I hold up my arm for a better view. “I fell two stories during a burglary,” I say. “I crushed a million-dollar sculpture with my butt.” I do not mention the stitches that itch something awful under the horrible wool skirt.
“You did not.”
“I did.”
The boy’s dark eyes take me in, from the green cast and stiff uniform to the messy ponytail and ratty backpack. “What’s with that thing on your thumb?”
“ThumbBot 1.0.”
“Did you make it?”
I shift my weight from side to side. He’s interrogating me. “Yes.”
He narrows his gaze. “So you build things? Like, inventions?”
“I tinker. Yes.” I’ll say this, Jin is way better at interrogation than the many police officers it has been my pleasure (not really) to meet in the last eight months.
“Do you do this tinkering stuff a lot? I mean, are you good at it?”
Does he want to see my résumé? “Yes. I’m good at it.”
“Would you call it STEM fair–level tinkering?”
I don’t know what a STEM fair is, but if I admit this, I will become the dork I look like in this uniform and I don’t want to be that person. I give a noncommittal nod while making a mental note to research STEM fairs later. I steel myself for another question, but Jin gets quiet, thinking.
“Lola Benko,” he says finally. “You might be the most interesting thing to happen at Redwood since that eucalyptus tree fell over and crushed the medieval history section in the library last year.”
Does he think this is a good thing or a bad thing?
I can’t tell.
CHAPTER 6 EMOJABBER IS HOW WE ROLL.
IT MUST BE A GOOD thing because Jin grins widely. “What’s your EmoJabber handle?” he asks. “We can be friends. I mean, not real friends because I don’t do real friends. Too much downside. But we can be fake friends. You know, social media friends. I’m in it for the numbers. I want to be massively virtually uber popular. So what is it?”
Who said anything about being friends, real or fake? I’m too busy for all of that. I have an albino penguin to liberate and a father to save. My priorities are set.
Jin very quickly determines my silence is cluelessness. “Do not tell me you don’t have an EmoJabber handle. Where have you been, under a rock?” In a way, yes. “Here, look at mine.”
Jin pulls out a sleek black smartphone and starts tapping away while sneaking quick glances up and down the hallway. Finally, he shoves the phone at me. An app opens and the word “EmoJabber” appears, followed by a photo of Jin, under which are some symbols.
“It’s texting entirely by emoji,” he says excitedly, like he’s letting me in on something big. Wait a minute. Slow down. Like, cave painting? But we have words. Hasn’t anyone informed the EmoJabberers?
“It’s a Tewksbury Tech thing,” Jin continues.
Okay. Really. I know this mysterious Tewksbury character is awesome and everyone loves him and without him I’d be in jail, but does he have to be the center of every conversation?
“He’s such a great guy he just gives it out for free. No ads. No spam. I’m on, like, three Tewksbury fan sites. He sponsors the citywide STEM fair every year. Did you know that? No? Jeez, there’s a lot you don’t know. Anyway, check it out. My EmoJabber handle is a sword, a doughnut, and a book. Because I like fencing.”
“Fencing? People still do that?”
He scowls at me. That’s probably one of those things that I should think but not say aloud, right? “The doughnut is obvious and the book because I like to read. Get it? It’s only the best app ever. I wish I could meet him—Tewksbury, I mean. But he lets his work speak for itself.”
“You mean no one has ever seen the guy, right? Isn’t that a little, I don’t know, strange?”
Jin appears to take my comment about Tewksbury as criticism. Quickly, he jumps to the Great One’s defense. “Tewksbury is a genius. Geniuses are eccentric. Because they are geniuses. Get it?”
No. Not at all. But I know better than to say so. “Geniuses are eccentric,” I repeat.
“Exactly. They are weird and odd and quirky and that’s just fine because they are doing great things. And EmoJabber is great. Seriously. The most fun you will ever have. Here, give me your phone.” He reaches out a hand.
This is not great. I do have one—a phone, that is. It’s a hand-me-down from Irma and I’m 100 percent sure she installed a secret tracking app that sets off alarms if I get too close to an airport or the neighbor’s car. Which is why the phone never leaves my desk. And I have no one to talk to anyway. But do I really want to tell Jin this? He already thinks I’m from the Dark Ages for not having an EmoJabber handle.
Fortunately, I’m saved from further humiliation by an approaching teacher. “Mr. Wu-Rossi,” the teacher booms. “You know the rules. Do I need to confiscate that phone?”
“No, sir! Sorry, sir!” Jin stuffs the phone back into his pocket.
The teacher looms over us. “Put it away in your locker.”
“Absolutely. Right away. Yes, sir!” As the teacher continues down the hallway, Jin whispers, “No phones on campus. Last year, everyone was hunting monsters and it got seriously out of hand.”
“Monsters?” I squeak.
“Monster Madness? Virtual reality game? You don’t know that one either? Boy, you really did crawl out from under a rock! Anyway, who cares? Monster Madness is so last year. It’s an emoji world now. Come on. I’ll show you where the lockers are and we can pick up your schedule. Get ready. Redwood is hard-core.”
As we walk, Jin describes what Redwood days are like. He speaks without pausing between words, swinging his long arms for emphasis. He tells me about his best friend, Paul. They were inseparable since kindergarten, but Paul moved away and now Jin’s parents worry that he’s lonely. He stops abruptly.
“But here’s the thing. Even if I am lonely, is that worse than having a best-friend-size hole in my life? I mean, I need to figure out who I am and what I’m good at without Paul. And let me tell you, it’s no fun.” He starts walking again and I run to keep up. “Besides, I have other things to spend my time on. Important things. Like winning the STEM fair.”
I nod like I totally know what he’s talking about.
We continue with my orientation. Apparently, the French teacher hands out éclairs, the Spanish teacher hands out Fs, and the math teacher wears mismatched shoes but under no circumstances are you to mention it to her. Also, Mr. Kind, who teaches social studies, is very unkind, don’t take classes with Ms. Perkins for any reason, don’t be late for first period, and never eat the vanilla pudding in the cafeteria. It gives you gas. Uniformed students rush past as I struggle along in Jin’s wake of information. My head spins.
“Don’t worry,” Jin says finally. “Soon you’ll be ‘academized’ and you won’t feel any pain. It’s kind of like a lobotomy but way worse.” So that’s it. I’m to be a zombie in an awful outfit. Generally, I try not to be mad at my father for disappearing and leaving me here in this weird middle-school universe, but right now I could probably spare a few minutes.
We leave the main building, which is classrooms, offices, and lockers, and cross an outside quad, filled with a bunch of tables and chairs. Leading from the quad is a series of paved walkways to other Redwood buildings, including the library, the cafeteria, and the gymnasium. In the middle of the quad is a large fountain. Poseidon spits water out of his mouth all over a bunch of concrete dolphins, in a very undignified way. Students sit in tight clusters. Laughter and shouting fill the air, and all at once I experience the familiar prickling sensation of being an outsider.
Occasionally, living out of my suitcase, I longed for the ordinary—bedroom walls covered in cute puppy posters, bookshelves, a spot on a soccer team with red uniforms, a cat named Fluffy who slept on my feet, a birthday cake with thick icing flowers and actual candles, that real friend I couldn’t quite manage, an address. I craved a sense of belonging.
&n
bsp; Dad never suspected and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by complaining, but sometimes I still dreamed about real friends and birthday cakes anyway.
CHAPTER 7 THE AMAZING TERRAIN INSIDE GREAT-AUNT IRMA’S HEAD
I DON’T KNOW IF I’M “academized” yet, but I sure am tired. I got lost six times at school. I swear someone kept moving my locker. Finding the bathroom gave me fits. My skirt gave me a rash. ThumbBot 1.0 exploded in the cafeteria, springs and scissor parts flying everywhere, which was seven different kinds of embarrassing. And the unkind Mr. Kind made me recite the first two articles of the Bill of Rights because I was twenty-seven seconds late to class.
In addition to math, science, English, and social studies, we did yoga, ran laps, mastered an obstacle course that felt a little Beast Master to me, and played a speed round of dodgeball to the death. I also test-drove the enormous Redwood library by doing a deep dive into albino penguins. Did you know they are very rare and worth a fortune? By the time I drag through the front door of the old Victorian, I’m barely upright. My wrist aches in the sweaty cast. My butt stitches itch.
“Stick a fork in me,” I shout, tossing my ten-ton backpack on the floor. “I’m done!”
Zeus greets me with a hideously loud “Welcome, darling!” but Irma does not. She’s too busy lurching around the kitchen, arms extended like the little old lady version of Frankenstein’s monster. Her dress is safety orange, her furry boots dark brown. Virtual reality headsets are usually bulky, but not Irma’s. Her goggles, sleek and lightweight, wear like a pair of sporty silver sunglasses, most likely given to her by a fancy tech company to trial and report back.
“Lola, is that you?” she says, stumbling into the kitchen table. “Ouch! I’m about to fly over the Grand Canyon. These goggles rock. Hold on. Here I go.” She throws her arms out like wings and for a moment I think she might fall flat on her face, but instead she lets loose a scream, equal parts terror and exhilaration.
“I’m a bird!” she yells. “These are the best! That Tewksbury is a genius!”
Tewksbury the mysterious genius again? That reminds me I need to investigate these STEM fairs he sponsors so I do not appear so clueless to my new classmates. As Irma soars around the room, bumping into furniture and appliances, Zeus looks on with disgust and I retreat into the hallway for personal safety. New technology gets her worked up, like she just downed ten espresso shots.
As Irma hoots and hollers about the majesty of the Grand Canyon, the house phone erupts in the background. Zeus immediately goes bananas, mimicking the ring until I can’t stand it anymore. I grab the handset and dash into the backyard for quiet. “Hello?”
“Is this Irma Benko?” a bored voice inquires.
I’m about to say that Irma is busy flying like an eagle over the Grand Canyon but decide it is much less complicated to lie. “Yes.”
“Great. This is Roger at Bay Area Mini Storage. Wait, do I hear a bird?”
“No,” I say flatly.
“Really? I swear I—”
“No birds,” I interrupt.
“Wow. Okay, then. The reason I’m calling is to ask if you have received our mailed past-due notices?”
“Um, no?”
The man sighs extravagantly. It takes forever, like a balloon with a slow leak. “Well, you’re four months behind on payments for your storage unit.” Wait. Irma has more stuff? How is that even possible? I envision forgotten furniture, moldy carpets, malfunctioning light fixtures, and dusty books. I’m just about to tell the guy that Irma will call him back when it occurs to me that a neglected storage unit might also contain valuable items, items that would not be missed. And these items would certainly be easier to acquire than an albino penguin.
“That’s terrible,” I say with mock sincerity. “My assistant must have messed up. I will get on this right away. What did you say your address was again? And the unit number?”
Of course, I want to run right down to the Marina and break in to unit number seventeen, but I’m keenly aware that this is my last chance at pretending to go straight. Judge Gold’s personal reputation is on the line, and if I screw up, she will make sure I’m never heard from again. I have to proceed with the utmost caution, which means playing along. And playing along means math homework, specifically seven questions dealing with spatial sense and data analysis. And a personal essay about a historical figure of interest. And phases of the moon research for science.
During dinner, Irma quizzes me on school. She wants details on the kids, the campus, the teachers, the principal. Who did I talk to? Did I make friends? I’m forced to describe my turkey sandwich right down to the brand of mustard smeared on the sourdough bread. She seems satisfied when I say Dijon, a little on the spicy side. It’s as if she wants proof that I was actually there and not off stealing a Monet or that cute little albino penguin. There is no denying my credibility is at an all-time low.
I have to be careful.
CHAPTER 8 PANCAKES WITH A SIDE OF HANNAH HILL
IT’S MY FIRST REAL DAY at Redwood, but all I can think about are storage lockers full of forgotten treasure. Gold bricks, first-edition Mark Twains, two-pound emeralds. Okay, maybe a two-pound gem is unreasonable, but there could be smaller pieces of jewelry, diamond earrings or ruby bracelets or something, from back in the day when Irma used to go out of the house. No matter what, for the first time since falling on the ballerinas, I’m excited by the possibilities. I’m back on track. Mission is a go. Hang in there, Dad, I’m coming!
Jin waits for me, pacing in front of the lockers. He flips his long hair out of his eyes every fifteen seconds. How does a person live like that?
“Where have you been?” he demands as I try to remember my locker combination. I know there’s a four in there somewhere. Maybe a seven? Hair flip.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “It’s not even seven thirty yet.” And today there was no Emily express. I’m back to public transportation, which means I rolled out the door at six thirty in the morning. It was dark. There were stars. I yawn for emphasis.
“I know, but you should get here in time for breakfast,” Jin says. “The pancakes are killer, worth the price of tuition alone.” Another hair flip.
“Do you want a hair elastic?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“Anyway, I need to tell you something.”
“What?” I ask. Maybe it’s a six in the combination and not a four? How badly do I really need what is in this locker anyway?
Jin furrows his brow. “Can I trust you?” Hair flip.
“Sure.” Nope. Not six.
“Swear?”
“That you can trust me?” I ask, giving up on my locker. His gaze indicates he’s quite serious. But we’re not even friends! Jin doesn’t do friends, so what’s this about? “Okay. Fine. I swear on Zeus that you can trust me.”
“The Greek god?”
“No. The bird. Now spill it.”
But instead of conspiratorial whispering, Jin motions for me to follow. We end up outside on the quad. Fog lingers and a steady cold breeze blows, but the space is crowded with students shoveling killer pancakes into their mouths before the bell rings. My stomach rumbles. Jin takes an empty table and indicates I should sit.
“Don’t be obvious, but check out my nemesis,” he growls, pointing with his elbow in a way I think he thinks is subtle. “Hannah Hill.”
Hannah Hill sits at a table, nose in a book, pancakes neglected. The elbows of her uniform sweater are worn. Her dark red hair hangs down well past her shoulders. All around her, tables overflow with kids, but the seats at her table are vacant. To be honest, she doesn’t look like nemesis material. She looks very alone. “What did she do to you?”
“What did she do? What did she do? Where do I even begin?”
“At the beginning?” I suggest.
Jin fixes me in an intense gaze. “Well, to start with, she is a fun-sucking vortex. She never laughs.”
“Maybe she doesn’t think
you’re funny?”
“Quit interrupting. Okay, occasionally she cackles like the Wicked Witch of the West, but that doesn’t count. And she always does the extra credit in math, completely killing the grading curve. Every. Single. Time.”
“You don’t like her because she’s smart and works hard?”
“No! That’s not it at all.”
Clearly, I’m missing something. “You’d better explain.”
Jin sighs, exasperated. “We’re tied for the most STEM fair wins ever, in the history of the world of STEM fairs. Three each.” Ah, now I see. She’s the competition. “And listen carefully because this part is important. This year the STEM fair grand prize is a trip to NASA summer camp. You get to drive the Mars rover!”
“No way they’d let a kid drive the rover,” I protest.
“They will if you win the STEM fair. It’s only like the most important thing that happens in San Francisco, maybe even the country. And I plan to win. It won’t be easy and Hannah will do anything to beat the competition, even play dirty. Last year, she ‘accidentally’ tripped and spilled an entire blueberry smoothie all over Simon’s perpetual motion machine. Let me tell you. That was no accident.” I can see how this would be irritating. A spilled smoothie is a real mess.
Like a ghost, Hannah materializes at our table. Jin locks eyes with her. In the Wild West, this is the part where someone would yell “Draw!”
“Lola,” Jin says through gritted teeth. “Did I mention that during the class trip to the zoo Hannah got motion sick and barfed all over the bus? Can you imagine the mess if they took her up in a NASA vomit comet and she puked in her spacesuit?” Jin snorts with laughter.
“You sound like a dork when you do that,” Hannah says. “Like a goose being strangled.” She looms over us. Despite the chill, I sweat a little under the collar of my shirt. She gives off a serious vibe, like she is not messing around. “And for the record, it’s not a vomit comet. It’s an antigravity plane and seasoned astronauts throw up in it all the time. But you’ll never find out, because you don’t have a prayer of winning the competition without Paul. He was the brains of your operation. Everyone knows that.”
Lola Benko, Treasure Hunter Page 3