Chapter Thirty-Three
WANTED: TREASURE-FINDING ASSISTANT
Interested in taking on the seven seas next to Blackbeard?
In becoming the quirky Riley to an established Ben Gates?
There is a treasure buried within San Francisco.
Seize on the opportunity to dig it up—THIS SATURDAY.
Considering all applicants Monday–Thursday. Text the number below:
415-555-2267
The quirky Riley to an established Ben Gates?
How fucking dare he.
“I am Ben Gates!” I scream loud enough to accidentally scare the young mother walking past me with a stroller.
I am always Ben Gates.
I yank Julia’s notebook out of my backpack and rip out a page near the end.
I glance up at the stupid notice several times as I write.
Finally, my own note is ready. I borrow a few pieces of tape from the guitar teacher who practically bonded their ad to the wall, then stick my flyer right next to Cam’s.
WANTED: TREASURE-FINDING PARTNER
Forget the stuff of fairy tales.
Come dig up a real piece of San Francisco history.
Payment negotiable upon unearthing the treasure.
Text THIS number ASAP:
415-555-4897
There. I will not have Cam try to yank this hunt away from me again. He only knows about the clock installation because of me. It’s my group that found Harvey’s flyer. We’re the ones who found the necklace and the scroll. By all rights, that treasure is ours.
I see Cam puttering around the hallway before class starts.
“Really?” I ask, barging right up to him. “Ben Gates?”
Cam shrugs, not quite meeting my eyes.
“One would think a tough guy like you could easily dig up the treasure without a ‘quirky Riley’ at your side, no? What do you need the extra help for, anyway?”
“None of your business,” Cam says. His phone dings. He takes it out and opens the message against his locker.
“An applicant?” I ask, nostrils flaring.
Cam stares at his phone. “Like I said, none of your business.” He makes a tiny sigh and tucks his phone away. Not an applicant after all, I guess.
I puff up my chest. “Well, just so you know, I put up an ad too.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
Why? Why?
I nearly flap my arms up and down. “Because you did!”
“I thought you had your whole yearbook team behind you,” Cam says cooly.
I pinch my mouth and stare at him.
Not anymore, my eyes say.
All because of you, the silence adds.
The sneaky, spy-on-a-mission energy I had been gathering all weekend dissipates in a moment. I stomp away from Cam and directly down into the empty Bat Cave. I sit at Gabriel’s usual computer and log in. Thank God, Adobe Photoshop is sitting right there on the desktop screen.
I input the image file and start cranking the brightness, the contrast, the definition.
For whatever reason, when Gabriel does these things, it’s like a magic trick: The image goes from blurry to clear.
But now that I’m the one doing it, the image goes from blurry and dark to blurry and brighter.
It shifts from blurry sepia to blurry black and white.
Even the definition feature just seems to define the blurred lines rather than defining the original things in the photo.
What the hell even is this? I thought Photoshop was for the common man.
I send all the stupid, still-blurry images back to myself over email anyway and log out.
Throughout the day, as I sit in each class, I wonder if people are contacting Cam to be his treasure-finding assistant.
I vaguely wonder if people are looking at my flyer, but I don’t really care about hearing from anyone.
Mostly, I’m hoping my flyer is canceling Cam’s out.
That anyone interested enough in his idea will see my idea next to it and second-guess reaching out to either of us.
I pass by Cam again on my way out of school.
“Any luck?” I ask nonchalantly.
Cam is already on his phone. He looks up, grinning. “As a matter of fact, I just now received an application. Thanks for the good luck!”
My mouth gapes open. I scramble for my own phone so I can check my messages.
“Well—ha!” I say loudly. “Because I just got a new applicant too.”
“Good for you,” Cam says. I can tell he doesn’t mean it.
I quickly read the text.
Good afternoon. We have been made aware of your “treasure finding” notice. Please see the information at the link below and fill out an application form to be considered for authorization by the City of San Francisco. Your notice has been removed until completion of authorization.
An application form?
I click the link, and it takes me to the San Francisco Recreation and Park Department’s website. The page I’ve landed on is for permit applications, specifically a section titled “Landscaping and Maintenance Permit.” The section lists several requirements:
Fill out an online application.
Include the exact location for landscape maintenance proposal with latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates.
Receive official authorization from the department.
Contact the designated Park team member on the authorized date.
Attend a mandatory Nature Safety course before proposed landscaping alterations.
The real meaning behind the text message and website link slowly becomes clear.
This is a cease-and-desist notice from the city.
Or at least a cease-and-desist-unless-you-do-things-our-way-and-we-say-it’s-okay notice.
But either way, there’s zero chance of me being able to run into the park and dig up the treasure now.
The Park Department will be on the lookout for anyone with a shovel.
Heck, they wouldn’t even have to go on a manhunt for me if I tried to be sneaky about it.
They already have my freaking phone number thanks to my flyer!
From Cam’s silence across the walkway, I’m guessing the exact same message has landed in his inbox. I wait for him to finish reading and look up from his phone.
“Are you happy now?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”
“It was your brilliant idea to go around advertising your plans to dig up the city in the first place.”
“Yeah, and it was your brilliant idea to copy it!” he says. “The city probably thinks there’s an epidemic of treasure hunters now because of you.”
“Because of me? You’re the one who put up a PUBLIC NOTICE, Cam!”
He rolls his eyes and turns away.
I stand there, the link still open, considering.
“You’re not going to be able to dig now,” I say to Cam’s back. “Not without getting permission first.”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Same applies to you.”
“Right,” I say.
I crane my neck and see the westbound Judah train approaching.
I can catch the next bus to the Legion of Honor.
From there, all I have to do is walk the golf course until I see the same hill from the photo.
Golf flag at the top. Boulder to the left.
I could have the coordinates within an hour.
I could have my application to the Park Department in before dark.
I watch the train until it’s right about to pull up to the stop across the street.
I’m closer to it than Cam is. I’m not faster than him, but I am closer.
And at this point, the one thing I’ve learned from Cam’s tactics is that the only surefire way to get ahead is to take whatever shortcuts you can get.
I sigh and make the most disappointed tsk sound I can manage.
“Thanks for ruining this entire thing,” I say.
I shuffle down the rest of the walkway until I’m out of his sight, then immediately sprint down the block and catch the train just before it leaves. I hop inside and sit down, then take my phone out to click open the permit application from the Park website.
I may not have Cam on my side anymore. Or Sunny. Or Gabriel. Or Julia. But I still have this hunt. And I am not letting it go for anything.
I am going to find that treasure first.