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 fuckingdarehe.
“I am Ben Gates!” I scream loud enough to accidentally scare the young mother walking past me with a stroller.
I amalwaysBen 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-FINDINGPARTNER
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. “Becauseyoudid!”
“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.
