Lola Benko, Treasure Hunter

by Beth McMullen

  “Do you have the key?” Jin croaks.

  “You’re okay!” I’m so glad he’s not scared speechless anymore I want to hug him. But his expression says I better wait on that.

  “The key,” he repeats. “To open the lock. You had to know there would be a lock. Did you even look?”

  I glance skyward. “Well…”

  “You don’t do things the easy way, do you?” Jin whispers. It’s true that even when I search for the shallowest part of the stream, I often fall in over my head anyway. Jin sighs. “If we don’t have a key, we need leverage. A rock or something to use as a fulcrum for the screwdriver.”

  “Good idea.” I scurry away to the edge of the fencing and come back with a fist-size chunk of broken concrete. Jin wedges the head of the screwdriver into the lock and props the concrete under the handle. Slowly, he presses down. The metal scratches the concrete, making an awful racket that will surely wake everyone within a five-mile radius, including the security guard snoozing in his shed. But Jin gives the screwdriver one final push and, just like that, the lock springs open. Stunned, Jin lets the concrete chunk drop to the ground.

  “It worked?” He gazes at the lock. “It worked!”

  “We just made our own luck,” I say with appropriate awe.

  “Let me guess. That’s something your dad always says.”

  “Yup. Help me get it open.” We struggle to raise the garage-style door about two feet before shoving our packs under and rolling into the unit. Jin flips a light switch and there is the unmistakable patter of little feet fleeing. Rats. The little hairs at the back of my neck immediately stand on end.

  Everything inside is covered in a fine layer of dust. Cobwebs stretch across the corners. Rabbit-size dust bunnies drift along the floor. Large moving boxes are stacked along the back wall, with BENKO scrawled on the cardboard in my father’s familiar sloppy handwriting. And suddenly it makes sense. This is our storage locker, junk left over from the time before we lived out of suitcases and duffel bags. Irma must have been handling the details because we never had an address, and I’m willing to bet that a few months ago, she promptly forgot it existed.

  My father’s desk and chair are shoved up against the back wall. I have a memory of watching him at that desk, head down, muttering to himself, writing frantically as if possessed. But this must have been before my mother left because after that, we never stopped moving from place to place. There was no desk and no chair. The dust makes my eyes water.

  “Are you okay?” Jin rests a hand on my shoulder.

  I blink rapidly. “Yeah. Good. Let’s see if there’s any treasure lying around.” The sooner we find something, the faster we can get out of here. But only because of the rats.

  CHAPTER 13 DEFINE “VALUABLE.”

  THE FIRST BOXES I YANK open are filled with stacks of the pocket-size red leather notebooks my father fills with the agonizing details of every treasure-hunting expedition he ever went on. I shove the boxes aside. These notebooks are not valuable. They are boring with a capital B.

  There’s a box with pencil sharpeners, scissors, hole punches, melted glue sticks, and bags of dusty old pens. Also not valuable. A set of chipped dinner plates and an entire box of mismatched glasses? Not valuable and not valuable. Two boxes are filled with mail addressed to Dad, care of Irma Benko, and another with moldy paperback books and coiled extension cords. There’s an old stepladder and several rolled-up carpets, where I’m sure the rats are living very happily with their extended rat families. Jin holds up a cardboard shoebox. It looks heavy.

  “Rocks,” he says flatly.

  “Like, literally?” I peer into the box. Maybe there is a diamond hidden in there. I’ll also take rubies, sapphires, or emeralds. I’m not picky. We dump the box on the floor and poke through it. The rocks are all different shapes and shiny, the kind you’d use to make a patio mosaic. Maybe Great-Aunt Irma had big plans and then decided the backyard was too far out of her comfort zone? Jin plucks out an iridescent green one, rounder than the rest, which fits nicely in the palm of his hand.

  “Pretty,” he says, admiring it. Yes, but that doesn’t help us.

  “Not valuable,” I say with a sigh, shoving the rocks back into the box. Is a two-pound emerald so much to ask? We move on with our search. Jin produces a set of tarnished candlesticks from the next box.

  “Valuable?” he asks.

  “Not valuable.” There is nothing here but useless junk, castoffs from a life that Dad and I stopped living long ago. My heart sinks.

  “Lola?”

  “Jin?”

  “You look weird. Is it the rats?”

  I jump up from my position squatting over a box of National Geographic magazines from 1989. “Why? Do you see rats?”

  “No.”

  I exhale sharply. “Okay. Good.”

  “But I hear them.”

  “Can we please hurry up?”

  We dig through the remaining boxes at lightning speed, tossing up clouds of dust. Our prospects dim with each new box we open until Jin waves me over. “Look at this. It’s addressed to you.” He peers into a tall box, covered in foreign postage and inky custom stamps, sealed with layers of grimy tape. Its journey was definitely a long one. My name is scrawled across the front in Dad’s messy handwriting.

  “We better open it,” I say, my pulse quickening. Maybe Dad mailed me directions on how to find him? That would be helpful. Or valuable treasure? I’ll take that, too. The dried-out tape disintegrates at our touch. Tentatively, I lift a box flap, almost afraid to look inside.

  “What are you waiting for?” Jin asks. When I don’t answer, he hip-checks me out of the way and throws open the top. “I don’t know what it is, but it might be valuable.”

  I lean over and have a look. My whirligig! The one from the Coke cans I was building in Prague, right before Dad threw me on a plane to San Francisco and disappeared. He mailed it, just like he said he would. I blink a few times rapidly, running my sleeve over my eyes just to make sure nothing leaks out. Jin stares at me.

  “I used to make these,” I explain. “Wind spinners. Out of stuff I’d collect on our travels. This was my biggest one, but I never finished it.” Gingerly, I lift it out of the box. Parts of it didn’t survive the trip, but on the whole it’s in pretty good shape.

  “I like it,” Jin says quietly.

  “I don’t make them anymore.” Suddenly, I don’t want to see it. It makes me sad in a way I don’t have time for. “And it’s not valuable. It’s just more junk.” I shove it back into the box. We never should have come here. I kick at a giant dust bunny on the floor. When my foot swings out, two little brown ears pop up from behind the box of National Geographic magazines.

  A rat! Frantic, I upend the whirligig box as I scramble for purchase on the desk.

  “It’s just a rodent,” Jin says with a snort. “It’s not going to eat you.”

  “Is it gone?” I whisper.

  He can’t answer because he is doubled over with uncontrollable laughter and has to catch his breath. “Yes,” he says finally.

  “Good.”

  “What’s your problem with rats? They’re no big deal.”

  “Long story.” And not one I am about to get into right now. Or ever. I jump down from the desk and set the whirligig box back to upright. “Let’s go. I’m sorry I got you into this.” Feelings roil in my chest that weren’t there before.

  “Hold on,” says Jin. Something in his voice makes me freeze. Is there a rat close to me? On me? I break out in a cold sweat. “Under the desk.”

  Jin gets down on all fours to look under the desk. What is he doing? Is he insane? There are rats down there!

  “Check it out.” Blowing his wayward bangs out of his eyes, he holds up a brown paper–wrapped package, about the size of a book. “It must have fallen out of the box because it wasn’t here a minute ago.”

  Oh, this is exciting! Maybe Dad really did send treasure. A priceless Gutenberg Bible or a first-edition Canterbury Tale
s? I grab the parcel. But before I can rip it open, there are footsteps outside on the concrete, headed in our direction. Fast. With purpose. Our slumbering security guard has awoken.

  “Uh-oh,” I say, jamming the parcel into my bag.

  “What do we do?” Jin squeaks.

  “When in doubt, run.”

  “Is that another one of your father’s sayings?”

  No. That one is all mine.

  We grab our stuff and roll under the door. A flashlight beam sweeps by, just missing us. There’s no time to secure the storage unit, not that we could anyway, having busted the lock clean off to get in.

  “Hey!” shouts a booming voice. “Stop right there!” That is our invitation to sprint. We dash toward the hole in the fence as if our pants are on fire, Jin gasping, just behind me. But, man, this guy is fast. Too fast. He’s on an electric scooter! Really, what are the chances?

  I shove Jin through the hole, practically clubbing him with my cast, and climb through after him. We scramble to our feet and run. The man heaves the scooter through the opening and attempts to follow. His curses echo in the darkness as he gets hung up on the cut wire fencing.

  “Is he coming?” Jin wheezes as we dash down the tree-lined road.

  “No,” I grunt. Yes. The flashlight beam is gaining on us. Suddenly, I have an idea. Grabbing Jin by the jacket, I bank a sharp right turn off the pavement and hunker down behind a crop of trees.

  “What the—” I clamp my good hand over Jin’s mouth before he gives up our position. Scooter Man slows down, tossing his slick silver ride to the curb.

  “Come out, you little brats!” he bellows. “I saw you! Don’t think you can get away with this!” He strides into the trees, coming right for us. I can practically hear Jin’s heart pounding through his hoodie. Digging through the underbrush, I get my hands on a thick branch and hurl it away from us. It hits a pile of dry leaves. Scooter Man immediately turns toward the sound.

  “Just give up already!” he shouts.

  No. Way. I wait until his footsteps move off in the direction of the branch and, keeping a tight grip on Jin’s jacket, I sprint for the scooter. I have no idea how to drive one, but how hard can it be? The answer is super easy with two hands and not easy at all with one. Jin, riding behind me, howls as we veer wildly toward a parked car. Scooter Man is hot on our trail again, waving his arms and screaming, but without his ride, he doesn’t stand a chance. The wind blows through my hair as we disappear in the fog. Jin, arms around my waist, face plastered against my backpack, holds on for dear life.

  We ride the scooter until it conks out. I lean it gently against a lamppost and we continue on foot to the nearest bus stop, where we sit on a damp bench in a dim pool of yellow light and catch our breath.

  “We just made a getaway on an electric scooter,” Jin says after a moment.

  “We did,” I confirm.

  “I’ve never done that before.”

  “Me either.”

  “It was kind of cool,” he says thoughtfully. “I don’t want to do it again or anything, but you know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  “Anyway, thanks for including me.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” I say.

  “Really?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  He hides a smile, his cheeks glowing with pride, and I think maybe he believes me at least a little bit.

  “Let’s look at that package,” I say. I pull it out and tear into the brown paper wrapping, dropping it like confetti, only to reveal a sharp red corner. I know immediately what it is. My eyes blur. I wipe them on the back of my sleeve, quickly, before Jin notices.

  “What?” Jin studies me.

  “Nothing. It’s just another stupid notebook. The kind my father used on expeditions. It’s not valuable.” My shoulders sag. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

  “It was my idea, remember?” Jin grabs the book from my lap and pages through it. “Are you sure there are no treasure maps in here? You know, where X marks the spot?”

  And just like that, my tired brain belches something useful to the surface. “Wait a minute. Star and Fish asked me about Dad’s notebook. The first time I met them. They asked twice!”

  “Huh?”

  “The State Department agents! They wanted to know where the notebook was. Right after they told me I was an orphan. It was terrible bedside manner.”

  I grab the notebook back and hold it right up to my nose. It doesn’t look any different from all the other ones, but it must be. Otherwise, why did the State Department agents want it? I flip quickly through the pages. They are all intact. Nothing appears to be missing.

  A shadow falls on the pavement in front of us. It’s long, twisted, and shaped like a Martian. When I look up, there is Hannah Hill, wearing her uniform and a sly grin. “Wow,” she says. “You two have had a busy morning.”

  When encountering the unexpected, smile and pretend everything makes perfect sense until you figure out what is actually going on. That might be something my father says. Or maybe I just made it up.

  CHAPTER 14 CAT AND MOUSE, SO WHICH ONE AM I?

  UNINVITED, HANNAH WEDGES HERSELF IN between us on the narrow bench. She is much too happy for this early hour.

  Jin eyes her. “Are you following us?”

  “Think about it,” she says, as if we are complete idiots. “You two team up for the STEM fair and then I bust you talking about breaking and entering and then I overhear you at the lockers discussing the details of said breaking and entering and the location, so I tagged along.” She pulls out a pair of binoculars and waves them around. “Got here before you and just kept an eye on things. Didn’t even break a sweat. Although I thought you might be done for when the guard caught on. That was exciting, wasn’t it?”

  Jin’s jaw hangs open. Hannah eyes him. “Come on,” she says. “You would have done the same.”

  Jin does not appreciate being compared to Hannah Hill especially by Hannah Hill. “Are you kidding me?” he shrieks. “I would never do that. You’re worse than my little brother!”

  “NASA summer camp is on the line,” she snaps. “You guys are up to something and I want to know what it is. So, tell me. Because I don’t want to have to report to the Jelly what I see here, which is a common criminal and a loser, up to no good.”

  Wait a minute! I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, despite being Jin’s nemesis and all, but now she’s just being mean. My skin prickles with heat, but I smile benignly as I try to slip the notebook out of view. “We were out for a morning jog,” I say. “To get in better shape.”

  “Fitness,” Jin agrees. “It’s important.”

  Hannah clears her throat. “You should remember that all actions have consequences.”

  The notebook is securely under my right thigh. “I think she’s threatening us,” Jin says. “Lola, do you think Hannah is threatening us?”

  “I do. And I’m pretty sure the Redwood Academy code of conduct says ‘No threatening other students.’ ”

  Jin snorts. Hannah jumps to her feet, cheeks flushed, ready to throw down. But before this gets out of hand, the bus rolls up to the curb to save us. Quickly, I try to move the red notebook from under my thigh to my backpack, but I’m not so good at doing things with my right hand and it tumbles to the ground, falling at Hannah’s feet, open to a page covered in scribbled notes and rudimentary illustrations. Hannah scoops up the book so fast I barely have time to register that I’ve lost control of it.

  “Is this what you were after?” she asks. She studies the page intently, turning it this way and that. “A notebook?”

  “No,” I respond, swiping it back. “It’s nothing. It’s private.”

  Hannah gives me that sly smile again. “We’ll see.”

  And I’ll admit, my blood runs a little cold.

  Back at Redwood, I really want to run directly to the library, find a quiet place, and read the notebook. If the State Department agents w
ere so keen to get it, it must contain something of value. It might even tell me where my father is. Or at least where he was. This idea leaves me breathless. It means I’d have a place to actually start my search. I’m not sure I can survive another minute not knowing. However, after this morning’s escapades, the thin ice under my feet feels especially squishy. I cannot skip class. The notebook will have to wait a little while longer.

  I stuff the red book in my locker under textbooks for World History and Math 3. I add a box of highlighters on top. If anyone tries to swipe the notebook, they will be avalanched by school supplies. As the final bell rings for first period, I slam the locker shut and head off to French class, hopeful the rumors about éclairs are true because I’m starving.

  The day is long. I can’t think about anything but the notebook because I’m 100 percent sure the notebook will reveal all about what happened to my father. I’m so distracted I get conked on the head during dodgeball. After the last bell of the day, I find Jin pacing in front of my locker.

  “Hurry up,” he whispers. “Let’s go.” The plan is to take the notebook to the library. Under pressure, I forget my locker combination and Jin’s head almost explodes. When the locker finally pops open, I prepare myself for the usual tumble of stuff, but nothing falls out. I peer inside. My locker looks almost… neat?

  “Jin,” I say, nudging him. “My locker. It’s, like, clean.” He takes a quick look, shrugs, grabs the notebook, and takes off down the hallway. I guess he doesn’t care about the condition of my locker. I take off after him.

  It’s the moment of truth.

  CHAPTER 15 ANY TIME IS A GOOD TIME FOR DOUGHNUTS.

  WE HEAD TO THE LIBRARY by way of the cafeteria because after school in the cafeteria there are doughnuts. Doughnuts! Glazed, sugar, sprinkles, jelly-filled, cream-filled, chocolate. Let me tell you, there are no good doughnuts in Ulaanbaatar. This is exactly what Judge Gold was counting on. I’d become so distracted by Redwood, nothing else would matter. Doughnuts. How subversive. I take three.