Go Big or Go Home by Will Hobbs Page A

true, except the rock he’d taken from the flower bed was my meteorite.”
    â€œThat’s the part they were fried about, you faking them out, not telling them the truth.”
    â€œWhat exactly did they say?”
    â€œThat you were a big liar.”
    â€œNice. I’ve really done it now. That’s the last thing Ineed, getting those guys mad at me.”
    â€œI’m sorry I brought it up. I thought you’d want to know.”
    â€œDon’t feel sorry, Crystal. It’s all my fault.” From the corner of my eye I saw Quinn looking at me like, You didn’t tell me about this whole episode, and why not?
    Still trying to explain myself to Crystal, I said, “I guess I didn’t trust that they’d give it back to me if they knew what it was. You think they would have?”
    She would only shrug. “I just hope they let it drop, Brady. Those guys can have long memories.”
    Tell me about it, I thought.
    Crystal said good luck, which was ominous. We got on our bikes and headed for home. We were five minutes down the Mickelson Trail, riding side by side, before I broke the silence. “I’m an idiot,” I said.
    Quinn didn’t want to argue the point. What he said back was “There went our invitation to see those guys demo their catapult.”

11
The Meteorite Expert Guy
    T HE NEXT MORNING WAS Monday, and the museum in Hill City opened at 9:30. We were waiting on the doorstep when it did.
    We resisted the temptation to buy any new fossils at the gift shop and headed into the exhibits. Towering above us, Stan the Tyrannosaurus rex was the star attraction. Paleontologists working out of this small but mighty museum had dug up as many T-rexes as the rest of the world combined.
    The swinging doors behind the saber-toothed tiger led to the labs and the offices. We were going to need some directions.
    Here came a man in a white lab coat with a cup of Grabba Java in his hand. He was moving fast and was headed where we wanted to go. Quinn spoke up, almoststepping into his path. “Excuse me. We’re looking for the meteorite expert guy.”
    I always want scientists to look like Einstein. This one didn’t look a bit like Einstein, but he did look eccentric. He was tall as a tree, his face was narrow as a brick, and he had a forest of white ear hair. The scientist stopped and bent down his head like a curious giraffe. “The meteorite expert guy,” he repeated thoughtfully, with a very British accent.
    â€œI think he’s here just for the summer,” I added helpfully.
    â€œMy, yes, a fellow by the name of Dr. Ripley Ripley. Can you imagine parents doing that to a child? Let me give you a tip—he doesn’t like his first name. He likes his last name just fine.”
    â€œShould we call him Dr. Ripley?” I ventured.
    â€œCall me Dr. Rip,” he replied with a grin.
    We shook hands, told him who we were and where we were from. “I’m from Oxford,” he told us, “known for shirts, shoes, and scholars. Now, how may I help you lads?”
    I slung off my backpack. “We brought a meteorite for you to look at, Dr. Rip.”
    â€œAh, so you think you’ve found a meteorite, do you? After our meteor shower, I suppose I’ll be looking at quite a few rocks these next few days.”
    â€œWe’re pretty sure this one’s the real deal,” Quinn said.
    Pretty sure? I thought.
    â€œThe light is much better in my office. Let’s go back and have a look, shall we? Follow me back through the warrens, middens, and dolmens, but stay close. You might get lost in geologic time.”
    Our scientist led us through a big room with a team of dinosaur techies at work. You could see the outlines of the huge fossil bone they were freeing from the surrounding rock with little picks like dental tools. Before long the professor was opening his office door for us.
    â€œSit down, lads, sit down.” We