We Give a Squid a Wedgie (23 page)

“What? Why do I have to go first?”

“That’s the plan.”

“You always make me go first; it’s not fair.”

“None of this is fair,” said Celia. “Just go.”

“Don’t worry, Ollie, we’ve got your back.” Corey winked.

“Don’t call me Ollie,” Oliver grumbled at him as he stood up with his arms in the air and walked across the beach toward Sir Edmund. “Parley!” he shouted out. “We give you … uh … parley! So no, uh, sneak attacks!”

Celia and Corey watched from the bushes at the edge of the beach.

“Sneak attacks? Me?” Sir Edmund acted outraged. “I am an honest explorer leading a mission of research and discovery! It is you who are sneaky, Oliver Navel. I don’t know how you managed to find this place, but I am sure you want to get home very badly. Perhaps your mother is there waiting for you now.”

Oliver scrunched his toes in the sand and tried not to look like he was hiding something. It didn’t really work.

“I see,” said Sir Edmund. “So your mother is here?”

“No,” said Oliver.

“Don’t lie to me, Oliver. I have known you since you were a child. I know when you are telling lies.”

“I’m not lying,” he lied. “And I’m still a child.”

“Well.” Sir Edmund stroked his mustache. “It doesn’t matter. Your father is certainly not here. My friend over there”—he pointed at Bonnie—“tells me that a pirate named Big Bart has your father.”

“So?” said Oliver, sticking his chin up defiantly.

“So how about I help you get him back?”

“Help us? Why would you do that?”

“Because you are going to help me too, boy.”

“I am?”

“You and your sister are going to find Plato’s map for me. I know it’s on this island. All you have to do is lead me to it.”

“What if we don’t know where it is?”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “You always do.”

“Not this time,” said Oliver. “We’re not helping you with anything.”

“You want to get off this island, don’t you?” said Sir Edmund. “There’s a volcano erupting.”

“Maybe we like it here.” Oliver shrugged, acting like he didn’t care about the volcano. “If that’s it, I guess we’re done parleying.”

“I suppose we are.” Sir Edmund smirked. “You know what that means, don’t you, boy?” His men inched forward, ready to pounce on Oliver.

“I do,” said Oliver. “It means there’s no truce and you are going to attack.”

“That’s right,” said Sir Edmund.

Sir Edmund nodded and two of his men rushed forward to seize Oliver. He jumped backward and the two men stepped after him. Suddenly, there
was a snap and then a whooshing sound as ropes snared around their ankles. They tripped forward and the ropes grew tight. Just like when Oliver and Corey set the traps off by the statues, bent trees whipped upright and the men were thrown into the air.

“See?” said Oliver. “We can attack too!” He turned and ran back to the tree line and into the bushes.

“After him!” shouted Sir Edmund. “And find the rest of his family and that teenager.”

Sir Edmund said the word
teenager
the way you might say “vomit sandwich.”

Bonnie and Janice and Ernest raced off with three more of Sir Edmund’s men, leaving only one man on the beach with Sir Edmund. Watching through binoculars from a treetop, Claire Navel smiled at how well her son had done.

So far, everything was going according to plan. Her children might just become great explorers after all.

OLIVER RAN PAST THE TREE
where his sister and Corey were crouched, leaping at the last moment. Janice and one of Sir Edmund’s thugs were right behind him.

“No use leaping like a gazelle, Oliver!” Janice called out. “You’re too slow!”

After Oliver passed by, Corey and Celia, who were crouched low to avoid being seen, pulled a vine off the ground, holding it tight. Janice tripped over the vine and the thug tripped over her, and they both crashed forward through a layer of big green banana leaves into a shallow pit, thick with gloopy mud.

Corey and Celia were up on their feet in a flash. They gave each other a quick high five and ran off in opposite directions.

Celia charged through the underbrush, heading
toward the rising edge of the volcano. She could hear someone chasing her, but she stayed low so it wouldn’t be easy for the adults to see which way she went. She ducked and weaved her way to the exact spot her mother told her to stop and then she stopped. She turned.

“You … have … nowhere … to … run,” Bonnie­ panted. Pirates didn’t do all that much running and she wasn’t used to it. But the rather intimidating man behind her was used to it. He rushed forward.

Celia smirked. The man looked up just in time to see a pile of rocks crash down on him from above. Bonnie flew into a rage before Celia could react. She leaped right onto the rock pile, climbing over the unfortunate soul beneath, and dove onto Celia, holding a big bowie knife. Celia crumpled underneath her and felt the woman’s knees press down on her chest, pushing her back into the hard dirt and black rock on the slope of the volcano.

“Good thing you’re just a child.” Bonnie slapped away Celia’s arms as they struggled to grab her. “You won’t bleed as much as a grown-up.”

“I’m not a child.” Celia bucked like a bronco underneath a rodeo rider. “I’m. A. Tween!” She ­
wriggled out from underneath Bonnie and slid forward to grab a rock.

Bonnie dove onto Celia’s back, grabbing her by the hair and lifting her up from the ground. She held her knife up to Celia’s neck.

“I never did understand what a tween is supposed to be,” Bonnie whispered in her ear. “Does it mean you’re too young for Corey Brandt to care about you but too old to cry for your mommy when I gut you like a fish?”

Celia shuddered. She felt the cold metal against the soft flesh of her throat. Then she heard a loud
thunk
and the knife fell to the ground beside her. Bonnie fell to the ground beside her too. Celia turned and saw her mother standing with a heavy piece of driftwood from Corey’s failed attempt at making a shelter.

“You never have to cry for me,” her mother said. “I’ll always be there. I promise.”

“Touching.” Sir Edmund appeared behind her. “But predictable.”

One of his men stepped out on the other side of Celia.

“You really should have seen this coming,” said Sir Edmund as his man raised a blowgun to his
lips and shot a dart right into Claire Navel’s arm. “Although I do suppose it’s your husband I usually poison, isn’t it? Too bad he’s not available at the moment.”

“You won’t get—” Claire Navel stepped toward him with her driftwood, stumbled once, staggered, and then fell flat on her face.

“The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry,” Sir Edmund muttered to himself. Celia didn’t know what he was talking about, and she didn’t care to.

She charged at Sir Edmund, fists raised, ready to punch the cruel little billionaire right in his big red mustache, but as she threw her punch she came up short and swung wide. She felt herself yanked backward by the waistband of her pants and lifted into the air by Sir Edmund’s goon.

“Celia Navel,” said Sir Edmund. “Are you ready to help your old friend Edmund change the world forever?”

It was hard to tell, but underneath his mustache Sir Edmund was wearing a very big grin.

OLIVER DIDN’T STOP RUNNING
until he got to the other side of the island, right where his mother told him to go. He was out of breath, but he knew more of Sir Edmund’s thugs would be right behind him. Ernest too. That was part of the plan.

He and Corey would distract them for long enough that his mom and Celia could get across the island, spring the trap on Ernest, and save the day. Then they’d all go steal Sir Edmund’s dinghy and use it to take Dad from the pirate ship while the pirates were still searching the island for ­Oliver and Corey and Celia.

After that, they’d take whichever ship they wanted and go home, leaving the pirates and Sir Edmund marooned as the volcano erupted. It wasn’t
a very nice plan, but they were up against some not very nice people.

Their mother had named the plan “the Island Intrigue.” Explorers loved naming things.

Oliver felt a pang of doubt as he heard crashing branches and the cruel oaths of Ernest and one of Sir Edmund’s goons from the Gentlemen’s Adventuring Society racing toward him.

“You!” Ernest yelled, stopping in his tracks when he saw Oliver. He motioned for the goon not to step any closer.

Oliver saw Corey sneaking off to the side, holding­ a rock at the ready, but he couldn’t see his mother lurking in any of the high treetops. It would probably take her a minute to get over here. She and Celia had to trap Bonnie first, and they’d probably need a second to rest, and Celia could be really slow sometimes. He and Corey would have to stall for time. His mother would be here soon. Oliver was sure of it. She would come. She had to.

“You sure you don’t want to come get me?” Oliver­ taunted.

“Don’t go any closer. There could be booby traps,” Ernest warned. “And I’m no booby.”

“You look like two big boobies to me!” Oliver stuck out his tongue.

Ernest seethed, but he didn’t move. He pulled out a pistol from his belt.

Oliver put his tongue back in his mouth. He got that seasick feeling again, even though he wasn’t on a boat. He felt strangely like taking a nap. It was amazing how much fear could feel like sleepiness. His whole world shrank around him. The barrel of the gun looked much larger than it could possibly have been. The trees and the sky all seemed smaller. Even the rumbling volcano in the distance lost its importance. All that mattered was Ernest and that gun.

“You, uh, you wouldn’t shoot an eleven-year-old,” Oliver said, losing his confidence. He thought about his sister. “Eleven and a half,” he corrected himself.

He managed a glance toward Corey. Why wasn’t he throwing the rock yet? The teenager crouched in the bushes, unmoving. Seeing him brought Oliver­ back to his senses. He couldn’t just give up. He couldn’t let Ernest win. He had to stall. His mother and his sister and his father were all counting on him. He had to get Corey to throw that rock.

Oliver flared his nostrils and bugged his eyes, trying silently to signal Corey. Still the teenager didn’t throw his rock. He tried waving his arms and moving his legs, hoping Corey would understand that he was trying to tell him to throw the stupid rock at Ernest before he got shot! This wasn’t television! He wasn’t secretly wearing a bulletproof vest that he hadn’t told anyone about.

“Why are you dancing around like that?” Ernest­ asked. “Is that supposed to make me pity you for being wrong in the head?”

Oliver stopped dancing. He looked over at Corey one last time, still frozen with the rock in his hand, motionless.

Of course Corey Brandt would let him down, Oliver thought. Of course Corey Brandt would betray him.

First he came between Oliver and his sister and now he was getting Oliver killed. In all his eleven and a half years, meeting Corey Brandt was the biggest disappointment he had ever experienced. And thanks also to Corey Brandt, it was going to be the last disappointment he would ever experience. He exhaled and let his shoulders slump, preparing for the end.

If he hadn’t been so focused on the barrel of ­Ernest’s gun, however, he might have noticed that Corey wasn’t throwing his rock because there was a pirate hiding just behind him with a knife to his back whispering for him not to move unless he wanted a hole where his heart should be.

“I guess you can shoot me now,” Oliver said, shrugging. What was the point of fighting? It dawned on Oliver that his mother wasn’t coming to the rescue. She’d let him down too. She’d vanished. Like always.

He wasn’t even twelve years old yet and he’d lost his father to pirates, his mother had abandoned him, his sister had betrayed him, and his onetime hero was about to let him get shot. Even the chicken he’d kidnapped was nowhere in sight. He felt more lonesome than he ever had before.

“I’ll shoot you when I’m ready, Oliver Navel,” said Ernest. “I want to enjoy this.” Ernest’s hand caressed the handle of his gun, then his arm straightened and his eyes widened. His mouth opened. He stepped slightly backward.