Kid vs. Squid Read Free

amused by my smart mouth or impressed by my tae kwon do belt.
    The girl’s raincoat flapped as she ran down two flights of wooden steps to the beach. I raced after her, hoping not to spear the soles of my feet with splinters. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, she jetted down the beach. The tide was in, but she expertlydodged the surf and scrambled across slick rocks and jagged pieces of driftwood.
    â€œHey!” I called out again. “That’s my
What-Is-It??
!”
    She didn’t seem to care. She kept on running.
    Uttering bad words, I picked my way across the jumbled shoreline. Something stabbed my foot. I’d stepped on a rock. Or maybe a shellfish. I was sure I’d broken the skin. I would probably bleed to death now, or at least contract some sort of rare crustacean disease. My whole leg would swell up to the size of a blimp. It would turn orange and purple and grow suction cups. Doctors would cut it off and Griswald would put it in a big jar and charge people three bucks to see it.
    I limped on for a while more, blood seeping between my toes, but it was no good. The girl was too far ahead.
    I watched her move nimbly over the obstacle course until she vanished in a nest of boulders.
    Now I’d never find out what the
What-Is-It??
was. I didn’t know why that should bother me so much, but it did.
    Wet and shivering, I dragged myself back to the boardwalk.
    At Griswald’s I treated my foot with rubbing alcohol, gauze, and more bad words. Sinbad kept trying to lick my toes. Either he wanted to comfort me, orhe was a vampire cat. I swept up the shattered glass and replaced the broken pane with cardboard and duct tape. Just as I was putting away the tape, Uncle Griswald came home. It was four thirty in the morning.
    His bloodshot eyes went wide as he took in the crime scene. “What happened?”
    â€œBurglar. Juvenile delinquent. The
What-Is-It??
is gone.”
    Griswald said bad words of his own. I’d heard all of them before, but never in that combination.
    He conducted a full inspection of the museum and found nothing else missing. The Mustache Fish and Little Mister Fishy Pants and the cash box all remained in their proper places.
    With a frown, he scratched his beard. “Why steal the
What-Is-It??
unless it’s valuable?” he muttered to himself. “Valuable or … important.” He looked more and more miserable as he thought about it. “If only I could remember …” It was only then that he noticed my bandaged foot. “Did you cut yourself on the glass?”
    I shook my head and told him how I’d chased the girl.
    Griswald whistled through his teeth. “That was foolhardy, Thatcher. Foolhardy, but very brave.”
    â€œIt wasn’t brave. She was short and skinny. Shewas practically dressed in rags. I should have just called the cops.”
    But Griswald let out a bitter laugh. “Wouldn’t have done us any good, lad. It takes more than a break-in to spur the police into action around here. I don’t know what it would take.”
    I was cold and tired and my foot throbbed and I wanted to be back home in Phoenix. If Griswald didn’t want to report the burglary, fine. It wasn’t my business. It wasn’t my decapitated head.
    â€œI’m going back to bed,” I announced, and I returned to my hammock. Hanging there like exhausted laundry, I closed my eyes and tried not to listen to the air whispering through the pipes.
    Stupid pipes.
    Stupid air.
    I could have sworn they were saying “Flotsam.”

CHAPTER 3
    Griswald stayed in the next morning, and he was still snoring when I woke up. Since he hadn’t left me a to-do list, I felt free to venture outside before dusting the devil fish and the snorkel dog. After giving Sinbad a blob of canned meat, I headed out the door.
    The boardwalk had come alive.
    A pair of little girls with pigtails led their mom into the candy shop and came out with