Bones (3 page)

I stare at Annabel. How is there room inside
her
head for all that information? And what normal person knows that stuff about giraffes and that weird-named dinosaur? Of course, Annabel's
not
normal, which is one of the things I like about her—normal is boring.

“Your girlfriend is smart,” Dr. Bob says with a smile. I blush violently, but I'm happy. Annabel
is
my girlfriend, and that makes me very lucky.

“I just remember stuff,” Annabel says.

“Like Pi to some ridiculous number of decimal places,” I say.

“Over four thousand now,” Annabel says proudly.

“
Now I fall, a tired suburbian in
liquid under the trees, drifting alongside
forests simmering red in the twilight
over Europe
.”

We all turn to stare at the pirate who has said this gibberish. He looks at Annabel.

“Pilish,” she says.

“No need to be rude,” Dr. Bob says.

“No,” Annabel says, her excitement rising. “He's speaking Pilish.”

The pirate nods, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“What's Pilish?” I ask, feeling left out.

“It's the language of Pi,” Annabel explains. “Count the number of letters in each word—
Now I fall, a tired suburbian
in liquid under the trees.
”

I concentrate. “Three, one, four, one, five…it's Pi!” I exclaim.

I'm happy that I worked it out, but Annabel is talking to the pirate. “That's from
Not A Wake
.”

“Yeah,” the pirate agrees. “The first book ever written in Pilish. The number of letters in each word in the book corresponds with the digits in Pi. It goes up to ten thousand decimal places.”

“That's so cool,” Annabel says. “I've always meant to read it but never got around to it. Have you read it?”

“Every word,” the pirate says. “It's awesome.”

Dr. Bob looks at me and shrugs. He feels as left out as I do. I am developing a dislike of the pirate who knows as much about Annabel's favorite topic as she does. How can I compete with that?

“But Dr. Bob, why couldn't this dinosaur be really smart?” pirate guy asks. “I mean, they evolved for over a hundred and fifty million years. And they would have kept changing if they hadn't all been killed sixty-five million years ago. Someone suggested that they might have evolved into something like us, walking upright, using tools—perhaps they even spoke to each other. Some animals today—chimpanzees, whales—have complex language. Maybe dinosaurs developed that before they died out, and we haven't found the right bones. Until now.”

“That's stupid,” I blurt out.

“Not necessarily,” Dr. Bob says. “It's extremely unlikely that's what we have here, but in science we must keep an open mind. If we dismiss an idea as stupid, then we won't recognize evidence if we see it.”

Now I feel stupid, and everyone is looking at me. “Let's go back to the farm,” I say to Annabel, keen to get out of here and take her away from pirate guy.

Annabel looks surprised. “I thought we were going to hang out here longer. Maybe even help out. I'd like to stay.”

“You can if you want,” I say, more harshly than I intend. “I'm going back to the farm.”

I climb out of the coulee onto the flat prairie and stop to catch my breath, hoping Annabel is following. She's not. I glance down, and my heart sinks as I see her crouched beside the pirate, looking at the fossil. Dr. Bob looks up at me and waves. I wave back half-heartedly and trudge across the fields toward the distant farmhouse. I feel horribly lonely, the only person in this vast flat land. Why did we have to come here?

Chapter Four

My trouble is that I can't let things go. If something bothers me, I worry at it like a dog with a bone. I convince myself that the worst possible outcome will happen. I'll sleep in and miss the exam, or say the most embarrassing thing possible in front of the whole class. Right now, I'm seeing Annabel and the pirate guy strolling along the street, holding hands and laughing at an obscure Pi joke that I can't understand. They look perfect together. They are even the same height.

I kick a clod of dry earth in frustration. It was probably dumb to leave them together back at the dig, but if I'd stayed, I would have said something else stupid. I wish we were back in the diner in Australia, eating fries and talking about shipwrecks. That would be simple—and no pirate guy.

The rough sound of an engine makes me look up. A beat-up red pickup truck bounces toward me along the edge of the field. I watch as it slides to a halt in a cloud of dust. A guy in a plaid shirt and oil-stained baseball cap leans out the open window. “Howdy,” he says. “Can I help you?”

“No, thanks,” I say. “I'm just heading home.” I nod toward the farmhouse.

“You one of them Australian kids staying with the hippies?” The hand-rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth bobbles as he talks.

“I'm Canadian,” I say, “but yes, I do live in Australia.”

“You been down at the bone place in the coulee?” he asks.

I nod and begin to walk away. I don't want to get into a conversation with this guy. Not only am I too miserable for small talk, but there's something about him I don't like. I think it's his eyes—they're small, set close together and shifty.

The dog that leaps up from the bed of the truck, barking, almost gives me a heart attack—for two reasons. One, I wasn't expecting it, and two, it looks like Humphrey Battleford's dog, Percy, from Australia.

“Careful. Ajax ain't fond of strangers.” The guy in the truck smiles at my discomfort.

Once my heart slows down, I see that Ajax is actually not like Percy. He's the same breed, a black Lab, but he's older, with a touch of gray around his muzzle. And his temperament is nothing like the friendly Percy's.

“Must be pretty near ready to lift that fella out,” the guy says.

I turn back. “What do you mean?”

“The fossil fella down in the coulee.” The truck driver removes the cigarette from his mouth and spits in the dust. “They been working on it long enough. I been following the blog that kid keeps. They ready to move it soon?”

“I guess so,” I say. For some reason, I am reluctant to give him details.

“What d'you reckon it is?”

“A dinosaur,” I say.

“Maybe so,” the guy says. “Word in town is that them bone guys have found a smart dinosaur, maybe even an alien or some such. They're keeping quiet about it, but when word gets out, it's gonna change everything. Something like that'd be worth a buck or two.” He rubs his thumb and fingers together in the sign for money.

I stare at the man. “It's an alien,” I say. “His spaceship's parked down by the mall in town.”

For a moment, the guy stares at me, his jaw hanging open. Then he laughs. “That's funny.” He lets the clutch out and the truck jumps forward. I close my eyes and wrap my arm over my nose and mouth as the dust swirls around me. When it clears, I continue my miserable walk. That's two people now who have told me that Dr. Bob's dinosaur is special—smart or an alien or both.

“Where's Annabel?” Of course that has to be the first thing my Mom asks when I walk through the kitchen door.

“She stayed down at the dig,” I say as casually as I can.

Mom looks up from the counter where she's rolling out dough. “Everything okay between you two?” She's always had this incredible radar about relationships. The only couple it didn't work with was her and Dad.

“Yeah. Yeah. Everything's fine,” I say, reaching for a warm scone on the tray on the table.

“Just one,” Mom says. “They're a new recipe. Whole wheat, blackberry and ricotta. I don't want you spoiling your appetite for supper.”

“What's for supper?” I mumble through a mouthful of scone.

“Mac and cheese.”

“Mac and cheese?” This doesn't sound like the sort of thing that's cooked at the commune.

“Yeah,” Mom says, “with basil, broccoli and Gruyère cheese.”

“Oh,” I say. That sounds more like it. In the days with Mom, I've learned more about weird food than I ever thought possible. I've also promised myself not to ask what something is, because it always leads to a long explanation of why it's healthy. Not that I'm against food that's good for you, but I am going to be craving a burger by the time I go home.

“The scones will go well with it, and there's nettle salad.”

“Nettle salad?” I ask, forgetting my promise.

“Don't worry—they don't sting once they're cooked. They taste like spinach. Very rich in vitamins A and C and in iron, potassium and manganese.”

“I can't wait,” I say to interrupt the flow of information. “Who's the creepy guy in the red pickup? He was driving around the field as I was coming up from the dig.”

Mom grimaces. “That's Darren. He leases the field from us.”

“But there's nothing growing there,” I say.

“Last spring, Darren was full of all these ideas for growing genetically modified crops and getting rich. We pointed out the clause in the lease that said he could only use organic farming methods on our land and
GMO
s didn't fit the bill. He complained, but there was nothing he could do. He never got around to doing anything with the land—spends too much time with his no-good friends in the hotel bar. Still, it won't do the soil any harm to sit fallow for a season.”

“He seemed interested in the dinosaur bones,” I say. “Thought they belonged to an alien.”

“Darren's a couple of nickels short of a dollar, if you ask me.” Mom brushes the flour off her hands, comes around the counter and envelopes me in a hug. “I'm so glad you came to visit,” she says when she lets me go. “I've missed you. I thought it would be years before I saw you again. Are you settling in okay?”

“I am. School's weird. They're strict, and we have to wear uniforms and stuff, but everybody is nice.”

“Keeping your grades up?”

“I am,” I say with a smile. “You know me—solid B student.”

“You'll do fine,” Mom says. “As soon as you find something that interests you.” She walks back to the sink and begins washing the baking tools. “I'm so glad you brought Annabel with you. She's a lovely girl, and that makes you a lucky boy.”

“I have to go,” I say, standing up. The last thing I want is for Mom to ask too many questions. “I promised I'd email a couple of friends about the dig.”

On the way to my room, I look out over the field. Darren's truck is parked at the far end, but there's no sign of Annabel.

Chapter Five

Annabel returns to the farmhouse in the late afternoon and is chattering with excitement about the dig. “They've finished plastering the top of the big fossil. They should be able to turn all three pieces tomorrow and plaster the bottoms. The day after, they'll be ready to move them back to the museum. It means working on Sunday, but Dr. Bob doesn't want to leave them exposed longer than necessary.”

I'm trying to hide my worry about her and the pirate guy and act cool.

“Does he think they might get stolen?” I ask.

“I think so. The pieces are not huge—three or four guys could move the biggest one—and it's downhill to the end of the track where you can park a truck.”

“Can't he leave a guard on it?” I say.

“I doubt Dr. Bob's budget would cover hiring a security company.”

“Maybe a summer student could camp there and keep an eye on it.”

“That's an idea,” Annabel says. “I'll mention it to Greg and see what he thinks.”

“Who's Greg?” I ask, although I'm sure I know the answer. This is not the way I wanted the conversation to go.

“The guy with the pirate bandanna. Though everyone calls him Jack Sparrow. When they do, he always replies, ‘
Captain
Jack Sparrow,' like Johnny Depp in
Pirates of the Caribbean
.”

“I know. I've seen the movie,” I say, bitterness creeping into my voice.

Annabel looks at me oddly and then goes on. “Anyway, he's interesting. His blog is cool—some great shots of the dig and the stages of the fossil being prepared. He says there's going to be a barbecue down by the Red Deer River tomorrow night. Want to go?”

“Did the creepy guy in the red truck show up at the dig?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. I need time to think.

“Darren? Yeah. You think he's creepy? He found the dinosaur in the first place. Apparently, he's quite the amateur fossil collector. He sells samples to some of the rock shops in town.”

“Just as well he didn't try and sell this one,” I say.

“Luckily, he recognized its importance and went to Dr. Bob.”

Darren being smart enough to recognize a fossil's importance strikes me as unlikely, but I don't say that. “He thinks the fossil's an alien.”

Annabel laughs. It's a sound I normally find captivating, but not in my present mood. “He mentioned that,” she says. “Greg says it's because Darren comes from a town called St. Paul in northern Alberta. Apparently, they have a
UFO
landing site there.”

I stare at Annabel. I don't know what to say. Here is the most rational person in the world, cheerfully talking about
UFO
landing sites.

“I don't believe in
UFO
,” she says when she sees my look. “But, like Dr. Bob says, you have to keep an open mind. Do you want to go and wander round town tomorrow? There's a huge
T. rex
by the river. You can climb up inside and look out its mouth.”

“Sure.” I shrug. “But we left the bikes down at the museum.”

“Maybe your mom can give us a lift into town. Didn't she say she was going to the market tomorrow?”