As soon as Mom’s car crunched out of the gravel driveway, I raced to my bedroom, flipped open my laptop, and typed furiously into a chat window that always stayed open.
Did anyone else see Camari's story in today's newspaper?
The chat box sat unmoving for a moment before a set of racing dots appeared.
What’s a newspaper? came the first reply. That was from Lola. She lives two houses down. Mom calls her ‘cheeky,’ mostly because she forgets to turn on the filter between her brain and her mouth.
Come on! I’m serious!
Another message pinged through.
Everybody okay?
That one came from my best friend Dino, which is short for Ferdinand. (Yes, like the story about the bull.) Dino loves video games, classic cars, and dance—a combination that might have gotten him bullied if he wasn’t also the biggest kid in middle school.
Everything’s fine, I chatted back. And we’re going to be famous. And rich.
Statistically unlikely.
That was Camari, who grew up in Trinidad until her family immigrated to the US last year. While the rest of us are pretty smart, Camari is next-level. She taught herself to program computers at age six and reads encyclopedias for fun. And because she's as smart as any journalist, she has her own byline in the local paper.
The four of us all had at least one parent who worked at JupiterBlue–the space tech startup near Cape Canaveral. I had two if you counted Lewis. (Which I didn’t.)
I found the article on the newspaper’s website and sent everyone the link.
I want to go check it out, I chatted. Now.
Dino: Now? But there’s literally a hurricane coming.
Lola: YAAAAS! I’ll be at your house in like five minutes. You look for a stupid ring. I’m going to surf a giant wave all the way downtown.
Camari: Forecasts show little chance of bad weather. Still, you know I don't do beaches. I’m out.
Dino: Okay. Let me see if I can get a ride. But, um, what if something goes wrong?
That’s when I typed back the most fateful words of the summer.
C’mon guys! What’s the worst that could happen?
At that moment, Elle’s face popped through my door like a giant whack-a-mole. “Hey bro. I’m meeting friends at the beach. Surf is going to be awesome and they said you can see the outer bands.”
“Can you wait a sec for Dino and Lola?” I called back.
“Nope!”
“But Mom said!”
Elle scowled. “Mom said to take you, not the whole nerd herd.”
“And if your sister doesn’t drive you around,” I said in a fair imitation of our mother, “she has to give me back all the money.”
“The Elle-train is leaving the station in five minutes,” she grumbled.
“Thank you Jeeves,” I called.
The force with which she slammed the door was rather unbecoming for a professional chauffeur, but I decided to let it slide.
...
It was hard to find a parking spot at the beach, which was weird because literally nothing happened in our town. Canaveral had the space station and all the tourist spots were way South–we were just the stretch of empty sand in between. If you didn’t surf or fish, there was no good reason to come to Casanova Sound.
“I wonder what’s up with all the cars?”
“That looks like a news van,” Dino added, pointing. “Maybe they’re reporting on the hurricane?”
I gripped my dad’s old metal detector as the unsettled feeling in my stomach grew. “It’s got to be the ring.”
“No way,” said Lola. “That would be impossible.”
We climbed the boardwalk, crossed over the dunes, and looked down at the beach.
Lola's jaw dropped in disbelief. “Super duper impossible.”
As far as the eye could see in any direction, hundreds of treasure hunters scanned the sand with metal detectors. Holes dotted the coast from the dunes down to the water.
I was already too late.
A camera crew filmed the goings-on as a reporter made animated gestures and spoke into an oversized microphone. He looked totally out of place on the beach in his suit and tie.
Me, Lola, and Dino joined the crowd behind him.
“Channel Six News reporting live from Casanova Sound where hundreds of metal detector persons have heeded the call of local billionaire Genevieve Oglethorpe.”
In the background, Dino practiced dance routines while Lola made stupid faces at the camera. I took one look at my friends and tried to melt into the sand.
“Let’s speak with one of these intrepid treasure hunters,” the reporter continued.
The camera panned toward an older man in a wide brimmed hat waving a metal detector back and forth across a stretch of sand.
“Excuse me sir, can you pause for an interview with Channel Six News?”
The man looked up. “Nope. Now move it! Your camera’s interfering with my signal!”
“Some people are taking this very seriously,” the reporter said.
The next person they approached was a little more willing to talk. “Channel Six News,” the reporter said. “Can you tell us what you found today?”
The woman wore green cargo pants, a black tank top, and a fanny pack with a metal detector on one arm with a canvas bag slung over her shoulder.
“A few coins, three tent stakes, two pair of sunglasses, and some fishing weights.”
“Any hope of finding the Oglethorpe diamond?”
She smiled broadly. “Five miles is a lot of beach to cover, but we had to try, didn’t we? As soon as that newspaper article came out I bet every detectorist in Florida raced to Cassanova Sound. I’m sure it’ll be found sooner or–oops! Hang on a sec!”
A series of jingly tones echoed from, well, her butt.
She retrieved a phone from her back pocket. I watched her eyes go wide as she read.
“Hey guys!,” she shouted, flashing the screen. I could just make out a map and big angry red blob. “Outer bands are spreading this way and tornadoes have been spotted! Everyone needs to get off the beaches!”
We found Elle and ran for it.