Dinos Are Forever Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Special Delivery

  Sheriff Joe

  Is There a Sidekick in the House?

  The Mad Scientist’s Lair

  Meanwhile, Back at the Jacuzzi

  Jo Schmo Has an Idea

  Dr. Dastardly’s Evil Plan

  The Schmomobile

  Simon and Ralph

  The Abandoned Warehouse District

  Every Superhero Needs a Hideout

  Dr. Dastardly

  Knuckle Sandwich . . . on Rye

  Mwah-ha-ha!

  The Re-animator Laminator

  ZAP!

  Volkswagens, Chevys, and Fords, Oh My!

  Halt Because I Said So!

  Put Me Down!

  Jo and Raymond to the Rescue

  Lofty Thoughts

  Sample Chapter from PINKBEARD’S REVENGE

  Buy the Book

  The Jo Schmo Series

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Text copyright © 2012 by Greg Trine

  Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Frank W. Dormer

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Harcourt is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhco.com

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Trine, Greg.

  Dinos are forever / written by Greg Trine and illustrated by Frank W. Dormer.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-547-76341-5

  [1. Superheroes—Fiction. 2. Grandfathers—Fiction. 3. Dogs—Fiction. 4. Middle schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. San Francisco (Calif.)—Fiction. 7. Humorous stories.]

  I. Dormer, Frank W., ill II. Title.

  PZ7.T7356Din 2012 [E]—dc23 2011041933

  eISBN 978-0-547-76385-9

  v3.1113

  Special Delivery

  Jo Schmo came from a long line of crime fighters. She knew that one day she too would wear a badge. But for now she was content to live the life of a normal fourth grade girl and do normal fourth grade things.

  Like riding her motorized skateboard.

  And trying to figure out which boys she had crushes on. It wasn’t easy. There were so many to choose from. It was only the first week of school, and already she’d made some pretty important decisions:

  Kevin had the best hair.

  Mitch looked spectacular in green.

  David had exactly seventeen freckles, which she absolutely adored.

  And that was just the beginning. She was also fairly certain that she liked Tom, Dick, and Harry.

  Skateboards and crushes—this was Jo Schmo’s life. At least it was before the mysterious package arrived.

  She knew it was a mysterious package for two reasons. First, that was what the deliveryman called it. “Mysterious package for Jo,” he announced.

  “Jo who?” Jo asked.

  “Jo Schmo.”

  Jo’s grandpa Joe lived in a shack behind the house. When someone asked for “Jo,” maybe they meant “Joe.” You had to find out which Jo it was—Jo or Joe.

  This time it was Jo.

  “That’s me,” Jo said to the deliveryman, and she took the package.

  The second reason she knew it was a mysterious package was the writing on the package itself.

  Mysterious Package for:

  Jo Schmo

  4893 Crimshaw Avenue

  San Francisco, CA 94102

  “Mysterious package,” Jo said. She held it out for her dog, Raymond, to sniff. You couldn’t be too careful about mysterious packages. It could be a bomb. On TV, dogs were always sniffing for bombs. Raymond gave the package the once-over with his nose, then looked at Jo in a way that said, “I detect snacks. Open it at once.”

  Jo tore open the package. Inside she found not snacks, but a red cape and a note from her uncle George.

  “I have an uncle George?” Jo asked her mom, who was standing nearby.

  Her mother nodded. “Yes, but really he’s my second cousin once removed.”

  “Why was he removed?”

  “We used to call him Stinky George. Need I say more?” her mother said.

  “Nope. I get the picture.”

  “Good,” her mother said, wrinkling her nose. She hadn’t heard from Uncle George in years. Nor had she smelled him. Which was kind of a good thing, if you think about it.

  Jo turned back to the note from her uncle.

  Dear Jo,

  I am retiring from my life as a superhero and have enclosed my cape. Use it well.

  Sincerely,

  Uncle George

  “Hmm . . .” Jo said. Her uncle was a superhero? Use it well? As in “Put on the cape and catch bad guys”? Just yesterday she’d written love letters to Tom, Dick, and Harry. Then again, fighting crime did run in her family. Jo Schmo, Crime Fighter, did have a certain ring to it. But Jo Schmo, Superhero?

  Could she really stop trains and fly? Could she really save the world? She was only in fourth grade, for goodness’ sake.

  But the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t get it out of her head. For some reason, saving the world sounded good to her.

  There was only one thing to do. She snatched the cape from the box and ran out into the backyard. She knew she wasn’t ready to save the world. Not yet. Not before talking it over with Grandpa Joe.

  Sheriff Joe

  Jo didn’t exactly know how to bring up the subject of saving the world. But her grandpa Joe had been a sheriff for thirty-five years. If anyone would have an opinion on the matter of doing battle with evil villains, he would. He might not know anything about stopping trains and flying, but you have to start somewhere.

  Jo knocked on the door of her grandfather’s shack.

  “Who’s there?” came a voice.

  “It’s Jo.”

  “Joe?”

  “No, Jo.”

  “Oh, Jo. I thought I was talking to myself for a second there. Come in, Jo.”

  Jo went inside. On the walls she saw pictures of her grandfather catching bad guys, shaking hands with the mayor, receiving awards for bravery. Thirty-five years’ worth of police work. The walls were covered with it.

  “Did you like catching bad guys, Gramps?” Jo asked.

  “What’s that? You have bad eyes and cramps? Here, try my spectacles.”

  Her grandpa didn’t hear very well. Jo raised her voice and tried again. “I said, ‘Did you like catching bad guys?’”

  “Like it? I wish I was out there right now.”

  “But was it fun?” Jo was big on having fun. If it wasn’t fun, maybe she’d go back to riding her skateboard—and gazing at David’s freckles.

  “I had a blast,” said Grandpa Joe.

  This was exactly what Jo wanted to hear. She didn’t want to be a superhero if it wasn’t enjoyable. It was time to tell him about the mysterious package, she decided. It was time to show him the cape.

  “You have an uncle George?” he asked.

  “He was my mom’s second cousin once removed.”

  “Why was he removed?”

  “They used to call him Stinky George.”

  Grandpa Joe nodded. “I had a second cousin twice removed.”

  “You mean—?”

  “Yes,” Grandpa Joe said, wrinkling his nose. “He was a two-time offender.”

  “Shall I try on the cape?” Jo asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Jo gave the cape a sniff, just in case it still smelled like
Stinky George. Then she draped it over her shoulders and tied it around her neck. “How do I look, Gramps?”

  “Like you’re ready to save the world,” he said.

  Is There a Sidekick in the House?

  Actually, the cape was a bit long for a fourth-grader. But that was fixable—it could be trimmed. Jo was just thankful that her new uniform didn’t involve wearing tights. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing tights. She wouldn’t even be caught alive in them.

  “First things first,” Grandpa Joe said. “We trim your cape to fit.” He grabbed a pair of scissors and trimmed away. He was one excited grandpa. He’d been wanting to get back into police work for years. And superhero work was kind of like police work, wasn’t it? It just had a little more pizzazz. To be honest, it had a lot more pizzazz. Yes, a granddaughter superhero sounded very good to Grandpa Joe.

  He trimmed the cape so that it hung almost to Jo’s ankles, long enough to make her look like a superhero, but not so long that she’d trip over it.

  He tossed the extra material aside. It landed on top of Jo’s dog, Raymond.

  “Hmm. . .” Jo said. She was surprised at how good Raymond looked with the cape draped over him. Every superhero needed a sidekick, right? “Hmm. . .” she said again. “What if—”

  She bent down and tied the cape around Raymond’s neck. It was a perfect fit. But something came over Raymond. He started drooling way more than usual. Way, way more than usual.

  “Get him out of here before we drown!” yelled Grandpa Joe.

  Jo sent the drooling Raymond outside, where he began chasing his tail. Chasing his tail was one of Raymond’s favorite hobbies, second only to chasing mailmen. But this time he chased his tail at such superhero speed that he drilled a hole right into the backyard.

  “Nice,” Grandpa Joe said. “I’ve always wanted a Jacuzzi. Get the hose, Jo.”

  Jo grabbed the hose and looked at her dog with admiration. Jo Schmo, Superhero, now had a sidekick. A slobbery one, but he would have to do.

  The Mad Scientist’s Lair

  You may be asking yourself, “Why are scientists always mad? Why aren’t they happy—or at least mildly amused?” Who knows? It may be from years of sniffing strange chemicals in test tubes. It does something to the human brain, and before you know it, you have a mad scientist on your hands.

  This was not the case with Dr. Dastardly. He was mad almost from the beginning. One day he’d stubbed his toe on a table leg, and he’d been mad ever since. Add to this many years of sniffing strange chemicals in test tubes, and you had one scary mad scientist.

  Dr. Dastardly was up to no good because of his toe . . . and his brain. While Jo Schmo was filling a hole with water in her backyard, a hole created by the tail-chasing Raymond, Dr. Dastardly put his head back and laughed his evil laugh: “Mwah-ha-ha!”

  A few seconds later, his assistant, Pete, showed up. “You rang, Dr. Dastardly?”

  Dr. Dastardly didn’t ring a bell when he needed help . . . he laughed his evil laugh. “Yes, I rang.” (Actually, he had laughed.) Dr. Dastardly pointed across the room. “My latest creation, Pete. The Re-animator Laminator! Mwah-ha-ha!”

  “You rang, Dr. Dastardly?”

  “No, I didn’t ring. Don’t you know an evil laugh when you hear one?”

  Pete didn’t know the difference. Neither did anyone else. Dr. Dastardly had one way of laughing. Sometimes it meant he needed Pete; sometimes it was an expression of joy. It was all very confusing—especially to Pete.

  Dr. Dastardly had been working on the Re-animator Laminator for years. Now it was time to try it out. He picked up the device, which looked like an oversize ray gun, and aimed it across the room at a human skeleton hanging on a hook.

  Zap! Immediately the skeleton came to life, and it would have started walking around if it hadn’t been attached to a hook. Instead it hung there flapping its arms and legs.

  “It works!” Dr. Dastardly began dancing around the room. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but sometimes you just have to celebrate. The Re-animator Laminator worked, and that was reason enough. “Come on, Pete, let’s tango.”

  It wasn’t pretty. Pete had two left feet.

  “Are we going to take over the world now, Dr. Dastardly?” Pete asked.

  Dr. Dastardly scratched his chin and thought it over. The world was a pretty big place. Maybe he should start small. “First things first,” he said. “Let’s take over the city and work our way up.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Pete. He’d always wanted to take over something. San Francisco was a good place to start.

  Meanwhile, Back at the Jacuzzi

  The cape from Uncle George came with a set of instructions. Jo found them in the mysterious package. “Where do we start?” she asked Grandpa Joe.

  “Don’t all superheroes fly?”

  “I don’t know. Do they?”

  “Beats me, but flying sounds like fun.” Grandpa Joe pointed to the Superhero Instruction Manual. “See what it says about flying.”

  Jo flipped through the pages until she found the section on flying. She read it out loud: “‘Flying is all about thinking properly. Think lofty thoughts and you’ll be up in the air in no time.’” She paused. “Hmm. . .”

  “Hmm. . . is right,” Grandpa Joe agreed. “Unusual instruction manual.”

  Lofty thoughts? Jo wondered as she walked back and forth in front of the hole created by Raymond. Lofty thoughts. Just then a butterfly flitted past. Butterflies are lofty.

  Jo spread her arms out and concentrated. Butterfly, she thought. Nothing happened. She tried harder. Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly. She stayed on the ground.

  She looked up and saw puffy clouds floating by. Clouds were lofty. Clouds, clouds, clouds. But that didn’t work either.

  Maybe she needed to jump while thinking lofty thoughts. She climbed on top of the railing of the back porch and launched herself, thinking of both butterflies and clouds at the same time. Whap! Then she tried it again, thinking of butterflies made of clouds. Jo hit the ground just as hard as before.

  “Are you sure you’re thinking lofty enough?” Grandpa Joe asked.

  “I’m trying to, Gramps.”

  “Well, try harder.”

  Lofty thoughts? Jo wondered as she paced. “I got it!” She climbed onto the porch. “Truth!” she yelled as she launched herself . . . and crashed. She got up and tried again. “Liberty!” she called out . . . and hit the ground. Then, “All people are created equal!” which was the loftiest thought she could come up with. But the result was the same. She couldn’t get up in the air no matter how hard she tried, or how lofty her ideas.

  “Let’s try something else,” suggested Grandpa Joe, looking through the manual. “Here’s a chapter on stopping trains. Want to give it a try?”

  Jo dusted herself off. “Sure,” she said. But she was starting to lose confidence. Confidence in herself and confidence in Uncle George and his mysterious package.

  “It says here that stopping a train is all in the wrist.” Grandpa Joe decided that he’d be the reader and Jo would be the doer. After all, he was retired. And standing on train tracks waiting to get run over sounded kind of scary. Plus, it might hurt!

  Jo, on the other hand, had a red cape. She looked very superhero-ish. Maybe she could pull it off. She stood on the tracks as a train raced toward her. “All in the wrist? Are you kidding me?”

  “That’s what it says,” Grandpa Joe said. He showed her the diagram. “Here comes the train. Get ready.”

  Gulp! Jo swallowed hard. She moved her wrists just so. She even threw in a few lofty thoughts. The train blew its whistle and it rushed at her. And—

  Before you could say “Jo Schmo stopped the train,” Jo Schmo stopped the train. Just like that. It really was all in the wrist.

  “Wow!” Jo said. “Did you see that, Gramps? I just stopped a train!”

  Grandpa Joe jumped up and down. Well, he jumped as well as an old man with a cane could. “You did it, Jo! You stopped
a train!”

  Jo rotated her wrists a few times. “Wow,” she said again. “It really is all in the wrist.”

  The train, of course, was completely demolished, but at least Jo Schmo wasn’t.

  Jo Schmo Has an Idea

  That night Jo couldn’t get to sleep. She had absolutely adored stopping that train, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her flying attempts. She had used the loftiest thoughts she could think of, maybe the loftiest thoughts ever thought. Why wasn’t she able to fly?

  She tossed and turned for hours. Then it came to her. Maybe she didn’t have to fly at all. Weren’t there superheroes who didn’t fly under their own power?

  She jumped out of bed and turned on the light. Her dog, Raymond, opened one eye and looked at her with an expression that said, “This better be important.”

  Jo ignored him and pulled a book from her shelf, the Encyclopedia of Superheroes. She flipped through the pages. “Aha!” she said to Raymond, who was still looking at her with one eye. “Not all superheroes can fly under their own power.”

  Raymond’s expression said, “Ask me if I care.”

  “Wonder Woman flew an invisible plane. And look at Batman—he couldn’t fly. But he did have a great car, didn’t he? A very great car.” Jo put down the book. Maybe she didn’t have to fly. Maybe she just needed a terrific vehicle.

  Hmm. . . she thought. There was no way she could drive a car. She was only in fourth grade, for goodness’ sake. But what about her motorized skateboard? Her skateboard could be her . . . Schmomobile.