The Fastest Dinosaur

Flash was a velociraptor, and he was absolutely, completely, one hundred percent sure that he was the fastest dinosaur in the whole wide world.

He said it at breakfast. He said it at lunch. He said it while splashing through the river and while chomping on ferns — well, he didn't actually eat ferns, but he chomped near them, because he was a velociraptor and velociraptors were fast, not vegetarian.

"I'm the fastest dinosaur alive!" Flash announced every single morning, stretching his long clawed toes and flicking his feathered tail. "Veloci-RAPTOR. Do you hear that? Veloci. That means FAST. It's right there in my name!"

His best friend, a long-legged ornithomimus named Midge, would just blink her big round eyes and say, "Mm-hmm."

Midge never argued with Flash. She was too busy running — zooming across the plains to find seeds, darting between the tall cycad trees, sprinting along the riverbank just because it felt good. Midge loved running the way Flash loved talking about running.

One hot afternoon, Flash was perched on his favorite rock, telling a group of baby triceratops about his incredible speed.

"You see these legs?" Flash said, standing up tall. He was about the size of a turkey, which he did not love people pointing out. "These legs are BUILT for speed. I can run faster than anyone."

"Faster than Midge?" asked one of the baby triceratops, whose name was Pebble.

Flash laughed. "Faster than Midge? Of course faster than Midge! I'm a VELOCIRAPTOR. Speed is literally my thing."

"But," said Pebble, tilting her big frilly head, "Midge is really, really fast. I saw her chase a dragonfly yesterday and she was like —" Pebble made a whooshing sound with her mouth. "Fwooooosh."

"Fwoosh, shmoosh," said Flash, waving a clawed hand. "I'm faster."

"Then race her," said Pebble.

Flash opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he opened it again.

"Fine!" he said. "FINE. I'll race her. And when I win, everyone will know once and for all that I, Flash the Velociraptor, am the fastest dinosaur in this entire valley."

He hopped off his rock and marched over to the riverbank, where Midge was stretching her long, long legs. Midge was taller than Flash — quite a bit taller, actually. She had a small head, a body shaped like a big bird, and legs that went on and on like two bendy stilts.

"Midge!" Flash announced. "I challenge you to a race."

Midge looked down at him. "Oh. Okay."

"From the big red rock to the crooked palm tree. Across the flat plain. In front of everyone."

"Sure, Flash."

"And when I win —"

"When do we start?" Midge asked, already bouncing lightly on her toes.

Flash narrowed his eyes. She didn't seem worried at all. That was annoying. She should be at least a little bit worried.

By the next morning, the whole valley knew about the race. Triceratops, pteranodons, a couple of ankylosaurs, and even old Grandpa Bronto — who took forty-five minutes just to turn around — all gathered along the flat plain to watch.

Flash stood at the starting line beside the big red rock, rolling his neck and shaking out his claws. He looked at the crowd. He looked at the finish line — the crooked palm tree, way off in the distance.

He looked at Midge.

Midge was beside him, calm as a pond, her long legs folded slightly, ready to spring.

"Good luck," Midge said, and she meant it, because Midge was nice like that.

"I won't need it," said Flash, because Flash was Flash like that.

Pebble the baby triceratops stood in front of them with a big leaf in her mouth. She was the official starter.

"On your marks," Pebble said through the leaf. "Get set —"

She dropped the leaf.

"GO!"

Flash EXPLODED off the line. His clawed feet churned the dirt. His feathered arms pumped. His tail stuck straight out behind him for balance. He was running — really running — and the wind was in his face and the crowd was cheering and —

Fwooooosh.

Something tall and feathery blew right past him.

It was Midge.

She wasn't just fast. She was flying-without-flying fast. Her long legs covered huge stretches of ground with every stride, eating up the plain like it was nothing. Her neck was stretched forward, her little head cutting through the air, and she moved like the wind had decided to become a dinosaur.

Flash pumped his legs harder. He ran with everything he had. His lungs burned. His claws dug into the earth. He was fast — he really was fast!

But Midge was faster.

By the time Flash reached the crooked palm tree, gasping and panting, Midge was already there. She was standing quietly, not even breathing hard, picking a seed out of the bark.

"Good race," Midge said.

Flash bent over, claws on his knees, sucking in air. The crowd erupted in cheers — for Midge. Old Grandpa Bronto let out a slow, rumbling "Wooooooo" that took about twelve seconds to finish.

Flash felt his face get hot. His chest felt tight — and not just from running. He wanted to say something. That the ground was uneven. That the wind was against him. That he'd had a rock stuck in his claw.

But none of that was true.

He looked at Midge, who was just standing there. Not bragging. Not dancing around. Not announcing to everyone that she was the fastest. She was just... being Midge.

Flash swallowed hard.

"You're really fast," he said quietly.

Midge tilted her head. "So are you."

"But you're faster."

Midge thought about this. "I have longer legs. And my body is shaped for running on flat ground. That's just what ornithomimuses are built for."

Flash looked down at his own legs. They were strong and clawed and good for lots of things — jumping, pouncing, climbing, quick sharp turns. He was fast. Just not the fastest.

"I guess," Flash said slowly, "having 'fast' in your name doesn't actually make you the fastest."

"I think it makes you pretty cool, though," said Midge.

Flash couldn't help it. He smiled. A small one at first, and then a bigger one.

Pebble came waddling over, her little frill bouncing. "Flash! That was so exciting! You were SO fast! Can you teach me how to run like that?"

Flash blinked. "You want me to teach you?"

"Yes! You're the fastest person I know. Well — second fastest. But Midge is always busy finding seeds."

Flash looked at Midge. Midge shrugged and smiled.

Something warm spread through Flash's chest, and it wasn't from running this time. He stood up a little taller — all the way to his full turkey-sized height.

"All right, Pebble," he said. "First lesson: keep your tail straight out for balance. Like this."

He demonstrated, and Pebble tried to copy him, wobbling all over the place on her stubby triceratops legs, and they both started laughing.

From that day on, Flash still loved to run. He raced Midge again many times, and he lost every single time — but the races got closer and closer, because Flash trained harder when he knew exactly what he was chasing.

And he stopped announcing that he was the fastest dinosaur every morning.

Instead, he'd say, "Race you to the river, Midge."

And Midge would grin and say, "You're on."

And they'd both take off running — one of them a little faster, and both of them happy.