Chapter Thirteen
Thirty minutes and five decoded number cubes later, we’re all standing around Julia’s open notebook, staring at the six lines scrawled on the page:
T R E A S U R E
I S L A N D
B U I L D E R
R E A D S
A R C H I T E C T U R E
7 2 3
At first I think that no one’s saying anything because no one can say anything—we’re all in too much awe, too inwardly thrilled by this secret message we’ve brought to life, to be able to talk.
It’s like we’re staring down at the invisible map on the back of the Declaration of Independence.
The air is weighted with reverence. Some nonexistent movie camera lens dials in on me for the close-up.
Then Sunny breaks the silence.
“What the hell even is this?”
The beautiful soundtrack in my head featuring a particularly uplifting French horn is cut short. I sigh and look at her. “I told you two minutes ago—it’s a book cipher.”
A book cipher is pretty clear-cut. You use a series of three numbers and a book or piece of writing as the key. The first number points to the line in the key. The second number points to the word in that line. And the third number points to the letter in that word.
“I think, technically, this one’s a flyer cipher,” Julia says.
Sunny rolls her eyes. “What I mean is, we just decoded a whole treasure map, and instead of it telling us where to go dig, we get a random list of words that looks more like a fourth-grade spelling test!”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel says. “I feel like ‘architecture’ is sixth-grade spelling material, easily.”
Sunny glares at him.
“It’s okay!” I say quickly. “It’s not a spelling test! It’s a clue.”
“Another clue,” Sunny says, shaking her head. “Which leads to another clue, which leads to another—”
I wag my finger. “Watch it, Patrick Gates.”
“Patrick who?”
“Ugh. You guys really need to watch National Treasure.” I hold Julia’s notebook out to the others.
“This message may look random and vague, but I promise you, it’s not as bad as ‘a giant between streets.’ Figuring out that phrase was like finding a needle in a haystack.
Only people who already knew about Harvey’s party and the White Night riots would get it. ”
“Except we figured it out,” Julia says. “Because we’re total badasses.”
Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “Whoa—the Girl Scout curses.”
Julia’s eyes flash for a moment, and I look at her curiously. There’s something she’s not saying. Suddenly, I want to be back upstairs in the science lab. I want her to tell me why she’s really working on this puzzle. But before I can say anything, Julia shrugs and smiles.
“I only curse on special occasions,” she says. She nods to me to keep going.
“The point is,” I say, “this message isn’t actually random. It’s just disguised as something random.”
Sunny massages her forehead. “I think I literally hate you right now.”
“You go right ahead.” I hand over Julia’s notebook and log off my computer.
“Where are you going?” Julia asks.
I stop at the door. “We are going on a field trip. Pack up the hate in a to-go box, Sunny. We’re heading to the library.”
To everyone’s blank stares, I add, “Unless anyone here has a copy of Treasure Island.”
Gabriel and Julia shake their heads. Sunny continues to glower. But all three grab their bags and follow me out of the Bat Cave.
The Sunset neighborhood library holds court on the intersection of Irving Street and Eighteenth Avenue.
It’s not actually any taller than the other town houses and apartment buildings surrounding it—but there’s something about the wide, heavy stones on the facade, the three giant arches over the front door, and the words etched into the architrave that give it a regal appearance.
Sunset Branch San Francisco Public Library
“Check out the doorway,” Gabriel says as we walk up to the front.
We look up at the stone frieze carved above the central door. It’s of an open book flanked by scrolls on either side. Above the book, a globe spins as though in motion. The meaning seems clear enough: Through books, you can explore the world.
“Treasure, island, builder, reads.” Gabriel flings his arms toward the door. “Reads! And it’s a book!”
“Yeah, because it’s a carving over the doorway to a library,” Sunny says dully.
“It’s a pediment,” I murmur.
Julia nudges me. “What?”
“A pediment. It’s the triangle above a doorway. This one’s a broken pediment—see how the frame at the top doesn’t connect all the way? It’s a stylistic thing.” I pull the door open. “My mom’s an architect.”
Gabriel grins at me as he walks past, into the library. “Architecture, seven two three!’ ” he whispers, like I’m just as much of a clue as the carving above the door.
And I mean, I get it. Once you’re in the mindset of solving riddles, everything seems connected.
I remember that feeling washing over me two summers ago as I chased shadows with Cam and felt like the entire world was one big challenge for the two of us to solve.
Everything we did seemed to have another deeper, secret meaning.
It felt like together we were stumbling upon something huge and weighty and…
and it’s probably for the best that I don’t think like that now.
Most things, after all, are just coincidence.
And the real skill in tracking down a treasure is figuring out what’s real life and what, at the end of the day, only exists in your head.
The warm cherrywood shelves sit under the giant arched windows and welcome us inside.
I love the smell of libraries. It’s not even the same as bookstores.
The paper here has a distinctive scent. There must be something about being passed around a community that changes a book at its DNA level. Shared stories just hit different.
“I think we should check out the reference desk,” Sunny says.
I make a face. “We’re looking for one of the most popular fiction novels in existence. We already know it was written by Robert Louis Stevenson. I think we’ll be good on our own.”
Gabriel raises his hand. “I’m with Sunny. What if there’s another clue we’re missing?”
Julia stands between us, notebook held out in front of her. She chews her lip.
“Go with them,” I say, waving her off. “I’ll grab the book and find you guys after.”
I turn and snake my way through the fiction shelves, heading over to the section marked R–T.
Stevenson. Stevenson. S…St…
I become vaguely aware that someone’s shadowing me down the aisle. Except they’re not behind me. They’re in the next aisle over, the top of their head peeking above the book spines. I stop walking suddenly. The figure also stops, then leans over to peer through the shelves.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, glaring.
Cam’s eyebrows go up. “Oh, whoops. Is this another place where überdudes aren’t allowed?”
I march around the endcap and into his aisle. Cam steps back, surprised.
“Are you following me?”
“Actually”—Cam folds his arms over his chest—“I watched you and your group come in here. Which means, technically, you would be the ones following me.”
I grit my teeth and look at the book spines behind Cam. To my horror, I realize the exact book I want, Treasure Island, is tucked on the shelf just beyond his left elbow.
“How’s the hunt going?” I ask.
“Fine.” His eyes slip for a second as he glances to the left. Oh God, does he know about the Treasure Island clue? “How’s it going for you?”
“Also fine,” I say. “Very fine. Probably even more than fine.” And then, just for good measure, I look directly at Treasure Island and back at him.
I’m trying to put on a convincing bravado that says, Okay, so maybe we both know about the book.
But I am still doing so well that I am entirely unbothered by this possibility.
I’m going to find the treasure first anyway and make you regret the day you decided to walk off that damn field two years ago.
But that is a lot to communicate with a single smolder, which, admittedly, is probably less of a smolder and more of a stink eye. I have been informed by my mother that most of my pointed looks come across as a stink eye.
Julia bounds down the aisle. “Ivy! Ivy! We found—” She stops short as she sees Cam standing next to me.
“Mm?” Cam asks. He perks up.
I turn to Julia, suddenly remembering the note I left in Cam’s locker.
“Watergate?” I murmur.
Julia looks at me, bewildered.
Remember? The fake clue? I’m trying to say telepathically. Although, again, this is probably all coming across as a stink eye.
“Watergate?” Cam asks.
“We have to go. Bye!” I press Julia out of the aisle, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder and take in Cam’s full reaction.
“That was great!” I say once we’re safely a few rows away. “He totally bought the Watergate thing. Now we’ll just wait until he leaves, and I’ll go back and grab the copy of Treasure Island.”
“Unnecessary!” Sunny calls from the next row over.
Julia and I look up as Sunny and Gabriel march over to us. I notice that Gabriel is holding a different book at his side.
“Did you find another edition?” I ask.
Julia shakes her head. “We don’t think Stevenson’s book is the clue.”
“Um…” I make a face. “We just solved a cipher with the phrase ‘Treasure Island,’ and you don’t think we’re supposed to look into Treasure Island?”
“We do,” Sunny says, grinning. “Just a different Treasure Island, that’s all.”
Gabriel holds up the book so I can see its cover.
Images of America: San Francisco’s Treasure Island.