Free Dinosaur Hideout by Judith Silverthorne Page B

And you’ll make new ones.”
    “No, I don’t ever want to leave this place. I won’t go anywhere without Gypsy! There must be a way we can stay.” Daniel grasped Dad’s arm and pleaded. He felt his mouth tremble.
    “We can’t think of any, Son, and believe me, we’ve tried,” Dad said softly, reaching to give him a hug.
    Daniel’s cheeks felt damp. “There must be something we can do,” he croaked out, releasing himself from Dad’s hold. Then he turned and headed out of the room.
    His heart raced and his throat ached as he trudged up the stairs, entered his bedroom and closed the door quietly. This couldn’t be happening! He took a few breaths, trying to calm himself. As he leaned against the door, he noticed the streak of moonlight that cut through the window and across the room, illuminating the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. He caught a sideways glimpse of himself, his face distraught and his dark hair standing on end where he’d swiped his hand through it several times.
    Reflected above the door frame where he stood was an old framed print of craggy hills with a broken stream trickling at their base. It seemed askew. How fitting, he thought. His whole life was about to be screwed up. And he was definitely a mess, too.
    Compelled by the distinct patterns of shadow and light in his room, he looked around over his unmade bed with its rumpled homemade quilt, and the clothes strewn across the floor. On his desk, his homework and dinosaur books lay scattered, one of the books held open with a banana peel. There was room for a computer, too, with an Internet hookup for his research, but that would never happen now.
    Nearby were his shelves, lined with more dinosaur books and replicas. The mobile of planets and stars hung overhead, and next to it, barely visible in the dimness, were photos of nature hung alongside posters of atmospheric layers, the solar system, and a geological time chart.
    Then his eyes lit on the scene through his window: the farmyard and the pasture beyond. The moonlight filtered softly over the yard. The tire swing dangled from the tree by the garage where he’d played for years. And the barbecue pit Dad had dug a few years back, filled with snow now, had been the site for the annual neighbourhood picnic.
    He’d spent hours walking over the pasture with his grandfather as he pointed out gopher holes, plants, nests, and footprints from foxes and deer. He’d helped his grandmother pick potato bugs off the huge garden near the dugout. He’d gone exploring on Gypsy’s back more times than he could count. And what about his precious hideout? How many hours had he spent alone out there with Dactyl?
    If he moved away, he wouldn’t be able to do any of those things ever again. How would he spend his weekends or after-school times? His family would probably end up in some small cramped apartment like his great-aunt Helen’s place in Regina, where he wouldn’t know anyone. He shouldn’t have complained about all the chores; now he’d have nothing to do to fill the hours.
    Cheryl’s fretful cries brought him back to the present with a jolt. Enough whining! He’d have to find a way to keep his parents from losing their land, that very land he was staring at. It meant everything to him.
    When his breathing slowed again, he opened the door a crack and strained to hear his parents in the dining room below. Their voices were too quiet to distinguish and he didn’t have the heart to hear any more. The faint smell of the roast chicken supper they’d had earlier wafted up and lingered in the hallway, reminding him that his normal, comfortable, predictable world was about to be turned upside down.
    He closed the door softly and climbed into bed, then curled up in a ball and pulled the covers over his head. He lay there trying to calm himself for several minutes. Then he peeked over the bedding and looked again out the hoar-frosted window at the stars twinkling overhead in the cold night