In the tree ship, the older boy screwed up his face, and for a moment, Milton regretted his hasty self-renaming. Isle of Wild wasn’t the most popular game, but it had a devoted fan base. What if these tree-shippers had heard of Sea Hawk?
He was relieved when the boy let out a pshaw and said, “I doubt it. What’s your real name?”
“That is my real name,” Milton said, trying to insert as much certitude as he could muster into his voice. “Sea Hawk P. Greene.”
“Hey hey! I’m Gabe!” shouted the little boy, who was now shimmying up the ropes that served as the tree ship’s rigging. “And that’s Rafi! We’re brothers, and our parents are entomologists, and we got here last fall, whatcha think about that?”
Milton shifted his smile to Gabe, who was clearly the more good-natured of the two. “I think I’m very pleased to meet you, Gabe,” he said. “And antomologists.” The word was vaguely familiar, but Milton couldn’t quite place it. “So they know about … ants?” he guessed hopefully.
Rafi let out another noisy exhalation. “It’s entomologists,” he said, “and they know about all kinds of insects. They would be studying the Incredible Symphonic Cicada here, except that stupid vine is in the way. Before this, we were in the Florida Keys for Schaus swallowtail butterfly research, and before that it was coffee berry borer beetles in Puerto Rico.”
“A family of island-hopping scientists,” Milton said admiringly (although he absolutely could not fathom why anyone would choose to study bugs). “How extraordinary!”
Rafi’s face unscrunched slightly, but he didn’t completely lose his captain-of-the-ship bearing. Milton wondered if he should offer some sort of tribute or perhaps kneel. He settled for taking off his hat and holding it over his heart. “Now that I’ve identified myself, may I please board your vessel?”
“Where’d you come from though?” Rafi asked, ignoring Milton’s question.
“The Mariana Trench?” guessed Gabe, who was now hanging upside down from the topmost rope (Milton felt queasy even looking at him). “A volcano? Space? Another dimension?”
“I’m staying with my uncle, Dr. Evan Greene,” Milton replied. “Maybe you know him?”
Rafi plucked one of the red banyan fruits from the branch next to him and lobbed it toward the palm trees beyond Milton. “There are like three people living on this island,” he said. “Of course we know who he is.”
Milton watched as the boy let another fruit fly. It didn’t seem like a promising sign, those flying fruits. He was going to have to try harder.
“As it happens,” Milton said, putting his hat back on, “I too am a scientist. I’m a naturalist. I, uh, I’m here doing a—a nature survey for the Flora & Fauna Federation.” He pulled his field journal from his pocket and waved it around as proof. “Maybe you could help me? We could—we could do it together.”
“I’ve never heard of the Flora & Fauna Federation,” Rafi replied. “And I bet I know more about nature and biology stuff than you. I bet Gabe knows more than you.”
“I do know a whole, whole lot,” agreed Gabe, who was balancing on the railing like it was a tightrope (Milton had to avert his eyes). “And I’m a WordSmith! I’ll help.”
“Thank you, Gabe,” Milton said. “I admit this is my first field expedition, but I can already tell that the Lone Island is a truly magnificent place. I’m sure you both agree.”
“This island is maaagic!” Gabe sang out.
But Rafi was yanking even more fruit off the branch. This time he flung them at a tree that was much closer to Milton than he would have liked. “This island is definitely not magic,” he said. “There are vines everywhere, there’s hardly anything to do, and the only other kid sits in trees reading all day. We’re leaving at the end of the summer, and I can’t wait.”
“You’ll be pleased to know that I don’t like tree-climbing or reading,” Milton told him. “And I’m looking for a friend.” He smiled his friendliest smile.
Rafi scowled, his lips pursed out like a grumpy duck. “Oh, goody,” he said. “It’s my lucky day. Dr. Bird Brain P. Greene has arrived.”
Bird Brain. Milton actually stumbled forward, as if that great, invisible hand had followed him across the Atlantic just to give him another shove. “Oh, I’m not a doctor!” he said, too loud now. “Not yet anyway, although I do have quite a few areas of expertise.”
“I don’t need your expertise,” Rafi replied, his voice louder too.
“My hope is to discover some brand-new species this summer, and with your assistance—”
“I’m not assisting anyone, Bird Brain,” Rafi snapped.
Then he snatched up another very ripe, red fruit, and the force of the movement shook the tree limb so hard that a whole fruit shower came raining down.
Right onto Milton. One of them exploded on his explorer hat.
“So long, then!” Milton cried.
He turned and fled.