“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’sTreasure Islandat 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 inthis 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’sTreasure Island? TheImages of AmericaTreasure 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 ofagainst 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.
Chapter Fifteen
It’s dark outside by the time I climb up our steep stairway and let myself into the apartment. Mom’s done her usual thing where she’s turned off all the overhead ceiling lights and flipped on the small lamps in the corners of the living room. I think it’s her way of signaling that it’s quiet time, which is actually pretty funny, considering that we’re probably already the two quietest cohabitators in all of San Francisco.
I find her lounging in her favorite chaise in the corner, staring down at her phone screen. A mostly empty wineglass sits on the side table next to her.
“Ivy,” she says distantly, without looking up.
I’m already on my way past her, heading toward my room down the hall. I’ll need to look up the number 723 in every possible context. The history center may have lots of information on Treasure Island and whoever built it, but that number has to mean something specific.
Mom sighs behind me. “Please tell me you’re not still sulking.”
I stop in the hallway, then turn again toward the living room. “Sulking about what?”
