The half-dug hole taunted me, daring me to keep going. “But the treasure …”
“It’s not real, Annie! Grow up!”
I felt like I’d been slapped. Jason never yelled like that.
My hands were on fire, but they didn’t hurt half as bad as his words. Tears sprung to my eyes and I stared at the bright red rash blooming on my fingers, trying to pretend that’s why I was crying.
Lips trembling, I nodded. “I’ll get your mom.”
10
“What were you thinking, Annie?” We stood at the bathroom sink while my mom scrubbed my hands with soap.
I ground my teeth against the pain, but it was nothing compared to before.
“You shouldn’t have even been in that empty lot, but rubbing stinging nettle into that poor boy’s leg? Didn’t you feel it burning your hands?” She stuck my hands under the tap, then toweled them off with another clean cloth. We had repeated this process every fifteen minutes for the past three hours. I got the lecture at each scrubbing.
“I told you. I thought it was aloe. Matt said it was a healing plant with pointy edges. I thought I was helping.” I slumped back onto the closed toilet seat and stared at the pile of used hand towels. It was getting big.
The scene at Jason’s house replayed in my mind. His mom had practically gone into hysterics. I could still hear his parents arguing.
“For crying out loud, Bianca, it’s just a scratch. He’s had his shots. He doesn’t need to go to a doctor. You know we don’t have money for that!” Mr. Parker had thumped his fist on the table.
“It was a rusty nail, Ted. Do you want him to get tetanus? For heaven sakes, just look at it. I’ll sell a piece of my jewelry. He’s going to the doctor.”
When they weren’t looking I slipped out and ran home. I was only trying to help. Trying to get them more money. But now I’d made things worse.
The phone rang.
“Don’t touch anything.” Mom ran to the kitchen. “Hello? … Bianca! How is he?”
I sat up and listened hard.
“Wonderful. I’m glad to hear… . Uh-huh… . I see… . No, no. Really, I understand… . I can respect that. No need to apologize… . And I’ll send a note, too… . I’m sorry, again. It really was an accident… . Are you certain we can’t help pay for it? … Yes. Okay. Talk to you soon.”
I held my breath. But when my mom came back in, my stomach dropped. I knew that look — pity. Not good since she should be mad at me. “What happened?”
Mom took a deep breath. “Jason’s going to be fine. He got a shot, and they managed to clean the worst of the stinging nettle out of the wound.”
“Can I talk to him?”
My mom shook her head. “Jason’s dad is …” she cleared her throat, “shall we say upset? You two are grounded from each other for two weeks. And that includes at school.”
“What!? But that’s not fair.” I stared at my mom, hoping it wasn’t true.
She slouched against the counter, hand on her cheek. “I’m sorry, Annie. Personally I feel it’s a bit harsh, but Mr. Parker … well, he has a lot to worry about right now. We have to respect his wishes.”
In my mind, Jason yelled at me to grow up. I tried to force back the tears that stung my eyes. They fell anyway. “But we only have a few weeks left. And I didn’t even get to tell him I’m sorry.” I cursed my chin for trembling. “I didn’t get to tell him.”
My mom scrubbed more soap into my hands. “I know, honey. I know.”
***
I sat cross-legged in the cemetery staring at the uneaten sandwiches from our ill-fated adventure. I’d slipped out as soon as Mom finished with my hands.
The jelly had only seeped through a corner of one sandwich, but it had taken over the other. The print of the water bottle was still visible on that one. Just one more tragedy to add to my tally. But between Jason’s leg, my hands, and Mr. Parker’s scariness, I’d totally lost my head.
He’d picked Jason up and marched toward home without looking at me.
“Get your stuff,” he’d barked.
So I’d grabbed my pack without even thinking about the sandwiches. Plus, I’d had to run to catch up.
And now a burial was required.
I’d never performed the ceremony alone. I wasn’t even sure it was possible. The PB&J Society had no rule against it — there’d never been a reason to — but somehow it seemed wrong. Like a PB&J made with apricot jelly.
“I hereby call this meeting of the PB&J Society to order,” I finally whispered. “Let the ceremony begin.”
This was the part where Jason would inspect the sandwiches. My nose tingled, but I shook it off. I had a duty to perform. Using my wrists, I scooped up the first sandwich and checked it out. “I hereby pronounce this sandwich mold-free and worthy of burial.”
I repeated the process for the second one, then grabbed the gardening spade and tried to dig a hole. Using my wrists, I dug at the ground, wincing every time I bumped my hands. I dug and dug until my hands screamed in pain and I had blisters on my wrists.
I stared at my work. The hole wasn’t even big enough for a quarter sandwich. I screamed, threw down the spade, and jumped to my feet. I kicked the spade across the cemetery, then raised my foot to stomp the sandwiches to smithereens.
But I couldn’t do it.
I dropped to my knees and buried my face in my arms to hide my tears. What had I done? Despite my best efforts to help, I, Annie Jenkins, had made Jason’s situation worse. And stomping those sandwiches wouldn’t help anything.
I didn’t know if Jason would even want to talk to me when our punishment ended, but as a PB&J Society member, I’d have those sandwiches ready for that moment. Because even if there wasn’t a rule about not performing the ceremony alone, there should be one. It would be our first order of business.
Not that it would matter if he moved.
A wave of loneliness washed over me. The thought of no Jason left a gaping hole in my life.
I’d promised myself to give up on the treasure. But that didn’t mean I had to quit. I thought of my list.
Maybe Plans A and B had failed, but I hadn’t even tapped into C and D yet.
I wiped my nose. Put the spade back in my bag along with the sandwiches. The burial would wait. Saving Jason’s house wouldn’t.
When I got back to my room, I pulled out The List. Holding a pen sent stabs of pain through my bandaged hand, but I no longer cared. I crossed off the failures.
2. Sell appendix on eBay.
Crossed off.
4. Find Jason’s dad a job.
Double crossed off.
8. Win a radio contest.
Stupid age discrimination. Crossed off.
But a bake sale could work. Hadn’t Mrs. Schuster said my mom’s cookies had a reputation? I wrote a big C next to it. And I decided to start Plan D right away, too.
I had to tell my mom about C because I needed her help, but I’d keep Plan D secret. Just in case it didn’t work out.
And anyway, it was my money.
I pulled out a fresh piece of paper and a pen.
Uncle Jim would help. I was sure of it. Not only did he live in a state with a lottery, but he was the kind of uncle who let you eat ice cream for breakfast. He’d understand … and he wouldn’t rat me out to my parents.
Though it hurt like crazy to write, I kept at it for twenty straight minutes. Then one last read-through to make sure it was perfect:
Dear Uncle Jim,
You always say that time is money, so I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve got a problem and I think you’re the best person to help me. Mostly because you live in Chicago, but also because mom’s always saying that you’re good with money, if nothing else.
Here’s the deal. My best friend in the world has to move. Not because his dad got a new job li
ke you (and we totally miss you, BTW!). Not because he wants to move. But because of money. Which is stupid and unfair if you ask me.
In my generous nature, I have taken it upon myself to earn enough money so they can stay. Unfortunately, since I’m only ten (and FYI, ten-year-olds do NOT like baby dolls as birthday presents), I can’t get a job.
I wanted to find one for Jason’s dad, but that didn’t work out.
I was working on another top-secret project that would have made Jason and me rich enough to take care of it, but that exploded in our faces (well, on my hands and Jason’s leg. Kind of hard to explain).
I’d ask for a raise in my allowance, but you know how Mom and Dad are. They’d just lecture me about how money doesn’t grow on trees and the value of a dollar, blah, blah, blah. Well, duh. I’ve known about the tree myth for years, and I’m more than aware of money’s value since they refuse to buy me an iPhone.
I’m perfectly willing to sell one of my kidneys (and it’s definitely kidney, NOT appendix, in case you were wondering), but come to find out it’s illegal since I don’t live in Iran. Even on Craigslist. Which strikes me as odd, since it’s my body, but there you are.
So you can see, this is my only choice. I’m sending you the $50 I’ve saved so far for an iPhone. I need you to buy as many lottery tickets as you can.
Let me know how much I won as soon as possible. This is TRIPLE-DECKER urgent!
Love,
Annie.
P.S. Please don’t tell Mom and Dad. You know how upset they can get, and I don’t want them to worry needlessly. I’ve always been a caring daughter that way.
P.P.S. Do you think God would help me win more if I’m extra good? … I’m pretty good already, but maybe I should throw in a few more prayers. What do you think?
P.P.P.S. Would it be greedy if I kept some of my winnings to buy that iPhone?
I took a deep breath. Straight to the point. Proof I’d already thought through the problem and made my own efforts to solve it. Direct and clear request for help. Precautions against my parents finding out. Check, check, and check. That should do it.
I folded the letter and ran to my parents’ room. As usual, Mom was working on bills.
I stuffed the letter behind my back. No need to take chances.
“Mom, I need an envelope and a stamp. And do you have Uncle Jim’s address?”
Mom turned around and gave me a funny look. “You wrote a letter to Jim? With your hands like that? Is this a school assignment or something? Why don’t you just e-mail him?”
Because I can’t send money by e-mail, plus you check my account. I shrugged, going for the innocent look. “I just miss him. And it’s always fun to get a letter in the mail. Plus I needed to talk.” I gave Mom that look. The one that said I’ve-just-been-grounded-from-my-best-friend-who-could-be-moving-any-day-and-I-may-not-ever-get-to-see-him-again. Ever.
It worked. For a second. My mom opened a drawer, then paused. “You aren’t hitting him up for an iPhone again, are you?”
“Mo-om. It’s just a letter.” I rolled my eyes, imitating Kate. It always seemed to work for her.
Another suspicious look. Time for a distraction.
“Could I have a bake sale?”
Mom blinked. “What?”
“You know. Sell cookies and stuff. Mrs. Schuster says you’re famous, so I bet people would pay lots of money to get one.”
“This is about an iPhone.” She crossed her arms.
“It’s not!” I took a deep breath. Things were going the wrong direction fast. “I want to help pay Jason’s doctor bill. Since it was my fault.” I hung my head, which I thought was a nice touch.
My mom smiled at me. “That’s sweet, honey. But I offered to help pay and they refused.”
“So I’ll mail the money to them in secret. Please?”
She looked at me then nodded. “How about next Saturday? You’ll probably have more luck on a weekend.”
“Thank you!” I hugged myself tight while my mom pulled out an envelope and stamps.
So we’d had a setback or two. So what? We were totally going to save Jason’s house because these new plans rocked.
Mom held out an envelope. “Here, I addressed it for you. So do I get to read it?”
I blushed, then snatched the offering. “You can’t read a letter for someone else. Thanks again about the bake sale!” I bolted before my mom could say anything.
Back in my room, I did a little victory dance.
Wouldn’t Jason be surprised when I presented him with a big check so they could keep their house? Or should I give him a briefcase full of cash? Or maybe a swimming pool full, if I got extra lucky.
But I still had work to do. First I needed to finish the letter. Then I could plan next Saturday.
I pulled open my underwear drawer and dug for my savings. I stuffed it all in and pressed the bulging envelope as flat as I could before licking it sealed. Blech. I wiped the horrid taste from my tongue, wishing for the bazillionth time my mom would spring for the self-sticking kind.
As quietly as I could, I snuck out the front door and stuck the letter in the mailbox. The red flag raised, I crossed my fingers.
It hurt to think of the iPhone. I’d have to start saving all over. But if Jason got to stay, the loss was more than worth it.
11
“So you and Jason are grounded from seeing each other.” Mrs. Schuster dabbed a linen napkin at her mouth before placing it back in her lap. Unlike our Saturday visit, Mrs. Schuster was dressed and ready for the day.
I pushed pieces of egg around my plate with my fork and nodded. I hadn’t intended to visit Mrs. Schuster that morning. Without Jason, the whole thing seemed pointless. But Mrs. Schuster had called our moms with the invitation, like she promised, and our moms determined I should go.
Alone.
Though I’d promised myself not to tell anyone about the stinging nettle, she got the whole story out of me. But I didn’t mind. It was nice to have someone listen without scolding for a change.
“I wouldn’t have rubbed it on his cut if I’d have known,” I said for what felt like the millionth time in the past two days.
“Of course not, dear.” She patted my hand.
“And now I can’t go back to the empty lot. So if the treasure’s there, we might as well give up the hunt. Though …” I hesitated. Did I tell her about the map? It was a priceless artifact, a piece of history, and I had destroyed it. Would she kick me out?
“Yes?” She popped in another bite of egg, clearly unprepared for the magnitude of what I was about to tell her. Maybe that was for the best.
“I, uh … I accidently ruined the map.”
Mrs. Schuster frowned. “Did it get ripped in all that hullaballoo with Jason? I’m not surprised. Poor boy.”
I shook my head. “I lit it on fire,” I whispered.
She choked on her bite of egg.
I slouched down in my chair, waiting for the explosion.
“How in tarnation did you manage to burn the thing?” She didn’t sound mad, exactly. Though her face was definitely twitching.
“We were searching for hidden messages, like you said. I thought maybe Marge had used invisible ink. But Jason distracted me and it got too close to the flames. And poof! The whole thing was gone.”
Mrs. Schuster pressed her face into her elbow. Her whole body shook. At first I thought she was shaking with rage (I’d seen that happen when she caught us with the football), but then I realized she was laughing.
It took several moments, but she finally calmed down. “Oh, child. How were we not friends sooner?”
I knew the answer to that one, but I decided not to point out how grouchy she used to be.
“With the map gone, I guess there’s no point in searching for the treasure anymore,” I said.
Mrs. Schu
ster sat up straight, suddenly serious. “You know, come to think of it, that map might have been a red herring.”
I stared at her, trying to decide if she was serious. “You’re saying the map was fish?”
“Red herring. It just means it was a false lead. You know, make people look one place when the treasure is really somewhere else?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I understood.
“And actually, I found another clue.”
“You did?” I couldn’t help myself. Even though I’d sworn off the search, I shivered with excitement. Maybe if I found the treasure, Jason’s dad would drop the punishment.
“Yes, and I was wrong about the empty lot. See, I was reading one of Cap’n Black Marge’s journal entries.”
“She kept a journal? Can I see it?” I imagined a leather-covered pile of parchment roughly sewn together. Just like in the movies. Wouldn’t that be just the proof to finally convince Jason the treasure was real? Well … as soon as we could speak to each other again.
“Oh, I don’t think …” Mrs. Schuster looked like I’d asked to play catch with an ancient vase. “It’s a bit of a family treasure, you understand. But I can tell you what it said.”
“Please? I promise to be careful.”
Mrs. Schuster opened and closed her mouth several times. Her teacup full of coffee tinkled against the saucer as she set it down. “I … it’s … um … it’s really old. Pages crumbling. I keep it in an airtight room and have to wear a special suit. I’m afraid I don’t have one your size.” She wouldn’t look me in the eye.
No one has an airtight room in their house. Well, at least normal people don’t. Mrs. Schuster had just lied to me. Jason’s words shot through my mind.
Why would she lie to two kids and lead them on some wild goose chase?
I shook the words away. This had nothing to do with the treasure. Mrs. Schuster just didn’t trust me with an antique. That’s all. Still, that felt kind of cruddy, too.
“But let me tell you what it said.” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “Not a year after Marge married Edward, her first mate came looking for her. Leonard the Lout.”
The Last Great Adventure of the PB & J Society Page 7
