Striker Jones: Elementary Economics
for Elementary Detectives
Second Edition
By Maggie M. Larche
Copyright 2011 Maggie M. Larche
Chapter 1: Shark Showdown
It was late August when Striker Jones and his best friend, Bill Flannagan, were at the beach for one last day of summer fun. With a new school year starting the next day, they decided to commemorate the end of summer the best way they knew how.
“Let’s dig a hole,” said Striker.
“You’re on,” said Bill.
They set to work hollowing out a crater in the white sand as the sun beat down on their heads.
“I’m not stopping until we hit water,” said Bill, raking a pile of sand with his hands.
“Unless it’s for ice cream,” said Striker.
“Or girls,” added Bill.
Striker laughed. “Deal.”
The two boys worked in a comfortable silence, occasionally whistling or telling the odd joke or two. They’d been best friends for years, and digging a hole had become one of their yearly traditions. They each had their own separate part to play. Striker was of medium height, so he would loosen the sand. Meanwhile, Bill, who was very tall, would shovel the sand out of the hole.
They had made it down about two feet, when Striker looked up and noticed another friend at the beach—Zack Marcus. Zack was the same age as Striker and Bill and was scheduled to be in their class during the next year.
Usually, Striker thought Zack was a pretty normal guy, but right then, he was doing something rather peculiar in the water. Zack was standing where the beach pier jutted out into the water. The water was a little rough there, yet he wasn’t paying any attention to the waves crashing around his shoulders. “Not the safest spot to be daydreaming,” thought Striker, when he noticed that Zack was staring intently at something he held in his hand.
“Look,” said Striker to Bill, where he was lying down on the sand to reach deeper into the hole. “Zack is here, and I think he found something.”
Bill raised himself up on one elbow. “What’s he got?”
“Dunno,” said Striker. “But he’s coming back to shore. Let’s ask him.”
Out in the water, Zack was working his way onto shore, fighting the waves that kept breaking and threatening to knock him over. A few minutes later, Zack reached the beach near Striker and Bill. He flopped onto his back, breathing heavily from the trek.
“Hey, Zack,” called Bill. “Whatcha got there?”
Zack rolled over so that he could see Striker and Bill. “Oh, hey, guys.” He sat up and brushed the sand off his stomach. “Look what I just found in the water!” He held out his open palm, in which lay a brown, pointy rock.
Striker squinted in the sun to see the object better.
“Wow,” he said. “Looks like an arrowhead!”
“Yep,” said Zack with a grin. “Isn’t it awesome?”
“Cool!” said Bill. “Can I see it?”
“Sure,” said Zack, handing over the rock. “I bet it’s really old. It was probably even made by Indians.”
“But how did it end up in the ocean?” asked Bill.
“Well,” said Zack, “my dad told me once that lots of the rivers around here run into the ocean. So, maybe this was just washed in from somewhere inland.”
“Makes sense,” said Striker.
“You know,” said Bill, turning the stone over in his hands, “I’ve always really wanted one of these. Would you be willing to make a trade?”
“A trade?” asked Zack, raising an eyebrow. “For what?”
“Well…” Bill paused, thinking. “How about that Swift Rogers baseball card you’ve been asking me about for so long?”
Zack sat straight up. “Really?” He seemed surprised that Bill was making such a valuable offer.
“Totally,” said Bill. “I love Indian stuff.”
“You’ve got a deal, mister!”
“Cool. I’ll bring you the card tomorrow at school.”
The two boys shook on it, and Striker and Bill went back to digging their hole.
One hour later, the hole was so big that they could both stand up in it and just barely see over the side.
“I’ve gotta say,” said Bill, inside the hole, “we’ve dug some awesome holes, but I think this one might be the biggest.”
“I know,” said Striker, standing next to him. “We finally hit water!” And it was true—there was a little puddle of water at their feet from the ground. “Let’s see if we can get it even deeper.”
“Ok,” said Bill, “but first, I’m going to dunk in the ocean. It is so hot out here!” He climbed out of the hole and brushed the sand off of himself. “Be right back.”
Striker squatted down in the hole and began using his hands to loosen the sand.
Just as he was thinking he might need a bucket to finish the job, he heard someone talking nearby. It sounded like Zack.
“Uh oh,” Zack was muttering quietly. “Not over there.” Suddenly, Zack raised his voice to a yell. “Bill, um, Bill! Don’t go over there!”
“Why not?” Striker faintly heard Bill’s voice come drifting back from across the water.
“Because… um, because,” Zack yelled, “because there’s… a shark!”
Striker sat up in surprise.
“What?” Bill called back.
“I said, SHARK!” yelled Zack.
This time Striker sprang into action as did the twenty or so other children who had been swimming nearby. Striker half jumped and half climbed out of his hole while the many swimmers all made a mad dash for shore.
When Striker appeared beside Zack so suddenly, Zack gave an impressive jump of surprise.
“Striker?” he almost shouted. “Where’d you come from?”
“I was in the hole,” said Striker. “Where’s the shark?” He peered out at the water.
“Oh, the shark?” said Zack. “He was, um, over there by the pier where Bill was. I spotted his fin coming out of the water.”
“Wow,” said Striker, “it’s a good thing you were watching!”
Bill had just emerged from the water at a swift run.
“Geez!” he wheezed out. “That was the fastest I’ve ever moved in my life!” He leaned over to catch his breath as swimmers dashed by them. “Thanks, Zack! I really appreciate you sounding the alarm!”
“Oh, no problem,” said Zack. “Really, it’s no big deal.”
“No big deal!” said Bill. “You could have just saved someone’s life!”
“I still haven’t seen the shark though,” said Striker. “Where did you say it was?”
“Right by the pier,” said Zack, pointing. “We should probably all stay away from there for the day.”
“Away from the pier?” asked Bill, laughing. “How about away from the water? I know I’m not going back in today!”
“Well, yeah,” said Zack. “That, too.”
Striker gave Zack a questioning look. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “If there was a shark, we’d definitely want to stay away from the pier… If…”
“What do you mean, if?” asked Bill.
Striker looked at Zack, who was now staring guiltily down at his bare feet in the sand. For a moment, Striker did not say anything, until he announced, “Well, I got pretty sandy digging that hole. I think I’ll go in to wash off.”
“You mean, into the water?” asked Bill incredulously. “You can’t do that! It’s not safe!”
But Striker had already dived in.
Was it safe?
Solution
When Zack repeatedly insisted that everyone should definitely stay away from the pier, Striker remembered something else about that area. That was where Zack had been when he’d found the arrowhead.
Striker knew that when someone is trading something, he’s in a much better position if whatever he’s trading is hard to get. Luckily for Zack, arrowheads are very hard to come by, so he was able to make a pretty good trade—the arrowhead for the baseball card. But, when Zack saw Bill getting close to the pier, he panicked. What if his arrowhead wasn’t the only one? What if Bill found one too? Then, he wouldn’t have been able to trade for the baseball card.
So, Zack panicked and yelled the first thing that came to his mind—shark.
When Striker jumped into the water, Bill had been only seconds from going in after him to save him. But just as Bill was about to take off, Zack stopped him and told the truth. He had only pretended to see a shark.
Zack obviously felt very bad about causing so many people to run scared from the water. So though he offered repeatedly to cancel the trade, Bill decided to keep the deal they had made. The next day, they switched, the baseball card for the arrowhead, and each was happier for it. But after that exchange, Bill didn’t propose any more trades with Zack. Just in case.
Chapter 2: The Missing Key
Striker shuffled into the classroom with the rest of his classmates after music class. He was feeling cranky, not because he was back in school after a great summer, but because music class had taken a turn for the worst. To his horror, Striker had been the unlucky boy to get picked for a solo that morning.
“During the first week of the year, too!” he thought. “Not a good start.”
Now, Striker was good at many things. He was a decent soccer player, was excellent at cards, and could wiggle his ears. But he was no singer.
Of course, he had launched into the solo anyways—Striker was never one to disobey a teacher, especially not Ms. Harper, the music teacher, who was young and pretty—but it had only been with the greatest embarrassment. He cringed as he reached his desk, remembering one particularly bad high note he’d just barely managed to squeak out.
The boy sitting next to Striker, Ralph Johnson, noticed his expression and laughed. Striker had known Ralph for years. They’d been neighbors, and enemies, since they were five years old. Striker had been very disappointed to discover that Ralph was not only in his class this year, but was assigned to sit next to him.
“Hey, that was some show, Striker!” laughed Ralph, pushing up his glasses. “But I don’t think I’d sign on with a band just yet. Unless it’s a bunch of yodelers!”
Striker rolled his eyes but stayed silent. He would have liked to think of something clever to say back, but secretly he agreed with Ralph. So, he turned his back to him and tried to distract himself from Ralph’s snickering with a conversation his teacher, Ms. Peters, was having with her teacher’s aide, Laura.
“I’m going to run get a soda,” Laura was saying. “Do you want me to grab you one too? It’s almost lunchtime.”
“Thanks,” said Ms. Peters, adjusting her ponytail. “That would be great. Hold on and let me give you the fifty cents.”
Ms. Peters gave some change to Laura and requested a Dr. Pepper.
“No problem,” said Laura, walking to the teacher’s desk and picking up a key. After turning from the desk, she almost bumped into two visitors to the classroom. One was a girl with two long red braids down her back whom Striker had never seen before. Behind her stood the principal.
“Ah,” thought Striker. “Must be a new student. Well, at least it will take the attention off of me.”
Sure enough, moments later, Ms. Peters walked the new girl to the front of the room and signaled for silence. Striker was surprised to see that the girl didn’t look uncomfortable at all. He would have been shy in her position.
“Class,” said Ms. Peters, “I’d like you all to meet our new student, Amy Beckham. Can we give her a warm greeting?”
“Hi, Amy,” the class dutifully repeated.
“Hi,” replied Amy looking out at the room with her arms crossed.
Ms. Peters showed Amy to her seat, while the principal waved and walked out the door. Then Ms. Peters began their science lesson of the day. They were learning about different kinds of rocks, and she had examples to show them of each kind.
During the lesson, Laura returned, setting the sodas and the key down on Ms. Peter’s desk.
Fifteen minutes later, Ms. Peters announced that she had hidden several different kinds of rocks around the room while the students were at music class.
“There are enough rocks for each student to find one,” she said. “So, once you’ve found one, you’re to go back to your seat and try to identify what kind of rock you’ve got. Everyone understand?” The class nodded. Striker felt the students around him tensing for action, and he hid a laugh as he watched his friend Bill tighten his shoelaces.
“Ok, then,” said Ms. Peters. “Try not to get too wild,” she added, looking pointedly at Ralph. “Ready? Go!
All the students jumped up, but Striker dropped to the ground and started searching under the desks around him. Just when Striker’s hand had closed over a grey stone he’d discovered under Bill’s backpack, he heard Ralph shout, “I found one,” from the direction of Ms. Peters’s desk. He looked up to see Ralph crawling out from under the teacher’s desk, holding a white, shiny rock.
Striker and Ralph both returned to their seats to examine their rocks. Several people were still looking, including the new girl Amy, but one by one, everyone returned to their seats and tried to classify their rocks. Striker had just decided that his rock must be sedimentary, when Ms. Peters announced that time was up.
“It’s lunchtime,” she said. “I hope you’ve figured your rock out, because we’re going to discuss them when we get back.”
The students all jumped out of their chairs and lined up at the door.
“Let’s go,” said Ms. Peters, leading the students into the hall.
Nobody noticed that something was missing from the teacher’s desk.
In the cafeteria, all the students scrambled for good seats. Striker hurried to get a seat beside Bill and found himself across the table from Sheila Meyers, a short girl with blue eyes. Striker thought Sheila was easily the prettiest girl in school, though of course he never would tell anyone else that.
“This is more like it,” he thought. “Maybe my day’s going to get better.” He opened his lunchbox. It contained one non-fat granola bar and a bologna sandwich.
“Or maybe not,” he thought with a sigh.
“Hey,” said Sheila, breaking into his thoughts. “You can sit with us if you like.”
Striker looked up confusedly, fighting the waves of nervousness he got whenever Sheila said anything to anybody. Who was she talking to? He turned in his seat and saw the new girl Amy standing behind him.
“Thanks,” she said to Sheila, sliding into the open seat next to Striker. “I never know where to sit on the first day.”
“You never know? Why, do you switch schools a lot?” asked Bill, leaning around Striker.
“We usually move about once or twice a year,” she said. “My dad transfers a lot for work.”
“Wow,” said Sheila, “that is a lot.”
Striker thought, “That explains why she wasn’t nervous this morning.”
“It’s not a big deal,” said Amy to Sheila. “Besides, we’re actually supposed to stay here a while. So I guess you’ll all have to get used to me.”
They all laughed.
Bill pulled out his lunch consisting of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple, and baggie of saltine crackers.
“Crackers?” he said. “I think my mom forgot to buy food. This lunch is kind of scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
“It’s better than mine,” said Striker. “Hey, I dare you to eat all those saltines at once.”
“No way!” said Bill. “I’d never make it without
a drink, and,” Bill peered into his bag, “it looks like my mom didn’t pack one. She definitely forgot to go grocery shopping.”
“Why don’t you buy one from the drink machine?” asked Amy. “I thought I saw one in the hallway.”
“I wish I could,” said Bill. “A soda sounds good. But I don’t have enough money with me. The machine costs 75 cents, and I’ve only got 60.”
Amy put down the sandwich she’d been about to take a bite of. “You’ve got 60 cents?” she asked.
Bill nodded.
“I tell you what,” said Amy. “You give me your 60 cents, and I’ll get you a soda.”
“But it’s not enough!” said Bill.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Amy. “Consider it a gift from the newbie.”
“Well, ok,” said Bill, doubtfully, “but I want to pay you back tomorrow.”
“Sure,” shrugged Amy. She held her hand out for Bill’s money, which he gave her, and then headed out the door of the cafeteria.
“Wow,” said Sheila. “That was really nice of her.”
“I guess,” said Striker thoughtfully.
Amy came back a few minutes later holding a can of soda. She passed it on to Bill.
“Thanks!” he said.
Amy just smiled.
“And now,” said Bill to Striker, “I believe you dared me to eat all these saltines…”
After lunch, the students were seated back in the classroom. Most were rolling their rocks back and forth across their desks, until Ms. Peters stepped to the front of the class.
“I’m glad to see you’re all so excited to get back to work,” she said with a smile, “but first, we’ve got some business to take care of. It seems that during the rock search, a few things got knocked off my desk. I’ve found most of them on the floor, but one thing is still missing—the key to the teacher’s lounge. Let’s all take a minute to look around the room please. I know it must be in here somewhere, and it’s important that we find it.”
As the students pushed back their chairs to join in the search, Bill walked over to Striker.
Striker Jones_Elementary Economics for Elementary Detectives Page 1
