Free Moonpenny Island by Tricia Springstubb

clean. She’s as tall as he is.
    â€œAnd who’s this?” His dark eyes twinkle, which is something Flor thought only happened in books. He grabs her hand and pumps it. “I’m Dr. Fife.”
    â€œFather, this is Flor.”
    â€œAnd are you native to the island, Miss Flora and Fauna?”
    â€œUmm, I guess so.”
    He shakes Flor’s hand for a century or two. She gets the distinct feeling that Jasper doesn’t bring people home every day.
    â€œYou look hungry!” he says. “Follow me!”
    The wooden steps creak. Dr. Fife’s socks droop around his ankles. Up, up, up they climb, to the top floor, where they step into a big room with a slanted roof and a tall window at either end. Beneath each window there’s an unmade bed. In the room’s center, chaos. A couch swamped with dirty dishes, and a long table buried under maps, rocks, rolls of strapping tape, a laptop, rocks, notebooks, a camera, wadded-up paper towels, rocks, spray bottles, tools, knives, and labeled ziplock bags. And rocks.
    â€œGive us a moment,” says Dr. Fife.
    He sweeps aside mugs and forks to make room on the couch. Meanwhile, Jasper pulls a ham out of the mini refrigerator and starts hacking it up. The sight sets Flor’s mouth watering. She didn’t eat lunch, and she loves ham.
    Ham, it turns out, is it. Ham and more ham, with a couple of slices of bread thrown in for a second food group. It’s like camping out indoors. Dr. Fife wolfs down a few chunks, then goes to the worktable. He chooses a rock and a teensy pick that reminds Flor of the one the dental hygienist uses to clean her teeth. Pick pick pick, till he switches to a knife, and then whittle whittle whittle. His movements are small and quick. The couch, the floor—everything’s covered with fine, stony dust. Something tells Flor there’s no mother in this picture.
    Dr. Fife shows her the rock. Tiny tunnels run through it every which way.
    â€œTrilobites,” he tells her. “Expert burrowers! Humble heroes of the remarkable Cambrian period.”
    Flor knows about trilobites. They resembled a cross between a beetle and a miniature armored tank and scuttled around in the mud at the bottom of ye olde prehistoric sea. When they took an all-school field trip to the Cleveland Museum of Natural History, Mrs. Defoe demanded they admire the dusty case of trilobites, the state fossil. Yawn! Snooze! The real stars of the show were the dinosaurs and the prehistoric sharks with teeth the size of bananas.
    â€œSo the trilobite’s your specialty?” she asks, trying to be polite, thinking, You can’t map the ways of the heart.
    It’s like Jasper’s father got plugged into a socket. She almost hears him start to hum. Yes, it is his specialty, and specifically the trilobite eye. Does she know the trilobite was among the very first creatures to develop eyes?
    Flor shakes her head. Wait. Does this mean there were once creatures without eyes ? A shudder goes through her.
    â€œThe wily Acaste , the lumbering Paradoxides , and the ubiquitous Phacops —they all evolved to have high-quality vision! And let’s not forget thoseentrepreneurs who developed eyes mounted on stalks. That enabled them to immerse themselves in sediment but still keep an eye out for predators.” Dr. Fife claps his hands. “ Literally keep an eye out!”
    â€œBut I thought all creatures had eyes,” Flor says. “I mean, I thought eyes were part of being a creature.”
    â€œSight had to evolve, just like everything else,” says Dr. Fife.
    â€œDo you know what evolve means?” Jasper’s deep voice makes everything she says sound like a lesson.
    â€œOf course I do! Like, we evolved from apes.”
    â€œWrong.” Jasper shakes her head. “A common misconception.”
    â€œYes, well. Our Flora and Fauna has the general idea.” Dr. Fife looks pained, either at Flor’s