Fish Finelli Book 1: Seagulls Don't Eat Pickles (3 page)

“Oh,” said T. J., chewing on some licorice. “Wonton soup’s okay, but I like egg rolls better.”

“The point is that these coins were made in China,” I said.

“They’re still gold, though, right?” He winked at me.

“Not real gold,” I said. “Plastic molded and painted to look like gold.”

T. J. ate the rest of his licorice while he digested this information. “But just because they’re plastic doesn’t mean they’re not treasure, right? ’Cause I sure don’t want to eat this stinky old baseball cap.”

Are You
Captain Kidding
Me?

The boat was anchored at the foot of the Captain’s dock. It’s an old whaler that needs some work and a new motor, which is why I’m saving up for the Seagull, but it’s light and fast and can hold a lot of weight. The Captain says a whaler can still float after taking a thousand rounds of weapons fire, and can even run if it’s cut in half. (Of course, you have to have the half with the motor.) He says I can have it, once I get my Boating Safety Certificate next month when I turn ten and learn how to navigate with a compass. Then he’s going to give me the same test his dad gave him, like, a hundred years ago, before whaler boats were even invented.

Everyone stopped by the dock. It goes all the way out to Whale Rock, right by the cove, so you can see all the boats going by. It’s just about my favorite spot in the world. I walked around the back of the house and looked up. The Captain wasn’t on the widow’s walk at the very top. Only his telescope was. His house is really old. It belonged to his grandpa’s grandpa, who was a whaler and used to go on voyages to hunt for whales. His grandma’s grandma used to walk on that very widow’s walk, looking for his ship.

“Let’s get this party started, Fish!” called Roger.

I ran up the porch steps and picked up a long wooden paddle that was hanging from a string off an old bronze gong. The Captain traveled a lot in his Navy days. He brought the gong all the way back from Madagascar (that’s an island in the Indian Ocean near Africa, by the way). I hit the gong with the paddle and jumped back.

BONG! BONG! BONG! I covered my ears. That thing is so loud, it makes my teeth rattle.

A minute passed and then another. POP! A bright red streak shot over our heads. It was a flare, just like the flares they used at sea when the Captain was in the Navy. The Captain loves to set off flares. Sometimes I think he forgets he’s living in a house and not on a ship.

The flare is our signal.

“Finally,” said Roger. “Let’s go, mateys.”

“Not so fast, Rog,” I said. “We need PFDs.”

“Oh, good, snacks,” said T. J. “I never heard of Peefdees. Are they a new kind of potato chip?”

Roger laughed. “They’re life jackets, dude, not part of any food group.”

“You mean Personal Flotation Devices,” I corrected. The one time I forgot, the Captain got so mad he actually shot off his cannon.

The Captain kept the PFDs in an old wooden shed by the dock. I pulled out two small ones for the girls and three bigger ones for Rog, T. J., and me. The Captain has lots of boating equipment from when his kids were kids. He always tells me so long as I keep things shipshape, I can use whatever I want.

The girls sat in the middle of the boat, waving their wands around. They looked kind of funny with fairy wings poking out of their PFDs. At least they were wearing the life jackets.

We pulled the boat out as far as the anchor would let it go. “I am Captain Terrible Teeth,” said Roger, sticking his plastic vampire teeth in his mouth. “I am here to rescue you ladies!”

“Aaahhh!” they screamed.

“You don’t stand a chance against Captain Kidd, the bravest pirate hunter of the seven seas,” I said. “Now get in and paddle, Terrible Teeth!”

Roger growled, but he hopped in and picked up the old oar we used as a paddle.

“My spyglass, Smee!” I nodded at T. J. “I think I see a sail to starboard.”

“I bet it’s a ship flying the Jolly Roger flag here to rescue me,” said Roger. “Get it? Jolly Roger? Roger!”

T. J. held out the telescope we keep in a bag under the seat. The box of plastic gold was right beside it.

“Not so fast, Terrible Teeth,” I said. “This gold is ours.”

“Oh, yeah, Kidd?” said Roger. He hopped up and brandished his sword. “I challenge you to a duel.”

“I accept,” I said, whipping out my sword.

“Hey, Kidd, I see a boat on the horizon,” said Roger.

“You just don’t want to duel, you coward.”

“I’m not kidding. A boat is coming all right.”

I made my way to the bow and looked through the telescope. Sure enough, a boat was coming toward us through the harbor. It was white with a bright green stripe and it was moving fast. The waves it made rocked our boat.

“To starboard!” I told T. J., so we could get a better look.

“Starboard?” asked T. J.

“Right,” I said.

“Right?”

“Right!”

“Right, what?” T. J. cocked his head, confused.

“Turn the wheel to the RIGHT!” I ordered. “That’s what starboard means.”

T. J. yanked hard on the wheel. The boat turned so fast, it almost flipped over.

“Aaahhh!”

Roger whistled. “Check out this baby! I bet she’s got twenty horsepower!”

“What do horses have to do with it?” asked T. J., popping a jelly bean in his mouth.

“I bet they’re magic horses,” put in Feenie.

“Horsepower isn’t magic, it’s a measure of power,” I said. “See, if the motor is twenty horsepower, it means it has the power of twenty horses. To really figure it out, you’d need to know the size of the horse and—”

“What the heck, Fish?!” interrupted Roger. “Who’s at the wheel?” He lunged for the telescope.

The boat rocked and the girls screamed. T. J. dropped his jelly beans into the water.

“Don’t, Shrimp!” said T. J., as Shrimp jumped for the bag. The boat rocked again.

I looked through the telescope. “There’s two of them,” I said. “And they’re in a brand-new whaler. I think it’s a Super Sport. Wow!”

It was the boat of my dreams. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Captain’s whaler, but it needs a lot of work. The paint is peeling, the hull is cracked, and the wheel is all rusty. It’s from way back in the 1970s.

“Pirates?” asked T. J. He sadly watched Shrimp gulp down his jelly beans.

“Nah, it’s Bryce and Trippy, I think.”

“Yep,” agreed Roger. “Bryce’s dad told my mom all about Bryce’s new whaler. He had it custom made and it’s got a stereo and a GPS and special fishing rod thingies and cup holders. Bryce named it
The Viper
. Hiss!” Roger opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue as if he were a snake.

Roger’s mom works as a real estate agent for Benedict Billings, the real estate king. He also happens to be Bryce and Beck’s dad.

“Look at the babies playing pirates!” said Bryce as soon as he spotted us. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses, so we couldn’t see his eyes.

“They’re sure not going to get far in that beat-up old boat,” said Trippy.

“Only babies play pirates,” said Bryce.

“Who you calling babies?” I asked. Just because Bryce was eleven, that didn’t mean he could talk to us like that.

“Yeah, we’re pirates!” said Roger, who was still wearing his plastic teeth.

Bryce and Trippy laughed so hard, they doubled over.

“Oh, yeah?” I said before I could stop myself. “This may look like a game to you, but it’s not. It’s a training exercise.”

“Huh?” said T. J. and Roger. They were both looking at me as if I had gone crazy.

“Training for what?” shot back Bryce. “To be pirates? I don’t think so.” He revved the whaler’s awesome brand-new Mercury FourStroke engine.

“Later, babies,” sneered Bryce.

“We’re pirate hunters, actually,” I said before I could stop myself. “Treasure hunters, to be exact.” My eye fell on the plastic box of gold. “And we’re . . . uh . . . looking for Captain Kidd’s treasure.”

CAPTAIN KIDD
(c. 1654–1701)

William Kidd, an excellent mariner, was hired by King William III of England to hunt down pirate ships and take their treasure. Some people thought he was a pirate, so he was put on trial in London. According to legend, he stopped at an island to bury his treasure before being captured in New York. He was hanged at Execution Dock in 1701.

Bryce and Trippy laughed at us.

“No one’s ever found that treasure,” said Bryce. “Not even real treasure hunters.”

“That’s right,” chimed in Trippy.

“So, how are you going to find it?” asked Bryce.

Everyone’s eyes were on me, even Shrimp’s.

“He’s just bluffing,” said Bryce. “Why are we wasting our time talking to some dumb fourth-graders who don’t even have a motor on their boat?!”

“I am not bluffing,” I said. “We are so going to find it.”

“How?” asked Bryce. He sat back down and put his hands on the whaler’s shiny silver wheel.

“Yeah, how?” asked T. J., staring at me with his mouth open so I could see all the chewed-up jelly beans.

“Maybe we know where Captain Kidd’s treasure map is,” I said. The words sprayed out of my mouth like water out of a whale’s blowhole.

“No way!” said Bryce.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“I dare you, Fish Finelli!” Bryce laughed. “I double-doggie dare you to find that treasure. You’re a big faker!”

“He is
not
a faker,” said Roger and T. J.

“Let’s see the map, then!” said Trippy.

“Yeah!” agreed Bryce, high-fiving him.

“It’s not here,” I said.

“Babies playing pirates is all you are.” Bryce revved the motor again. “Yo-ho-ho!”

“Just you wait, Bryce! You’ll see!”

“Oh, yeah?” shot back Bryce. “I bet you . . . ” His voice trailed off as he frowned, thinking.

“Your sunglasses,” Roger cut in. “Fish gets your sunglasses if he finds the treasure.”

“Okay,” said Bryce, his mirrored sunglasses catching the light as if they were on fire. I had to admit they were pretty cool. They were from Get Whooped, the surfer shop. And they were the kind real surfers wore.

“But if Bryce wins, what does he get?” said Trippy. “It’s gotta be something good.”

I looked at Roger. Roger looked at me. T. J. held up his almost empty box of Mallomars and shrugged.