The Unbreakable Code

by Jennifer Chambliss Bertman

  “Aqua rock!” Matthew said. After listening a minute longer, he added, “That would be a good name for a band.”

  Emily forgot about creepy worms and cemetery vibes as they ran around pressing their ears to various tentacles, and then she stood in the center of the patio, surveying the area for book-sized hiding spots.

  There were crevices and gaps between the stones, but none looked quite big enough. She climbed up the stone stairs and trailed her hand through weedy greens sprouting from planters, but didn’t find a book.

  Crossing the patio, she stood at the edge, facing the building-covered mounds of San Francisco across the marina. Below her, a tumble of rocks and boulders sloped to the water. Gentle waves lapped and retreated, revealing a sliver of sandy beach.

  Emily’s eye was drawn to a gray brick askew on top of the rocks. It was the only rectangular shape amidst a variety of rounded ones. The angle of the brick also looked unnatural somehow. Emily crouched at the edge of the patio and reached for the block, her fingertips brushing against it. She moved one foot to a large boulder, testing it first to make sure it didn’t move, and then reached again. This time she was able to lift the brick, and there underneath was a clear plastic bag with a paperback tucked safely inside.

  “Ha!” Emily cried.

  “You found the book?” James called. He and Matthew gathered behind Emily as she pinched the edge of the bag and pulled it free. She slid open the zippered seal and pulled out a paperback copy of The Fourteenth Goldfish. She would have plunked herself down on one of the slab benches and started to read, but James shook his It’s-It.

  “Perfect time to celebrate!” he said.

  The three rounded the path to sit on the rocky crust of the jetty, looking out at the bay. Dozens of kite surfers were on the water, their colorful sails arcing in an aerial dance. Emily took a bite of her It’s-It. The chocolate shell cracked to reveal chewy oatmeal cookies. Semi-melted mint ice cream oozed out. It was sweet and cold with crunchy bits, all in one bite.

  “This is so good,” Emily said, only her mouth was full and cold, so it sounded more like “Es esho goo!”

  After a few minutes of nothing but seagull shrieks, the rhythmic swishing of water, and concentrated eating of the ice cream sandwiches, Emily swallowed a bite and pointed across the bay.

  “I know that’s Alcatraz,” she said, indicating the crag of an island with a long white building and lighthouse perched on top. “But what island is that?” The larger mass of land near Alcatraz was shrouded in green.

  “That’s Angel Island,” James said. “People go there to hike or ride bikes. And immigrants used to come through there, a long time ago. We have a field trip to the immigration station coming up, actually. The seventh graders go every year.” James had finished his It’s-It and folded his plastic wrapper into smaller and smaller squares.

  “When you look on a map of San Francisco, the bay doesn’t look large enough to have two islands,” Emily said.

  “There’s more than two. You can kind of see another one down there. It’s called Treasure Island. The Bay Bridge runs through it.”

  James pointed to the peak of the Bay Bridge, which looked like a miniature toy from so far away.

  “Treasure Island?” Emily repeated.

  Matthew chomped on his It’s-It. “Did someone find buried gold there or something? Like that code you looked at in the library?”

  James stared toward the island like he was seeing it in a new way. “I always assumed it was named after the book.”

  “Even if someone did find a treasure, that doesn’t mean it was the unbreakable code treasure,” Emily said firmly. She hadn’t realized how hopeful she’d been about the prospect of finding long-lost treasure until she was faced with the possibility of someone having beaten her to it.

  “That’s true.” James nodded. “The code hasn’t been cracked, we know that for sure, so if the unbreakable code really does lead to gold, it must still be hidden.”

  “What would you buy if you found this long-lost gold?” Matthew asked. “I’d buy a Gibson Les Paul.”

  “A what?” Emily asked.

  “A cool guitar,” Matthew explained.

  “I’d buy a new computer,” James said.

  “But you already have three!” Emily said. “Four, including your laptop.”

  James shrugged. “I’d replace one with a better model. But my parents would tell me to save the money for college. What would you spend it on?”

  Emily was thinking about the discussion she’d overheard between her parents, but she didn’t want to tell Matthew and James about that. Instead she said the next thing that popped into her head.

  “Night-vision goggles, maybe?”

  “Night-vision goggles?” Matthew and James said in unison.

  Emily shrugged. “So I could go book hunting at night.”

  James laughed and shook his head.

  The three stood up and walked their wrappers to a trash can encased in stone rubble from the old cemetery. Emily hadn’t even noticed it when they ran past before.

  “What’s the verdict?” James asked as they walked away. “Wave Organ and It’s-Its—a good start to the New Year?”

  Emily hesitated for a split second, still weighed down by her parents’ words. Golden light winked off the windows of distant buildings, and Emily imagined it was the spirit of lost treasure beckoning her to come find it. She straightened her posture and smiled. Think positive, and it will be positive. “It’s a great start,” she said.

  CHAPTER

  12

  THE FIRST DAY back to school after winter break, Emily and James walked past Hollister’s bookstore. A closed sign was propped in the window next to a display of The Cathedral Murders. It had been only a week since the book party, but somehow it felt like months. Today would be the first day back at school since the news went public about them finding the Poe book. Looking in the store window, Emily remembered the stifling attention at the party, and she wondered how kids were going to act toward her and James at school. She imagined the hallways of Booker narrowing and students staring or asking them to sign things, just like people had at the book party. She wanted to ask James how he thought kids would be, but she didn’t want him to misunderstand and think she wanted the attention.

  “Look at what my grandma found.” James swung his backpack off one arm so he could hold it in front while he dug out a column cut from a newspaper.

  “A couple found a bottle stuck in the wall when they were renovating their house,” he summarized.

  “That made the newspaper?” Emily asked. “They must be desperate for stories.” She remembered the reporter who had been at the book party and how eager she’d been to leave at the suggestion of a small fire somewhere in the city.

  “It wasn’t just any bottle. It was really old—from the Gold Rush. It turns out some of them are rare and collectible, and this one was worth five thousand dollars!”

  “A bottle can be worth five thousand dollars?” Emily asked.

  “This one had a chip in it. If it had been perfect, it would have been worth even more. Can you imagine that? It made me think of the Niantic and those bottles they found.”

  Emily took the article from James and skimmed it as they walked. The couple said finding the bottle ended up paying for their new bathroom. She wondered if there might be a Gold Rush era bottle stuck in the walls of her apartment. Of course since they were renting, any money from a found bottle would probably belong to James’s grandmother and not the Cranes.

  The slap-slap of feet on concrete rushed up behind them, and James was spun sideways as a kid raced by.

  “Watch it!” James yelled.

  Three more kids ran past, shouting in another language. Emily would have been worried for the first kid, except all four had been laughing together, like they were playing a game.

  Up ahead loomed Booker Middle School, a massive redbrick building that looked more like a sprawling mansion where murder mysteries were
solved than a school. Emily watched as the first boy hurdled a shrub and landed with a roll on the skinny rectangle of lawn in front of the building. The boy jumped to his feet and made a V with his arms.

  Kids approached the school from all directions, filing off the city bus, unloading from cars, or arriving on foot like Emily and James. With all her experience being the new girl over and over again, she’d perfected the art of swiftly fading into the background. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention, and all those people at Hollister’s were only a tiny fraction of how many kids went to Booker. Emily dragged in a slow, deep breath and exhaled through her nose.

  “You okay?” James asked.

  She nodded. Better to get the students’ reaction over with, whatever it may be.

  * * *

  By lunchtime, Emily was glad she hadn’t mentioned her nerves to James and felt silly for being anxious in the first place. Nobody had said a word all morning about the Poe book. Not one student. Not even a teacher.

  “Am I invisible?” she asked James when they met by the drinking fountain at lunch.

  “What?” James asked, confused.

  Emily hinted at a smile. “Nothing. Dumb joke.”

  Even Nisha, the girl who had been at the book party and asked them to sign her book in code, hadn’t acknowledged Emily in the hallways. Admittedly, she may not have seen Emily—she’d been studying a notebook while she walked by, and Emily didn’t call out to her or anything. But still.

  Emily didn’t understand how she could want two contradictory things at the same time. She didn’t want people to pay too much attention to her, but then when literally no one paid attention to her or mentioned her role in discovering the Poe book, she was disappointed.

  “Uh-oh,” James said. “Vivian must be prowling for volunteers.” He nodded to their class president, who zigzagged the hall, having brief conversations with individuals and groups that ended with the students shaking their heads and walking away.

  “Volunteers for what?” Emily asked.

  “I think we’re about to find out.”

  Vivian strode up, a clipboard pressed to her chest. She smiled widely, showing off the rubber bands on her braces in school colors. “We need volunteers for the Presidents’ Day dance committee. Can I count on you to help?”

  “There’s a Presidents’ Day dance?” Emily asked.

  “On Saturday, February fourteenth,” Vivian replied.

  “But that’s Valentine’s Day. Why not have a Valentine’s Day dance?” Emily asked.

  Vivian rolled her eyes. “Polled students overwhelmingly rejected the idea of promoting a blatantly commercial holiday and voted instead to celebrate something more inspirational and academic, like our presidents.”

  “There was a poll?” James asked. “I don’t remember a poll.”

  Vivian became preoccupied marking notes on her clipboard.

  “Are you sure you polled the entire student body? Not just your friends? Or yourself? Do I need to talk to Principal Montoya about this?” James teased.

  Vivian’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that!” She pressed her clipboard so tight against her blouse, Emily wondered if a rectangular impression would be left behind.

  James laughed. “Relax, Vivian. I’m kidding. I would have voted anti V-Day anyway.”

  Vivian’s shoulders dropped, and she smiled sheepishly. “So? Can I count on your help?” she asked.

  “Well…” Emily began.

  For as long as she could remember, Emily had been defined by the same box—a moving box. The older she got, the harder it became to be the new girl again and again. She wasn’t like her brother, who could make conversation with a stop sign. It had become comfortable for Emily to stay in the background and not put herself out there. There was less risk of rejection and embarrassment that way. But befriending James these last few months had opened her eyes to what she missed out on by holding herself back. Maybe it was time to step outside the moving box and get involved in her school. Was a dance committee the right choice, though? What if it wasn’t her thing? She’d never even attended a school dance before. Maybe she should do that first before she helped plan one.

  Vivian added, “The ticket price will be waived for committee members.”

  “It costs money to go to the Presidents’ Day dance?” Emily asked.

  “How else could we afford the decorations and music and everything?”

  Money. Of course.

  “So?” Vivian held her pen poised, ready for her answer.

  “I’m in,” Emily said quickly before she could second-guess herself any longer.

  “You are?” James asked incredulously.

  Vivian scribbled down Emily’s name, solidifying the commitment in ink. If she wanted to see what it was like to be involved in school activities, then she’d have to jump in at some point. And this way, she’d be saving her parents money, too.

  “And you, too?” Vivian was already starting to write down James’s name.

  “Uh, I guess. Sure,” James said.

  “We’ll meet every other Wednesday after school, starting this week.” She headed off through the crowd, looking for more volunteers.

  As Emily and James walked on to the cafeteria, the door to the faculty room swung open, nearly clocking Emily. Mr. Quisling halted midstride, his palm pressed to the door. Both parties blurted apologies for almost colliding. Emily stared at their teacher, unable to think of anything but him fishing his hand in that purse at Hollister’s bookstore.

  “You’re looking sharp today, Mr. Quisling,” James said. “Is that a new shirt?”

  “Oh…” Mr. Quisling looked down as if he needed a reminder of what he had on. “Yes, it is.”

  Mr. Quisling brushed an invisible speck from his shirt with the side of his hand, and the sheet of paper he held flapped with the movement. Emily saw scribbled handwriting on the page, a series of letters and scratched-out words. Her notebook was filled with writing like that from all her attempts to crack Book Scavenger codes. Could Mr. Quisling be working on the unbreakable code?

  An uneasy worry washed over Emily. She and James were entirely stumped on what to do with the grid of letters they’d copied at the library. They had tried anagrams and substitution ciphers, they had treated the letters like a word search puzzle, but no luck. What if Mr. Quisling had already made a breakthrough?

  Emily tilted her head, trying to get a better look at the page, but Mr. Quisling turned abruptly and walked away. “See you in class,” he called over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER

  13

  IN MR. QUISLING’S class that afternoon, their teacher hunkered over a notebook at his desk as everyone filed in, rather than standing in his usual spot at the front of the room. Emily couldn’t stop staring at him and worrying about what he was doing.

  Sitting in the desk next to hers, James muttered, “Brace yourself. The Royal Fungus returns.”

  Maddie Fernandez. It would be a little dramatic to say Maddie was their archnemesis, but ever since Emily’s first day at Booker, she’d seemed to have a grudge against Emily for no reason at all. James had explained that Maddie was a competitive person and had been as long as he’d known her—since second grade. Her competitiveness was something they’d witnessed firsthand when James and Maddie had engaged in a cipher challenge last fall. But after that had ended, Maddie acted like she’d forgotten they knew each other. Emily didn’t miss Maddie’s jabs and antagonizing comments, but she still found it unnerving to be around her. It was like approaching a light switch that had once shocked you.

  Emily and James privately called her the Royal Fungus because her hair used to remind Emily of a mushroom cap, but now that Emily was seeing Maddie for the first time since school let out for winter break, she noticed that Maddie had changed her hair.

  “Not much of a fungus anymore,” James commented, observing the same thing. Instead of the bangs that cut straight across her forehead and smooth shell of hair that puffed out, her ba
ngs were softened and combed to the side, her hair was wavy and cut in an angled bob.

  “Your hair looks nice,” Emily said as Maddie took her normal seat behind James. The words tumbled out before Emily gave them much thought, and she anticipated Maddie snapping a response along the lines of Why would I care what you think? Instead, Maddie raised her eyebrows, perhaps surprised at the compliment and possibly assessing her to see if she really meant it.

  “Thanks,” Maddie finally said, and dropped her backpack on the ground. After a minute of pulling out her binder and arranging her mechanical pencil and fruit-shaped eraser, she said, “My mom showed me the thing about you two in the paper. It’s cool you guys found that book.”

  James was swinging his head back and forth between Maddie and Emily. “Have I entered an alternate universe?” he asked.

  “Of course, you didn’t have any competition,” Maddie went on. “I probably would have found it, too. Maybe even faster.”

  “Annnnnd there she is. All is right with the world.” James sighed contentedly and refocused on the circles he’d been drawing.

  The bell rang, and the low mumble of conversation cut off almost instantly, as that was the routine, but Mr. Quisling still didn’t stand. Someone coughed, and Mr. Quisling finally looked up from his work and frowned, like he was annoyed to see the class sitting there.

  Emily and James raised their eyebrows at each other.

  “We’re going to try something different today,” their teacher said. “Take out your world history book and a clean sheet of paper and read chapter twenty-four silently. Then write an outline noting the main topics and their supporting facts.”

  He resumed his seat and bowed his head over his notebook. Total silence hung in the room, the entire class either spellbound or confused that Mr. Quisling wasn’t launching into his typical lecture.

  Someone unzipped a backpack. A voice hissed, “We’re supposed to do what?” Like a volume dial being eased up, more sounds filled the room. Whispers and murmured conversations. Notebook paper tearing. Binder rings snapping open and shut. Sitting in the middle of the room, Emily and James swiveled their heads around, taking in the activity. Their eyes settled on Mr. Quisling, who didn’t seem at all perturbed by the noise.