“Annie?” Lila blocked my way to the field. She glanced at Jason, who stood next to me. “I just wanted to say …” Another look at Jason. “I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
When I didn’t say anything, she hung her head. “Just. Sorry.” She ran off to take her position.
“What was that all about?” Jason asked.
My face burned red. I couldn’t tell him I’d blabbed his secret. Luckily Coach Reed saved me.
“Jenkins! Pick it up. You’re up front, center-left. Parker, you’re here with me. Let’s go, let’s go!” The coach hustled me onto the field, clamping a hand on Jason’s shoulder.
As I ran on the field, I heard Jason’s dad. “You dragged me out here so I could watch you ride the bench? Of all the …”
I wanted to smack him across the head. Mr. Parker was the one who deserved to be grounded.
When the whistle blew to start the game, I struggled to get into it. The ball flew past me, followed by two opposing players. I doubt my team had even moved when the ball swooshed into our goal.
I groaned. Business as usual. It would be another painful forty minutes for all involved. Except the other team, of course. They were smiling and high-fiving like they’d actually done something to get that goal.
By the end of the first half, the score was seven to zero. Though my dad cheered us on, Jason’s dad stood by himself, his thumbs jabbing at his phone.
Last spring he’d been our biggest supporter — cheering us on even when we were behind by twenty. (That only happened once. Really.) Now, he didn’t even look up when the whistle blew to start the second half.
This time, Jason and I were forwards together. It was our kick-off. We had practiced for just such a moment. We had a plan. “You ready?” I asked.
Jason nodded.
I tapped the ball to him and ran as hard as I could to get into position, just wide of the last player. Jason was supposed to kick it to me, but when I turned, he’d long since lost the ball.
Three goals later, with maybe five minutes left in the game, a miracle finally happened. Bryce, the biggest and least coordinated kid on the team, managed to clear the ball. About time!
Everyone gaped as it soared through the sky. Except me and Jason.
We dashed upfield past the opposing defenders who hadn’t bothered to stay in position. I got there first, dribbling past midfield. Jason broke wide, “accidentally” getting in the way of the defenders behind us.
With only the goalie left to defend the net, I wanted to celebrate. Five years of practice would finally pay off. Because till now, I’d never even scored a goal. Actually, no one on my team had (at least for our own team). I’d be the first! I could already feel my teammates lifting me onto their shoulders.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Jason. He ran parallel to me on the opposite side of the field. He was wide open.
Then I remembered. He’d never scored either.
The defenders were riding my back. Their hot breath sent goose bumps up my arms. The goalie rushed at me. I needed to shoot. Now.
I aimed and kicked.
The goalie dove. The defenders slid from behind, knocking me over. Totally illegal! But the ball whizzed past them, right to Jason.
Without even breaking stride, he shot the ball. I held my breath, but I shouldn’t have worried. The ball swished into the upper corner of the goal.
The crowd erupted as the whistle blew to end the game.
Jason ran straight to me and pulled me to my feet. “We did it! We scored! We scored!”
We jumped up and down, celebrating. “We scored! We scored! We scored!”
“What dweebs.” The other team’s goalie sneered at us. “The score’s ten to one … for us.”
Jason and I paused.
“You lost.” The goalie snorted, then launched a gob of green onto the field.
We stared at him a moment, then continued our celebration. “We scored! We scored!” Our team mobbed us and joined in the dance.
I caught a glimpse of Lila watching from the other side of the field, then Bryce smashed into our mob of teammates and I forgot about her.
“On our shoulders!” Bryce shouted.
Jason and I laughed the whole way as our teammates half-carried, half-dragged us to our coach. We gave a cheer, shook the other team’s hands, then ran straight for our dads. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Mr. Parker’s face.
“Did you see that?” Jason glowed.
Warmth filled my chest. Jason hadn’t looked so happy in months! I’d made the right choice by passing to him.
“Great assist, Annie! And awesome goal, Jason! You two make a great team!” My dad scooped me into a hug.
“Wonderful, you two! Just wonderful.” Mrs. Schuster beamed at us. “That last five minutes made up for the other miserable thirty-five.” I couldn’t help giving her a hug, because amen to that!
“Did you see that, Dad? Wasn’t it great?” Jason stood in front of his father.
I waited for the reaction. The smile. The high-fives and knuckle punch. The congratulations and proud words. Maybe even a hug.
Jason’s dad looked up from his phone. “Is the game over? Good, I’ve got a lot to get done at home, and …”
“But my goal.” Jason pointed at the net as though his dad could watch the instant replay. “Didn’t you see it? I scored!”
His dad was back at his phone. “You scored?” He sounded distracted. “Cool. Now let’s go. Nice to see you, Sam.” With a glance our direction, he started walking toward home.
I stood there stunned. We all did. We’d gone five years without a single goal, and all he could say was ‘“cool”?! Couldn’t he at least have faked a smidgen of enthusiasm? Maybe act like he cared? This was a big deal — our moment of triumph. And he’d ruined it.
My dad finally broke the silence. “Well I’m proud of both of you. Slurpees on me. Ted, do you mind if Jason comes?” he called.
Mr. Parker waved a hand, not looking up or stopping.
Jason watched his dad walk away. I flinched at each step.
“I don’t really feel like celebrating.” He wouldn’t look at me.
“But what about our Slurpee contest?”
“Guess I forfeit.” He shuffled toward his dad.
“But …” I felt helpless. I wanted to fix things. Make them right for Jason. But I couldn’t. He needed his dad for that — the old one. Just like I needed my mom. Like peanut butter needed jelly.
Why did things have to change? Everything had been perfect, and now we were all miserable.
I wondered if the treasure would be enough to bring back the old Mr. Parker. The fun one who could make Jason laugh without trying. Hopefully we’d find out soon now that we weren’t grounded anymore.
“I’ll come over after lunch?” I asked.
Jason shrugged, not stopping. “Whatever.”
18
After lunch I ran straight to Jason’s.
“He’s up cleaning his room,” Mrs. Parker said. “You can help him if you want, but after that you two will have to play elsewhere. We have a showing in thirty minutes.”
I struggled not to scowl as she led me upstairs. My stomach cramped when we passed the family room. The TV and couch set were already gone, making the room look the way I felt: empty. But by the time we got to Jason’s room, I had an idea.
Jason was picking up Legos in the corner. I nonchalantly joined him. “So,” I said. “Your mom told me about the showing. What if we …”
“No.”
“It wouldn’t have to …”
“No.” Jason kept cleaning. “No sabotage.”
“Fine.” I sighed.
We worked together in silence until his room was clean, then trudged downstairs to report to his mom. When she okayed his room, I dragged J
ason to the cemetery and told him to wait.
His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when I returned with the bulging sack.
“Whoa! What happened?”
I laid the thirteen sandwiches in a row. “Two from the vacant lot fiasco, and the rest are from school lunch.”
Jason blinked. “Wait. Were those the ones for me? You kept bringing them?”
“All but one. Lila made me so mad that first day, I couldn’t eat. Anyway, I had to keep bringing them. Just in case. Society members keep their word. Remember?”
He sat up straighter. Grinned. “So thirteen burials, huh? We’d better get started.”
“Actually I had an idea. We could …” I clamped a hand over my mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. Took a deep breath. I’d planned this all out, and had even practiced what to say. It had to be official. “I can’t tell you until I start the meeting.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Then start it already, you goof.”
I cleared my throat. “I hereby call this meeting of the PB&J Society to order. Before we begin, I’d like to propose the addition of two new rules to be hereafter known as Rule Number Seven and Rule Number Eight.
“If approved, Rule Number Seven shall be written as follows: ‘No SPB&J burials shall take place unless both Society members are present.’ Rule Number Eight …”
“What?” Jason sat up straight. “You held a ceremony without me, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. “I tried, but it wasn’t the same. That’s why we need a rule.”
“Then aye. But it shouldn’t have to be a rule.”
I squirmed. Studied the row of sandwiches. “I haven’t called for the vote yet,” I finally said. I finally looked up. “I also propose Rule Number Eight which, if approved, shall be written in the books as follows: ‘If more than three PB&Js require burial at the same time, a mass burial shall be performed. Instead of holding each sandwich to spit upon, thou shalt line them up on the ground, and both members shall perform a rapid-fire spit salute (one spit for each sandwich).’
“All in favor, say ‘aye.’”
Jason squinted at me. Shook his head. “Aye.”
I added mine.
“All opposed, say ‘nay.’” I scanned the crowds, then gave a nod. “It’s unanimous. The ‘ayes’ have it. Let the ceremony begin.”
I reached for a sandwich to inspect, but Jason raised his hand again. “Time-out.”
“What?”
“So how do we do this? You only mentioned the spitting, but who inspects? Or do we both inspect? And do we do it one sandwich at a time, or both together? Rule Number Eight isn’t very clear.”
My hands were at my hips. “Then you should have said something before you voted for it. You had no problem commenting on Rule Number Seven.”
“I was in a hurry to approve Seven before you held another ceremony without me.” Jason winked.
He wasn’t mad! Laughter bubbled up inside me, but I bit it back. This was the ceremony. This was serious business. But man I’d missed him! “Okay, okay. How about we take turns inspecting the sandwiches and do it one at a time. And then we’ll both dig the hole. I even brought two shovels. Acceptable?”
“Acceptable. Time-in.”
I picked up the first, turned it frontward and backward, then rotated it to check the sides. “I hereby pronounce this sandwich mold-free and worthy of burial.”
Jason inspected the second, and we continued back and forth until he picked up the twelfth. It was the smushed flat one from the vacant lot. “Eww gross! I hereby pronounce this sandwich moldy and unfit for burial.” He held it pinched between two fingers so I could see the green on the corner.
I shivered, snatched up the bag I’d brought them in and held it out. He deposited it inside and I set the thing as far from me as I could.
The last sandwich wasn’t as smushed, but it was from that same day. Bracing myself for grossness, I picked it up, inspected, and phew. “I hereby pronounce this sandwich mold-free and worthy of burial.”
I laid it back in line, and we started digging. The ground was hard, and we were both sweating by the time the hole was big enough. But I loved working side by side with Jason. For a moment I forgot about the looming black cloud.
We kneeled on either side of the PB&J line.
“Let the rapid-fire spitting begin!” I hadn’t told Jason about the addition, but he didn’t seem to care. He just started spitting.
Ptooey! Ptooey!
I spit with all my might, imagining I was hitting the wretched moving sign. I didn’t stop until Jason tapped me.
“Time-out. Wasn’t it only one spit per sandwich?”
I wiped the spit droplets from my face. “Oh. Guess I forgot to count. Sorry.”
He nodded. “Time-in.”
Trying not to touch the spitty parts, we took turns laying the sandwiches in the hole, then placed our hands on our stomachs.
“Our dearly beloveds, we are gathered here today to say goodbye to these sandwiches. We are saddened by the loss of our favorite food and think on happier times before they were smushed and became gross. We are grateful for the many times they saved us from the evils of broccoli casserole and bid them farewell on their new journey to feed the worms. May they rest in peace.”
When the song was sung, and the hole filled, we went inside to wash our hands, then sat down on the back steps to eat the popsicles my dad had given us.
With red juice slipping down my chin, I eyed the Parkers’ turkey pen. I needed to tell Jason about the treasure. Five measly steps! Why did Black Marge choose an obvious number like 100? She should have been tricky and chosen 87 or 62. Anything but 100! (Well, and preferably not 96, 97, 98, or 99 either.)
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in Jason’s backyard. The turkey pen took up half of it, and I didn’t trust the wire fence that separated the birds from the grass. In my book, Jason’s backyard was akin to broccoli casserole: to be avoided at all costs. But with the treasure on the line, I’d have to make an exception.
When the last bit of my popsicle fell on the steps, I took a deep breath. Time to tell Jason what I’d found. I just hoped his mood didn’t nosedive when I mentioned the treasure.
“So I found a clue yesterday.”
Jason paused from sucking on the last bit of his popsicle. “Yeah?”
“Mrs. Schuster was talking about that fight with her son, then she told me that other bad stuff was going on too. She looked right at a pile of papers when she said it. Whatever she’s hiding, it’s there. I’m sure of it.”
“Really? What do you think they say?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t close enough to read them.”
“We need a plan.” Jason tapped his stick on the stair.
I shifted to face him. “It’s simple. You spill your milk, and I’ll run to the kitchen for some napkins. If the papers are there I’ll find out what they say.”
Jason snorted. “First, when has Mrs. Schuster ever let us help do anything? Never. That’s when. And second, even if she did let you help, don’t you think she’d notice if you took too long? You know how she is about cleaning.”
I slumped. “Oh. Right.”
We sat there trying to think of a plan, but short of breaking and entering, I had nothing.
“Well,” I finally said, “we aren’t expert spies for nothing. One of these mornings she’ll make a mistake. They always do. And we’ll be ready.”
Jason laughed. “You’re such a kook.”
“Speaking of that …” My hands suddenly felt clammy. Jason was going to laugh (either that or get mad), but I needed him to believe me.
“Uh-oh.”
“I think the treasure’s real.”
“Annie, we’ve been through this.” His voice went tired.
“You should have heard her, Jason. Mrs. Schuster wasn’t just telling me all kinds of stories about Black Marge. She talked about it like it was real. Like she was there or something. Plus Black Marge kept a journal.”
“You saw it?”
“No.” Right then I wished I’d pushed the issue a little harder. “But she left clues about the treasure in it.”
Jason didn’t say anything. He stared at his feet.
“I think it’s in your backyard.”
He raised his eyebrows
“The treasure’s here. I’m sure of it.” I told him about the clues: the pear trees; the one hundred steps. I told him about my failed attempt to reach the treasure.
I could tell he wanted to believe.
“Five steps from the fence,” I said.
We both stared at the pen. I couldn’t take my eyes off the strutting birds.
Jason finally shook his head. “So you’re saying you’d face turkeys for this pretend treasure?”
“Isn’t your dad selling them?” I squirmed. Because as much as I wanted to dig up the treasure, I couldn’t go in there with a turkey on the loose. I just couldn’t.
“Next week,” Jason said.
My insides giggled, I was so happy at the news.
Look. Real or not, my dad’ll kill us if we dig a big hole in there.” He glanced at his house. “Maybe … I mean, it might be time to give up. My dad still grumbles about that trip to the doctor. He freaks out at the smallest things now. I don’t think any treasure is worth the risk of upsetting him. Especially a made-up one.”
“Jason.” My mom poked her head out the back door. “Your mom called. You can go home whenever you like.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Jenkins.”
I looked away. My nose tingled in that I’m-about-to-cry way. I tried to picture my future without Jason, but I could only see black. I couldn’t let him give up.
If he refused to search for the treasure, then it was time for Plan E.
Jason stood to go in, but I jumped in front of him. “There’s one more possibility.”
“Yeah?” Jason spoke hesitantly.
“We talk to the bank.”
The Last Great Adventure of the PB & J Society Page 12
