landed on the ground, the number of flat sides facing up showed how many spaces you could move around the board.
“Mind your own business!” I yelled back. Hammy let out a yell and a clap. She must have landed in a good spot.
“Really, Peter, it’s not that hard,” Mom said. “Just think about what you need on a daily basis and pack it! We’re gone about seven days, and I’ll do laundry once.”
“So four underwear sounds reasonable!” L.B. shouted, followed by a loud cheer. She could have just thrown her sticks gently, but instead she threw the sticks up in the air so high they always just missed the ceiling and came crashing down loudly. She thought it was funny, every single time.
I yelled back, “Be quiet! Stop throwing those s
ticks so high!”
“Where’s the fun, then?” she cried back.
“No!” Hammy yelled, clearly disappointed.
“Got you, Hammy!”
Mom went across the hallway to close L.B.’s door. Their raucous game became somewhat muffled.
“I got you this.” She handed me a black notebook with a large white coil along the side. It was much bigger than what I usually carried in my pocket. “I thought you might need a new one soon.”
“Thanks, Mom.” It was sturdy and the paper was thick. It felt nice in my hands. The coil was solid and could easily hold any pen or pencil.
“Also, I think for this trip, we’re going to try to go old-school. No tablets on the drive.” She gestured to my precious glowing screen. “Bring puzzles, books and games. Get packing,” Mom said over her shoulder as she left me with my jaw hanging open.
The words washed over me again and again—old-school, no tablet. I felt like she had just scammed me. Butter me up with a fancy new notebook and then suddenly pull the rug out from under my feet.
It took a minute for it to sink in that I’d be forced to travel like a kid from the 1990s.
The idea was uncivilized and not cool at all, but I was determined not to let it ruin my holiday. After all, I was going to get to go on a real fossil dig—that was the important part in all of this.
What does any good scientist do when faced with a challenge? They read books. I looked at my bookshelf, which I affectionately called Dino Grotto. I thought it had a nice ring to it. I pulled Fossil Dreams: A Young Scientist’s Essential Guide and Paleontology for the Junior Enthusiast off the shelf and packed them. I would be nothing without reference material. The bottom two shelves were crammed with books I had been collecting for years. On the other shelves, I had all my figurines lined up. The third shelf from the bottom had replicas of dinosaurs that lived during the Triassic period, 248 to 206 million years ago. Next shelf up, the Jurassic period, 200 to 146 million years ago. Finally, on top, the Cretaceous period, 146 to 65 million years ago. Within each shelf, I organized the figurines from left to right, largest in size to smallest—not the size of the figurines, but the size of the actual dinosaurs. To the untrained eye, it looked like random placement, but I knew better.
Something was wrong. The Allosaurus was on the Cretaceous shelf. It did not belong there. I knew who was responsible.
“L.B.!” I threw my door wide open and yelled across the hall. “Have you been messing with my dinosaurs?”
“Guilty as charged!” L.B. admitted, hollering back. “I thought the Allosaurus looked quite comfy next to the Iguanodon.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? Leave Dino Grotto alone!”
“I’ll try, but I am little and cannot control my impulses!”
I placed the Allosaurus back in its correct spot. Irritated, I returned to packing. My gear, I needed all of it. Vest, tools and especially my new notebook. Pens. Lots of pens. My duffel bag was almost full, but I still needed a few more things.
I carefully stepped to the door and peeked across the hallway to make sure L.B.’s door was still closed. Sticks clattered together, followed by L.B.’s distinctively annoying cheer. I gently closed my door. From my dresser, I quietly pulled out four of my best dinosaur underwear, folded them and packed them in my duffel bag too.
Chapter 8
(SCIENTIFIC) ADVENTURE AWAITS
Tuesday, July 2, 8 a.m.
Conditions: Warm, dry and a chance of dinosaur spotting
“Very beautiful day to start our trip!” Haji said happily as he slid the van door open.
Hammy winked at us and she plunked down her large handbag into the footwell of her seat in the middle row before she awkwardly got into the minivan.
“This will be quite an adventure!” L.B. chirped, smiling.
They had left a pile of suitcases and a large cooler by their front door. Dad struggled to stuff all of Hammy and Haji’s suitcases into the back of the van among our suitcases, but, like a jigsaw puzzle, everything fit eventually and we headed out to the highway.
Around my seat in the back row I had a whole setup. A soccer ball at my feet, a few books to read, the Royal Tyrrell newsletter, a magnetic version of checkers, my DoodleBoard, a bottle of water, pencils and my crisp new journal. When we started driving, I flipped the pages around the coil and the paper gave off a crack noise, so I knew it was the first time the notebook had ever been opened. It felt like the start of something great. I wrote “Environmental Observations” across the cover page. This entire journal was going to be devoted to what I saw and what I learned on this trip. I didn’t even pack my small coil notebook in my left pocket. It wouldn’t be big enough to hold everything I was going to be seeing and doing.
On the highway, I started to observe my surroundings. I made some notes:
Trees. Douglas fir?
Mountains.
Rocks. Assorted granite.
Trees. Hemlock?
Farms. Corn.
Trees. Spruce?
Hammy is snoring.
Haji is also snoring.
More rocks.
I just stared out the window for a while. It didn’t take me long to figure out that British Columbia is huge and a minivan can sometimes feel very small.
I tapped my pencil on the edge of the notebook, looking for new observations to make. Nothing. Finally, I got so bored I took a deep breath and decided I couldn’t hold out any longer.
“Want to play hangman?” I asked L.B. cautiously. Talk about a new low. Asking L.B. to play with me. What I wouldn’t have given for a tablet right now.
“Of course!” she replied happily, putting her book away.
I pulled out my DoodleBoard. I guess we could have used paper, but the DoodleBoard was the perfect thing for quick games. You could write on it with a special pen, or even a fingernail would work. When you were done, you just pressed a button to erase what you wrote.
“What’s the topic?” I asked her.
“Different coding languages?” she suggested.
“I only know, like, two of those,” I said.
She furrowed her brow. “Okay, South American lakes?”
“I don’t know any!” I said, exasperated.
She turned her head and stared at me. “Petey, may I suggest you pick the topic?”
“Fine,” I muttered. “Sports.”
“Okay.”
I drew out the hangman’s gallows. Not a simple one, but a three-dimensional one. Since we had nothing but time, I also drew a rope.
L.B. smiled at it. “An unconventional approach to a classic game. I like it!”
“Whatever. Are you ready?”
“Petey, I have been waiting patiently for several minutes while you drew your very detailed hangman’s gallows. Are you aware that it will be erased after this round?”
I gave her my best stink eye. Then I drew six perfectly spaced dashes.
L.B. looked at the screen for about four seconds.
“Soccer.”
“You didn’t even guess any letters! Don’t you know how to play hangman?” I shouted.
“Am I right?”
“Yes! But that’s not the point.”
“Aigoo, why so loud, Peter?” Hammy said testily. I had woken her up. Since getting in the car, she had slept most of the way.
“Sorry, Hammy. L.B. doesn’t know how to play hangman.”
“You need to choose words that aren’t so obvious!” L.B. told me as she crossed her arms in disgust. “Try to not pick the sport you play at school every day.”
I dramatically clicked the board so that my gallows disappeared.
“Fine!” I thrust the DoodleBoard at her. “You have a turn!”
“Topic! Influential mathematicians!” she said loudly as she drew out four dashes
, a slash to indicate a word break, and six more dashes. She set up her crudely drawn gallows with crooked, uneven lines and waited.
“Oh, I like that topic!” Dad smiled at us through the rearview mirror.
I didn’t know any of those either. I ripped the board out of her hand and said, “I’m not playing anymore.”
She frowned at me and then roughly pulled a dictionary from the seat pocket in front of her, opened it up and pretended to read.
I clicked to erase what she had written. I turned my body away from her so she couldn’t see what I was doing. I drew another gallows. This time I drew a little girl with braids hanging from it. I’m not saying it was L.B., but it definitely could have been L.B. I smiled and clicked the board clean.
In a vortex of boredom. Time irrelevant
When Hammy woke up, she started rummaging around her large purse, the kind a lot of Korean grandmothers carry.
“Let’s listen to this.” She pulled out a CD and handed it to my mom.
“What is it?” Mom asked.
“Korean audiobook,” Hammy said.
“Korean audiobook sounds intriguing!” L.B. said.
I suppressed a groan. “You don’t even speak Korean,” I said quietly to L.B.
“It won’t stop me from enjoying it,” L.B. whispered back.
My mom put the CD in and said, “Maybe it’s time we all learned a little Korean!”
“Good luck,” Haji muttered.
Mom whipped around in her seat, like a mini tornado. “Why didn’t you ever teach me Korean, Dad?” Her voice had a harshness to it, like burnt garlic.
“I tried,” he said flatly. “More than once.”
“Well, you didn’t do a very good job!” she said. “I can’t even order food in a Korean restaurant.”
