Free Fish Finelli Book 1: Seagulls Don't Eat Pickles by E.S. Farber

ghost floated closer. His eyes blazed a terrible red and he let out a horrible moan. I could feel his stinky, rotten breath in my face.

    Suddenly, something warm and wet dripped down my chin.
    “Yuck!”
    My eyes popped open. It was Shrimp! His head was on the pillow beside me. He licked me again.
Ugh!
Dog breath!!!
    I sat up and looked around my room. It was morning. There was no ghost. I had dreamed the whole thing.
    I hopped out of bed and hurried over to the diorama. The map was still there, sticking out of the Silly Putty cave.
    Sure, I wanted to win the bet. Sure, I wanted to be a hero. But the right thing to do was to return the map to the Lioness. It wasn’t because I was scared of Captain Kidd’s ghost or anything. . . .

K-A-Y-A-K-S!
    "Read my lips: N-O!” Roger turned on the hose to spray the dead-looking holly bushes in front of his house.
    “Come on,” I said. “Your dad never uses those K-A-Y-A-K-S.”
    It was the next morning, and I had come up with the perfect way for us to get to Lyons Island to return the treasure map. I just needed Roger to say yes.
    “B-I-N-G-O!” said Roger. “My dad never uses them because they’re O-L-D.”
    His dad also didn’t use them because he doesn’t live here anymore. He moved to California right after Roger’s parents got divorced.
    Roger started singing that annoying song about the Redwood Forest and the Gulf Stream waaa-aaaa-ters.
    “Will you quit singing?!” I said.
    “I can’t,” said Roger. “My mom thinks my beautiful voice will make the hollies so happy, they’ll start to grow.”
    Mrs. Huckleton sure has some crazy ideas. “Doesn’t your mom know it’s the principles of photosynthesis that make plants grow, as in sunlight + water + carbon dioxide = photosynthesis = plants grow.”
    “Nah. She thinks it’s that little four-letter word—L-O-V-E.”
    “Roger, come on,” I said. “We have to get to Lyons Island pronto to return the treasure map. And K-A-Y-A-K-S are the way to go. I’ll water the hollies and do your chores for a whole week.”
    Roger shook his head, but he stopped singing. I could tell he was listening.
    “All right, I’ll do your chores for two weeks.”
    “Okay, so long as you sing to the hollies, too,” Roger said.
    “Deal,” I said. “Now, we better get going if we want to launch those kayaks before the tide rises.”
    We rode our bikes over to pick up T. J. and then stopped at the Captain’s to get some PFDs. After that, we headed to the Point. We walked along the beach to the dock. The place was almost deserted, except for some kids poking in the sand for crabs. Mr. Huckleton’s kayaks were tied at the end. Roger wasn’t kidding when he said they were old.
    “Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked T. J. He popped a piece of gum in his mouth. “These kayaks look kinda beat.”
    “I don’t want to say I told you so,” said Roger. “But I told you so.”
    “It’s not like we’re planning a cruise around the world,” I said, although I had to admit they didn’t look too good. “We’re just going across the bay. And it’s slack tide, so the water will be calm.”
    I stared at the line of scrub pines visible across the water. It was the closest Lyons Island came to Whooping Hollow. I knew from studying Uncle Norman’s topographic maps (detailed maps that show the man-made and natural features of an area) that it was exactly 1.15 nautical miles away. I pulled my backpack up higher on my shoulder. Inside was the treasure map, triple-sealed in plastic baggies.
    “Time to move out!”
    “Double dibs on the one-man!” Roger called. He pointed to the smaller kayak, which also happened to be in way better condition.
    “Okay,” I said. They were Roger’s dad’s, so it was only fair.
    T. J. and I pushed Roger off first. Then T. J. got in to steer while I pushed him off. WHOOSH! The kayak shot away.
    “T. J., stop paddling!” I splashed over to the kayak and pulled myself in. The kayak tipped