Homer awoke to the sound of the seaweed-powered engine kicking into gear. He was lying on the floor, the maps scattered around him like wrapping paper on Christmas morning. He raised his head. The view through the observation window showed half water, half air.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Hercules said from the pilot’s seat. He gripped the steering wheel. “Autopilot shut off when we surfaced. City Lake is just ahead.”

They’d made it. They’d finished their quest in one piece. Homer pulled a treasure map off his chest and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight streamed in through the upper half of the window. Dog lay at his side, another map covering him like a blanket. Homer pressed his nose into the back of Dog’s neck, inhaling the stinky scent of basset hound. He smiled. Nothing smelled better. It was the scent of loyalty. The scent of courage. The scent of friendship. “You’re a good dog,” Homer whispered. Dog opened one eye, groaned, then went back to sleep.

“He’s a very good dog,” Lorelei said. She sat against the captain’s chest, the diary propped on her knees. Dark circles clung beneath her eyes. “We wouldn’t have found this diary without him. I just finished it.”

“You read the whole thing?” Homer pushed the maps aside and sat up.

“Yep. I didn’t sleep at all. You snore, by the way.”

“Entering City Lake,” Hercules announced as he turned the wheel. The water grew murky. Some fast-food containers floated by the window. A pair of mallard ducks pecked on the glass, then swam away.

“Is the diary good?” Homer asked. He wanted it to be good. He wanted it to be brilliant. But not all diaries are brilliant. Not everyone knows how to tell a story.

What if Rumpold turned out to be a terribly boring writer? What if all her entries were like, Dear Diary, Today I got some treasure, and then I went to bed.

“Is it a good story?” he asked.

Lorelei smiled. “It’s the best story ever!” She closed the diary and hugged it to her chest. “She lived the life I dream about. She made her own rules. No one told her what to do. Every day she faced danger and adventure. I would give anything to live that kind of life.”

“But it sounds like your life,” Homer pointed out.

“My life?”

“Sure.” He began to fold the maps into a tidy pile. “You make your own rules. You live where you want. You eat what you want. You have no parents or teachers to tell you what to do. And you just rode a seaweed-powered submarine at hyper-speed. If that’s not an adventure, I don’t know what is.”

“Don’t forget about the hot air balloon,” Hercules said. “That was definitely dangerous.”

“You’re right,” Lorelei said. “I’m kinda like Rumpold.” She squeezed the diary tighter. “I want to keep it.”

Homer stopped folding. “Huh?”

“I want it. I want this diary. I want to keep it. You can have the maps.”

“Huh?” Both Homer and Hercules did a double take.

Dog groaned, then rolled onto his back for a belly scratch. But Homer was too stunned to notice. “You don’t want the treasure maps?” he asked, his mouth falling open.

“I want to trade my six maps for the diary,” Lorelei said. She stuck the diary inside the captain’s chest, then got to her feet. With her hands folded behind her back, she stared out the observation window. “I think it’s a fair trade. You can take all the maps and give them to L.O.S.T.”

Homer got to his feet. Was she up to something? Was this another one of her plans? “Why?” he asked, scratching his matted hair. “Why would you give up the maps?”

“I want to write a book about Rumpold.” She spun around and smiled. “I want the whole world to know that she was a girl who did all these amazing things. She was a girl like me.”

“A book?”

“Sure. I can do it. And then I’ll turn it into a movie. Maybe I’ll give myself the starring role!” She laughed. “Why not? I can dress like a boy and wave a sword.”

“But the treasure maps…” Homer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I thought you wanted to be rich.”

“I still have a bag of harmonic crystals. I don’t need money.” She held out her hand. “So, do we have a new deal? A new gentleman’s agreement?”

“You sure about this?” Homer asked.

“Yep.”

“Okay, but there’s one more thing I want you to add to this agreement.” He could hear The Unpolluter’s voice in his head. If there’s a way you can keep her from blabbing, you’ll save me some work. “You can’t ever tell the world about L.O.S.T. Even though you’re not a member, you must agree to secrecy. If you make that part of our gentleman’s agreement, then I’ll agree to the trade.”

“You got it,” she said. “I’ll never tell.”

And so they shook. Hercules slid out of the pilot’s seat, grabbed his notebook, and wrote, “And with a handshake, they sealed the deal that would change history.” The submarine bumped into a paddleboat. “Oops,” Hercules said as he rushed back to the pilot’s seat and steered the sub around the paddleboat and its wide-eyed passengers.

“Does this mean you’re giving up treasure hunting?” Homer asked. The question troubled him because he could never imagine making such a drastic decision. That would be like cutting out his heart.

“Give it up? No way.” She flared her nostrils. “I can be a writer and a treasure hunter. I expect you to include me on your next quest. I mean, let’s face it, you need my help. Without me, your map would still be in Milkydale and Rumpold’s treasure would still be in that dragon’s neck. You may not always like the way I do things, Homer, but at least I do things.” She smiled. “I’m the yin to your yang.”

Homer furrowed his brow. “The what to my what?”

“Yin and yang are polar opposites,” Hercules explained as he pulled the submarine up to the lair’s gate. “Even though they are different, they complement each other. Even though they are opposites, they work together.”

Homer slowly nodded. There was much truth to what Lorelei had said. She was a doer; he was a dreamer. She twisted the truth to get what she wanted; he preferred honesty. And without her stealing the map, he’d be back home, waiting to grow up. Waiting to set out on the quest.

“Urrrr,” Dog complained, his legs up in the air, his white belly still waiting for its morning scratch. Homer obliged.

“I promised to hold another press conference when I got back,” Lorelei said. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell the world about the maps. I will only tell them about the diary.” She pushed the button on her remote control, and the gate rose. Hercules drove them through the tunnel and into the lair’s pool. Soon, they were gathered on the deck, the captain’s chest at their feet, the treasure bundle in Homer’s arms.

Lorelei stood frozen, her joyous mood gone as she stared into the lair. At first, Homer thought she was upset because Madame had made such a huge mess. But then, as tears pooled on her lower lids, she whispered, “Daisy.”

Homer couldn’t imagine what it would feel like if he went home and Dog wasn’t at his side. No Dog sitting on his feet, keeping them warm while he ate breakfast. No Dog lounging beside him, chewing on straw while he milked the goats. No Dog hogging the bed, snoring and breathing dog breath all over his face. That would be very sad indeed. His gaze darted to the garbage can. Madame had dumped Daisy’s body into that can. He didn’t want Lorelei to look inside. Somehow, he and Hercules would move the can and—

“Daisy!” Lorelei suddenly belted, the word echoing off the stone ceiling. She leaped from the deck and ran into the lair. “Daisy!” A gray rat scurried across the floor, then clawed its way up Lorelei’s jumpsuit. Lorelei hugged so hard that the rat squeaked. “Daisy, you’re alive. I love you. I missed you.”

“But…” Homer stepped off the submarine. “Are you sure that’s Daisy? That rat looks skinny. Daisy had a big belly.”

“Of course I’m sure.” Lorelei hugged the rat again. The rat climbed onto Lorelei’s shoulder and twitched its nose and whiskers. “But you’re right. She has lost weight.”

Hercules stepped close and pointed. “I’m no doctor, but I think that rat is nursing,” he said. “Look at all those nipples.”

“What?” Lorelei lifted the rat, revealing her underside. Sure enough, six nipples poked out from the rat’s belly. “Daisy? Are you a mommy?”

“That would explain the weight loss,” Hercules said.

Daisy wiggled out of Lorelei’s hands and scurried over to the vending machines. She climbed into the coin return bin. Homer, Hercules, and Lorelei gathered in front and watched as Daisy climbed into tray A3. There, in a nest of gum and candy-bar wrappers, lay five tiny, squirming pink things. Dog stood on his hind legs, trying to get a better view. “Oh, they’re sooooo cute,” Lorelei cooed.

Homer and Hercules raised their eyebrows. Cute?

“Hey!” Lorelei’s cooing turned angry, and she punched Homer’s shoulder. “You told me Daisy was dead. Why’d you do that? Were you trying to hurt me so I’d give up the quest?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t lie to you about your rat dying. I really thought she was dead.” He rubbed the sore spot. Lorelei sure could throw a punch. “I saw Madame put a rat into that garbage can. I thought it was Daisy.”

Lorelei narrowed her eyes in disbelief, so Homer walked over to the garbage can and opened the lid. “Oh, how sad,” she said as she looked inside. “That must be the daddy rat.”

Hercules peered in. “That does look like Daisy. It was an honest mistake.” Then he plugged his nose and stepped away.

Lorelei gently touched Homer’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I hit you. And I’m sorry I thought you’d lied to me. I’ll bury him out in the museum garden. Daisy would want her babies’ daddy to be buried in a nice place.” It wasn’t a fake apology. There was no wicked smile or snicker. Homer could tell that she meant it.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. As he closed the lid, a buzzer sounded.

“Who could that be?” Lorelei asked. Homer grabbed Dog, and he and Hercules stepped into the corner, so that whoever was calling wouldn’t be able to see them. Lorelei sat in her red throne and turned on the screen. “Hello?” she said. Torch’s image came into focus, her hawk balanced on her shoulder, chewing on a piece of fake map. Torch had a piece of fake map stuck to her cheek and another stuck to her fingers.

“Oh, it’s you,” Torch said. “What’s going on? Where’s Madame?”

“She’s not here,” Lorelei said sweetly. “She’s gone back to jail.”

“Jail?” Torch’s snake tattoo flinched. “Jail?”

“That’s right,” Lorelei said, folding her hands on her lap. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Torch picked the map piece from her face, but it stuck to her fingers. A glue stick fell out of her hair. “Something you can do for me? Yes, there’s something you can do for me!” Her face turned flaming red. “You can get over here and help me with this map, you little—” The hawk shrieked, leaped onto the table, and flew off with one of the pieces.

“What did you say?” Lorelei asked, cupping a hand around her ear. “There’s some sort of problem with the connection.”

“Get over here and help me put this map together!” Torch got so close to the camera, Homer could see that wobbly thing in the back of her throat.

“That’s called a uvula,” Hercules whispered in Homer’s ear. “It looks inflamed. That’s what happens when you yell too much.”

“Sorry,” Lorelei said, cupping a hand around the other ear. “I can’t hear you. I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Torch’s face pulsed red. She pointed a glue stick at the camera and opened her mouth to shout something else, but Lorelei interrupted. “Uh-oh, you seem to be breaking up.” Lorelei made buzzing sounds as she spoke. “Too… bzzzz… much… bzzzz… interference. I’m… bzzzz… losing… bzzzz… you.” She pressed the button, and the screen went blank. Then she reached under the screen and unplugged it from the wall. She turned to look at the boys and broke into laughter. Homer laughed, too. So did Hercules. Dog, who didn’t laugh in the way of humans, but who appreciated joviality as much as any dog, turned in a circle and barked.

Hercules laughed so hard he started coughing. After finding his first-aid kit, which was floating at the side of the pool, he helped himself to a lozenge. Then they all took drinks from the soda fountain. Homer held two cups under the green stream. Dog slurped the lime-flavored beverage, then whined for more.

After the laughter and thirst had passed, Lorelei sat on the side of the fountain and yawned. “I haven’t slept in forever,” she said. “I’m really tired.”

“We should get going.” Homer’s watch indicated that it was noon in The City and that it was Friday. “I need to get back for my sister’s sweet sixteen.”

“Yes, and I’ve got to register for the World’s Spelling Bee.” Hercules gripped his first-aid kit.

Silence fell over the lair as the intrepid adventurers looked at one another. Was this the end? Was it time to pack up and leave? Homer wasn’t sure what to say to Lorelei. Although he was eternally grateful that she’d saved his life, he still had some doubts about her. She’d been his friend. She’d been his competitor. She’d been his rescuer, his copilot, the yin to his yang. He held out his hand. “Thanks,” he said, “for the great adventure.”

“Anytime,” she said, her cheeks dimpling. And then she hugged him, real quick. And then she hugged Hercules.

After gathering his backpack and tucking the bundle of maps under his arm, Homer pushed Dog’s rump up the lair’s staircase. “Do we have to go through that spider-filled tunnel again?” Hercules complained.

“Once you exit the tortoise statue, you can use the museum elevator,” Lorelei called from the bottom of the stairs. “It will take you to the museum lobby. It’s the easiest way out. My security code is D-A-I-S-Y.”

“Thanks,” Homer called. It didn’t matter if security cameras recorded his movements now. Or if a museum guide told him that dogs aren’t allowed inside. He’d completed his mission, and he was on his way home.

“Hey, Homer,” Lorelei called as he reached the balcony.

“What?” He peered over the railing.

She stood next to the captain’s chest, the diary in her hand. “Which quest do you think you’ll go on first? It would be really fun to go find that warrior queen’s belt. Don’t you think that would be fun?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

Twice before, he’d said good-bye to Lorelei, wondering if he’d ever see her again. But she’d managed to keep popping back into his life. Good-bye seemed unnecessary. As long as there was treasure waiting to be found, they would keep bumping into each other.

At least, that’s what he hoped.