Chapter Fourteen
In San Francisco, we have a real Treasure Island.
Well, as real as a Treasure Island can get, I guess.
It’s a man-made island northeast of the city.
I actually have no idea what it was originally made for.
Some kind of world’s fair or exposition, I think.
Or maybe it was just an airplane hangar.
I do know it got used a lot in World War II, but to be honest, I haven’t really paid that much attention to military history.
I feel like there’s plenty enough history right here, in the neighborhood under my feet.
“So, what are we thinking?” I ask as I start paging through the book.
“Not sure yet,” Sunny says. “Maybe we figure out who built Treasure Island? Or one of the buildings on Treasure Island? Since our riddle is about the Treasure Island builder.”
I nod. “Okay, that’s a good plan. There are lots of buildings there.” I turn another page and frown. “But this book doesn’t have any information about who built what. There are only pictures, no captions.”
Not to mention, we still have no idea what the “seven two three” part of the clue means, which is tricky. I feel like whatever our decoded message points to, it should be pretty obvious once we’ve found it. Exactly the way it was obvious when we first came across Harvey’s flyer.
I startle a little.
“Harvey!” I say, looking up.
Julia does a full three-sixty turn. “Where?”
“No,” I say. I hold the book up. “Treasure Island doesn’t have anything to do with Harvey Milk.
At least, not on the surface. But the whole point of Gay Treasures is to get to know the actual gay treasures who made this community.
The people. So we need to know what Harvey Milk did on Treasure Island. Maybe he built something.”
“Let’s see.” Sunny taps on her phone and scrolls down. “Hmm. Doesn’t look like he did anything there.” She sighs. “But they do have a statue and a boat named after him. See, this is the kind of superficial stuff I’m talking about.”
Gabriel holds up a finger, like he’s pushing the pause button on our conversation. He’s reading something off his phone too.
“It might be superficial, and it might not,” he says mysteriously.
I stand on my tiptoes, trying to read over his shoulder. “What do you know?”
“Nothing yet. But there’s a way to find out exactly who did what on Treasure Island. I think we need to visit the main library.”
“What’s in the main library?” Julia asks.
“The San Francisco History Center,” Gabriel says. “Sixth floor. We can request all the city archives that have anything to do with Treasure Island. Maybe we’ll find out how this all connects to Harvey.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” I say. I slip the Images of America book into the return box near the front desk. “Let’s go!”
Julia’s pocket begins to buzz. Her eyes widen. “Shoot!”
She pulls out her phone. “Shoot,” she says again. Her screen is filled with text messages. Julia scans through them and winces. “My mom’s super mad. I was supposed to be home for dinner an hour ago.”
I check my phone. It’s already seven p.m. I’m lucky my own mom doesn’t care when I get home.
“Should we go tomorrow?” I ask. I’m trying hard to sound diplomatic. If it were just me, I’d be catching the Judah train out to the main library this second. But then Gabriel shakes his head and says something that makes the entire situation ten times worse.
“The history center collection is open by appointment only, for viewing on Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon to four.”
“Tomorrow’s Tuesday,” I point out impatiently.
“Yeah,” he says in the same tone, “and we have school until four.”
I throw my arms up. “So? What else are we supposed to do? We have to get there!”
“Shhhhhhhhh!”
The four of us turn in unison to the librarian sitting behind the front desk.
“Sorry!” Julia stage-whispers. She hooks her arm around mine and ushers us to the door. We head down the front steps.
“I wasn’t done,” Gabriel says when we’re all outside. We cross the street together. “The collection is also open on Saturdays from ten to noon. I can make us an appointment.”
Saturday?! I look around the group, but it’s clear that I’m the only one who seems to be freaking out over sitting on our hands for five entire days.
And all the while, the information we need to solve this thing could be waiting in an archives box for us to find it.
Why can’t we skip school tomorrow afternoon and go then?
Why can’t we go there and sneak in right now?
“What’s up?” Sunny asks.
“I…” My voice dies out. How do they not get how important this whole thing is?
“What about Cam?” I ask finally. “I think he solved the book cipher too. I saw him near Stevenson’s Treasure Island at the library.”
Sunny smiles faintly. “Good,” she says. “That means he’s making the same mistake you did. Maybe that will keep him busy through Saturday.”
With that, the others nod their goodbyes and take off in separate directions. Sunny hangs back for a moment. She pinches the cuff of my sleeve.
“Seriously,” she says. “Don’t worry so much about it.”
Right, I think. There’s clearly nothing to worry about in this situation. We’re definitely not trying to uncover an actual treasure buried in the ground. All while racing someone else to get to it.
“Thanks for the advice,” I mutter.
Sunny gives me a strange look. She waves and walks up Irving.
I’m left there on the corner, staring out into traffic. I don’t get why I seem to be the only person in this entire world who’s taking the hunt seriously. Well…at least one of the only people. I glance at the library across the street just as Cam is coming out.
His silhouette is framed under the broken pediment of the front doors, the stone-carved world frozen over his head. He’s clutching a stack of library books in his arms.
For a moment, I vaguely wonder what the books are.
Does he have Stevenson’s Treasure Island?
The Images of America Treasure Island? Was I convincing enough to make him check out a bunch of books on Watergate?
But then my eyes travel back up to Cam’s face, and my mind moves on from the mystery of the treasure hunt over to the perpetual mystery of Cam the person.
He’s so tiny from this distance—like a miniature doll version of himself. I squint my eyes, but I can’t read his expression. He could be scowling at me. He could be smiling. Confused or confident. Lost or laughing. It’s impossible to see the details from here.
Does he miss me even a little? I wonder.
Does he wish it were the two of us working on this together instead of against each other?
I always thought, if Cam and I split up as friends, that he would be the one leading a group to eventually find the treasure.
I would be the person standing alone in the doorway.
I contemplate walking across the street. Saying something, anything, to him. But just as I start to take the first step forward, Cam shakes his head. The momentary spell between us is broken. He rushes down the stairs and toward his house.
Our separate worlds go on spinning again.