Past
“Want to go on an adventure?”
I look up as Cam, wearing an oversized denim jacket and a gray beanie, squeezes through my halfway-open window. I’m shoved in the far corner of my room, feet pressed against the wall and back against the side of my bed. I pull a well-creased copy ofThe Bell Jaroff my face.
“Another broken vending machine at the laundromat?” I ask dryly.
Cam smiles wide and shimmies the rest of the way through the window. I watch the whole entrance routine: an absolutely terrible somersault across my bedroom floor followed by a quick pop-up to standing, beanie flying off and unruly blond curls bouncing everywhere.
I clap politely. “Very nice. Ten out of ten.”
Cam laughs and saunters over to me. “Check this out.”
Before I can shift, we’re scrunched in together, arm pressed tight against arm. The familiar smells of sandalwood and citrusfind their way into my hair.The Bell Jarhas been kicked under my bed thanks to Cam, and there’s now a new book hovering between us. As our hands meet on either edge, I see the rainbow-colored title arching over its cover:
GAY TREASURES
My breath catches so hard that I fumble the book and fall into a horrendous coughing fit.
Oh my God, my brain screams between coughs.Oh my God, oh my God. It’s happening. The talk is happening.
How does Cam even know I’m gay? I’m frantically backtracking through my memories. Was it the pixie cut I got last fall when we started high school? My ridiculous insistence that we wear pussy hats to all the marches we begged to join as kids?
Cam’s breathing has gone soft, and I realize I’m supposed to react in some specific way. As I open my mouth to say something—anything—a thought strikes my head so forcefully that I get a second bout of mental whiplash: What if this talk isn’t about me at all? Or what if it’s notonlyabout me?
Want to go on an adventure?
Did that mean…Was that really asking if I wanted to go out with…
“My uncle Brian,” Cam says quietly.
I turn my head. “What?”
“He died before I was born, and he left this massive trunk behind in our attic. That’s where I foundthis.”
“Was he gay?” I ask, at the exact moment Cam blurts out, “It’s a treasure map!”
We both stare at each other.
“I guess…” Cam says uncomfortably. “I mean, yeah. He probably was. That would explain why he had this thing, anyway.”
Cam grins and wiggles the book in front of me, as though it’s a shiny piece of bait I just can’t resist. I take a deep breath, stuffing down every question I was set to ask, every confession I had momentarily considered making.Of course Cam didn’t come here to talk about being gay, I tell myself.Cam and I don’t talk about things like that.
It was stupid to let myself imagine it.
“A treasure map,” I echo. I sigh and force myself to grab hold of the bait.
The book’s spine is so lean that it barely resembles a real book at all. It reminds me of those handmade zines from the 1990s. I thumb through the pages. There are crude drawings of people marching and waving signs, of others standing at podiums and on park benches, speaking to crowds, their mouths open and fists curled. Text fills in the blank spaces behind the people, an angry storm of words in the sky. Various Rubik’s Cubes and tic-tac-toe grids with numbers scribbled inside are tucked into page corners. There’s a strange urgency in the slant of the writing. Like whoever made these drawings and put this thing together was racing to get it done.
I study one of the Rubik’s Cubes. “Well…if this really is what you say it is—”
“It is!” Cam interjects. “I’m telling you, this is a real-deal treasure map. Fame and glory are ours!”
“Then you came to the right person,” I say, offering a demure smile. “Forresearch. We’re going to have to Benjamin Gates the hell out of this thing.”
Cam frowns. “Benjamin who?”
The book falls into my lap.
