“Yeah. We’re…done.”
I snap out of the memory and reach into my backpack, mentally queuing up the speech I wrote last night. “I totally wrecked this adventure for everyone and I’m so, so sorry. Each of you deserves an adventure that’s all your own.”
Sunny pulls a face. “Okay, Chuck E. Cheeseball. Cheers to that. Thanks for the coffee.” She starts to get up.
“No, wait!”
I fumble inside my backpack until I find the small pink envelope. I pull it out and hand it to Sunny.
She holds the edge of the envelope hesitantly. “What’s this?”
“AGB,” I say.
“What’s AGB?”
“Open it and find out.”
Sunny flips the top open and pulls out a small note.
“Remember that girl at the front desk of the Chong-Moon Lee Center? Her name’s Beiye, and she’s part of this really cool group: Asian and Gay in the Bay. Mr.Wong was one of the original founders, but it’s really huge now, apparently. Lots of clubs and social events and stuff.”
I tap the phone number at the bottom of the note. “Not that you have to be interested,” I add, “but I think Beiye was sort of hoping you would text her too.”
Gabriel lets out a low wolf whistle.
Sunny reads the note to herself. She swallows and folds the flap back down, then looks up at me. Her expression is unreadable. “Why did you do this?”
“Because you deserve to be at the center of things,” I say. “And not always feel like an outsider. Plus…Beiye is very hot. I basicallyhadto let her add her number when she asked.”
Gabriel claps his hands. “My turn, my turn! I want a hot date!”
I turn to him and smile. “Okay, so here’s the thing about your date. I don’t have a specific personyet. But picture an absolutely gorgeous European guy or girl or nonbinary hottie sitting across a café table from you in Paris.”
“Paris?!” Gabriel leaps out of his chair. “You got me a ticket to Paris?”
“What? You can’t get just one person a ticket to Paris!” Sunny cries. “What the hell is this?”
I hold up a hand. “Wait! Wait. Calm down. Thismightbe a ticket to Paris; I’m not sure. I had wanted it to be my ticket earlier, when we started this whole thing.” I pull out a guide to the Paris College of Art. “I was going to submit our yearbook as a portfolio for an art program in Paris. But I’ve thought a lot about it, and the thing is,you’rethe one who made this yearbook truly special, Gabriel. I realized that I want to tell stories about the past and the present. I don’t necessarily want to create visual art out of it. You’re the visual artist. You deserve to be in this program. And our yearbook, your yearbook, would make an amazing application.”
I hand the guide to Gabriel. He takes hold of the pamphlet,cradling it gently, like I’ve given him an actual, real-life treasure. It reminds me a lot of the way Cam heldGay Treasureswhen he first showed it to me.
“Thank you,” he says. His voice is unusually soft.
I turn to Julia and smile. “New notebook, right?”
I pull out a hardback journal covered with archival linen and embossed in gold foil. Julia’s eyes widen as she sees the intricate design. She opens her hand.
“Thank—”
“Ah, no.” I stop her. “Not yet. You also need something to write about.”
I remove the last item from my bag, a manila file bulging with loose papers.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get another copy ofGay Treasures,” I say. “But I went back to that message board online and found and printed every scan of the book that I came across. There were seven treasures hidden. That means there are still at least four other hunts out there to complete. You were right—thesearemagical. And you’re the perfect person to make a fairy-tale treasure come to life. You know how to make magic real, Julia.”
I hand her the notebook and file stacked together.
“Well, there you go. Coffee and gifts. So, now, here’s my official apology.”
