Chapter 11 #2
Maisie’s feelings softened as she watched him, his brow furrowed in frustration.
She always knew he had something special in him—something most people didn’t see.
Actually, no one. He had more heart than most people gave him credit for.
Definitely more than Pops gave him. “Fun fact. The average American throws out eighteen hundred pounds of trash each year. Five pounds a day.”
Frankie bolted upright. “That’s not a fun fact, Maisie. That’s cause for outrage. Eighteen hundred pounds is the weight of a small car.”
“Here’s another fun fact. Americans throw out over 40 percent of all the food we produce. That’s like buying three pizzas and just dumping one straight in the trash.”
“How is that even okay?” He threw up his hands. “Most of this stuff in here could be recycled, reused, or eaten. This dumpster is a gold mine of waste.” He bent over to fish around in it.
Maisie cocked her head, watching him. “You know, Frankie, maybe you should try and do something about it.”
Frankie shot her a quick look, then gave a half smile, though it was more exasperated than anything.
“Somebody should.” He put his hands on the edge and hoisted himself over the dumpster.
“You gave me an idea. I’m gonna shame America and start a dumpster diving campaign.
” He wiped his hands on a napkin and reached into his back pants pocket for his phone. “First thing to do is to document.”
“Hold it! Focus. We’re on the clock here. You can document another time. America’s garbage habits aren’t changing anytime soon.”
His face softened just enough to make her grin. “Right, right, sorry. The envelope.” He took a few pictures before pushing his phone back into his pocket. “Okay, point me to the next disgusting dumpster.”
She crossed the coffee shop dumpster off the list. Two down, thirty to go. She turned the page to see the map of dumpsters. “Next closest one is the lobster shack.”
Frankie groaned.
But they fell into a rhythm. Maisie kept her eyes peeled while Frankie pulled apart the garbage.
In the lobster shack dumpster, Frankie straightened up, holding a scuffed, camouflage-patterned backpack aloft like he’d just discovered the ark of the covenant.
“Now this,” he said, inspecting it with a critical eye, “is a find. Barely any holes. Zippers intact. Very cool.”
Maisie made a face. “You’re not actually keeping that, are you?”
“Why not? It’s got potential.” He flipped it open, sniffed cautiously, and then made a face. “Okay, so maybe it needs a little airing out. But it’s practically a free upgrade.”
“To what? Dumpster chic?” Maisie crossed her arms, watching as he stuffed it under his arm like some prized artifact. “Would you actually use that in college?”
He didn’t answer.
“Frankie, you are going to college this fall, right?” When he still didn’t answer, she peered over the dumpster. “Or aren’t you?”
“Who needs college?”
“You do!” She couldn’t believe this. “What happened?”
“Nothing! I just . . . didn’t get my application turned in on time.”
She watched him for a while as he kicked boxes to move them around in the dumpster.
She had a hunch how things had rolled out.
Frankie’s dad had a huge job that left very little time for his son.
Most everyone she knew had a mom who nagged them through each part of the college application process.
Frankie had no one. Her heart melted. “So what are you going to do?”
“Duh. Work as a seasonal ranger.”
“Frankie, it’s not too late. I can help you with your applications. I’m sure there’s a college that would accept you.”
“Why should I bother with college?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll be doing this kind of work for the rest of your life.”
Frankie shrugged, already back to rooting around. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll figure it out.”
Maisie wondered, though. But that topic would have to wait. There was a far more pressing concern. She leaned against the side of the dumpster. “Do you think we’ll be able to find the envelope?”
Frankie didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. I can’t believe Enzo stole it and then just threw it out. What a jerk.”
Maisie felt the weight of guilt settle again on her shoulders. This was her fault.
“Hey, cheer up. We’ll find it,” Frankie said, his voice suddenly gentler as he caught her eye. “We’re in this together.”
She smiled at him, more grateful than she could express. “Yeah. Together.” Her heart sang. The words hung between them, more meaningful than any treasure hunt.
As Frankie pushed himself out of the dumpster, he brushed off his hands and turned to Maisie. “I’m starving. I need something to eat before the next dumpster dive.”
She handed him a wet wipe from a little packet she’d bought for him when they’d passed an open store. “How can you eat when you’re stomping around in that garbage?”
“My stomach is made of iron.” He brushed his hands on the wipe. “Hey, Maisie, I was just wondering . . .”
If she wanted to go steady?
How old she should be before they got engaged?
What to name their future children?
Frankie tossed the dirty wipe into the dumpster. “Assuming Sophie is really over Enzo, how long do you think I should wait before asking her out?”
Maisie’s joy popped like a soap bubble in the wind.
Voicemail from Ranger Tim Rivers to Naki:
Naki, it’s Ranger Tim Rivers. Scout told me last night you aren’t going with them today—didn’t say why. Look, I’m starting to get concerned. Feels like this is turning into a wasted day, and we don’t have time to burn. Tomorrow’s Monday. That’s Chase Fletcher’s deadline.
If possible, I’d like you to return to the park and help wrap this up. I get that this is eating into your time, but we both know an unfinished article from Fletcher is just going to make a mess of things.
Call me when you get this. Except don’t call between 10:00 a.m. to 11:00 a.m. I’ll be in church.
Signing off.