SEA LION BRAYS carried from Pier 39 as Emily and James walked up to their building after school. The sound took Emily back to her first day in San Francisco, almost a month ago. Hearing wild barks in the middle of a city had been jarring, unexpected, but now they were soothing. It wasn’t every day that she could hear them, so she knew the noise was a gift. She knew the city well enough now that she could track a route down their hill and through the grid of streets that stretched below to the general location of Pier 39.
They climbed the front steps of their building, which had once looked so starved and severe to Emily. Now it welcomed her like a familiar friend, the contrasting trim above the top windows like raised eyebrows surprised to see her again.
She invited James over to hang out, and as they walked up her stairwell, her apartment filled with skateboard thunder and Matthew chanting Flush lyrics.
“Sorry about that,” Emily said. “Matthew’s going to a concert tonight—” Emily was interrupted by whooping even louder than Matthew’s singing.
Her parents burst from the kitchen, racing down the hallway toward them. Her dad held a carton of orange juice overhead, and her mom hollered behind him.
Emily and James pressed against the wall to let them run by.
“What’s going on?” Emily shouted.
“It’s a celebration!” her dad said. “All we had was orange juice. But I don’t care! This is the most celebratory orange juice ever!”
Matthew rolled out of his room and dug his heel into the skateboard to flip it up to his hand. Freshly shaved swirls dotted his skull.
“Celebrating me going to the Flush concert? Aww, you shouldn’t have.”
“It sold!” Their mom clapped her hands. “50 Homes in 50 States sold! Our agent just called us with the news!”
“It sold?” Emily repeated.
Her parents passed out plastic cups of juice, but Emily was too shocked to accept one. Everyone but Emily hopped around, orange juice splattering the floor, and chanted with her parents, “We sold a book! We sold a book!” Even Steve got in on the party with his bobbing back and forth. Her dad swung her ponytail like he was conducting an orchestra.
“C’mon, Em! This is a great day, great news!”
She remained in a firmly non-bouncy state. A feeling something like dread was overtaking her.
Emily yanked her ponytail from her dad’s hand and marched to her room. The whooping and hopping dulled as her family and James watched her go. Why was she being such a Scrooge? She knew she was ruining the moment for her parents. How hard would it be to hop around, drink some orange juice, and pretend she was as excited as everyone else?
What an idiot she’d been. She sat on her bed, her backpack still on. She’d let down her guard and gotten herself attached to people and a place when she knew it would be inevitable that they’d move again. Her parents were publishing a book about living in fifty states, for Pete’s sake.
James pushed open her door. “Are you okay?” he asked.
A horn honked repeatedly, and Emily heard her brother yell, “Showtime!” Of course he was totally unfazed. He leaned into the adventure and all that. No Jack Kerouac quote could help her now. There was something to be said for stopping to enjoy your surroundings, too, instead of always looking ahead to what came next. She didn’t care what was waiting around the next bend. She knew it wouldn’t be another puzzle-loving computer nut with a cowlick sidekick.
James shifted from foot to foot. “If now isn’t a good time, I can go.…”
Emily grabbed her backpack and stood up.
“Now is the only time. Come on.”
Her parents stood where she’d left them, leaned together in conversation.
“Emily,” her mom said.
“We know you’re not happy about our announcement,” her dad said.
Emily thundered past them and down the stairs with James at her heels. She slammed the front door behind them. A station wagon full of Matthew’s friends backed into the street, and Emily waved for them to stop.
She pulled open the back door. “Scoot over,” she said to Matthew.
“What are you doing?” Matthew said. “You don’t have tickets!”
“Just move,” Emily said.
There must have been a don’t-mess-with-me tone to her voice because Matthew nudged his friend and they slid over. Emily wedged herself on her brother’s lap and James squeezed in next to the door.
“Where are we going?” James whispered.
“Mr. Remora’s. I need to finish Mr. Griswold’s game. Or at least try.”
“You know where he lives?”
“He told Hollister he lives by the Fillmore.” She nodded to her brother. “That’s where they’re going.”
“But…” James plucked at Steve. “There are a lot of places to live around the Fillmore,” he said carefully.
“I remember his address.”
James raised his eyebrows.
“Well, I remember most of it. It’s sevens and ones, like 1177 or 7171.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She could tell James was dubious about her impulsive plan, but she was determined to find Mr. Remora and ask him for The Gold-Bug back, even if she had to knock on every 1/7 combination address around the Fillmore.
They circled the neighborhood of the music venue looking for street parking. With every loop, Emily scanned street numbers. She knew Mr. Remora lived close enough to complain about the Fillmore, and 1717 was the closest possibility. That had to be it.
They finally found parking down a side street, and everyone piled out. Emily swung her backpack on and hurried ahead of Matthew’s group. James was right beside her. When they got to the Fillmore intersection, Emily and James turned up the street, away from the music venue, running to cross in time before the light changed.
“Where are you guys going?” Matthew called.
Emily walked more quickly. She was determined to do this, and stopping to explain herself to her brother would just slow her down.
Matthew left his friends and caught up to them, panting. “What’s going on?”
“She’s going to get a book,” James said.
“You came all this way for a book? Can’t it wait?”
Emily spun on her brother.
“No, it can’t, Matthew. If you had Flush tickets and then someone took those precious tickets away, and this was your one chance to be a part of the Flush experience, what would you do? Would you be happy about it? Would you just say, ‘That’s cool. No biggie’? Or would you at least try to get your tickets back?”
Matthew stood with his arms crossed, eyes squinted in concentration like he was really imagining himself in this scenario.
“I’d get my tickets back, obviously.”
“Well then, pretend my book is a pair of Flush tickets. That’s how important this is to me.”
Emily resumed walking, her backpack slapping against her with the forcefulness of every step. She assumed her brother would go back to his friends. Instead, she heard him yell, “Hey, guys, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” Then he jogged past Emily and James, clapping his hands like a football coach.
“Let’s move, people. We’ve got a book to rescue!”