The End of FUN (26 page)

Finally! An actual, workable clue!

I was all ready to head out to the Russian olive and start some digging, but then Homie
™
popped up with a message from Evie. She and Sam were hosting a barbecue for Sam's little sister Shiloh, who was visiting and would stay through the summer. OK, then how about offer me a ride or something? I wasn't going to walk ten miles, but there was another solution. My grandpa's blue Ford Ranger.
My
blue Ford Ranger. I found the keys and got inside—and it was the best smell ever in there. All warm with stale cigarettes. Like a man's truck. And whaddya know? It fired right up.

I found Evie and Dad relaxing at her dining room table with some iced tea. Bones was there, too, and scattered around her were about a dozen stuffed animals—ducks and otters and bears and lions. She was pacing back and forth between them, picking one up and dropping it next to another.

Dad took his feet off a chair and pushed it my way. “Your sister got an e-mail.”

“From
San Francisco
,” said Evie. “From the
hivehouse
.”

“The hivehouse? Why are they writing you?”

“Apparently you never gave an official notice of vacant occupancy. Apparently you owe five months' rent. Apparently you signed my name as your cosigner on the lease.”

“Crap. Right. I had to because I was a minor.”

“You didn't
have
to forge my name! They threatened to send the bill to collections! You're going to ruin my credit!”

Dad sipped from his canteen. “You really outdid yourself this time, buddy.”

“OK, so we write them a letter or pay them back or something.”

“I already did,” said Evie.

“You already paid them?”

“Yes.”

“You owe your sister,” said Dad. “That house needs to go on the market pronto. Either that or we rent it.”

“If we rent it, where do I go?”

“Stay at my place. Finish up your GED from there.”

“No way. That's not going to work. I need to be at Grandpa's to find the treasure.”

“Treasure?” said Evie. “Aaron, has it crossed your mind that maybe Grandpa was—”

“‘Crazy' is the word for it,” said Dad.

“But that's just it! He wasn't! Look at the will!”

I spread it out on the table. I showed them the pinpoints. And the first code. And the second. And I was like,
Take that!

“
Dig near Russian olive eight feet
. He buried something out on the property! Some kind of treasure. There's
some
thing out there, and until I find out what it is, the property is NOT for sale.
Or
rent. But you know what? Eight feet is a pretty small area to work with. I bet I can find it within a week. And when I do find it, I'll pay you both back, and everything will be cool, OK?”

They just looked at me. I looked right back, holding my ground as best I could.

“You
really
think there's something there?” said Evie.

“Yes! Did you not read the code? It's buried by the tree!”

“You ask me,” said Dad, “the old man was—”

“Crazy. I know—you already said that. Listen: there's money there. I know there is.”

All this bickering was making me thirsty. “I'm thirsty. What are you guys drinking?”

“It's called
kombucha
,” said Dad. “Your sister made it. Know what kombucha is?”

“Iced tea for hippies.”

“It's a symbiotic relationship between bacteria and yeast,” said Evie. “There's a pitcher in the fridge. I guess you can have a glass. You might want to add a little honey and ginger.”

“Ah,” said Dad. “Is that what the zing is? Ginger? I was wondering.” He turned and gave me one of his looks, like,
Ah, my sweet Evie doth fill me with such pride—and then there's
you
.

I went into the kitchen and got some kombucha—not delicious RiverEarth
™
Kombucha, but nasty homemade kombucha—and then I saw that my dad had brought a bottle of gin over, too. I dumped half of it out in the sink, and then on second thought poured some in my kombucha, and then filled the bottle up with water until it was at its previous level.

My drink needed some ice, so I opened the freezer, and there was that yellow
BIOHAZARD
bag again—the one with the puppies—staring back at me. I slammed the door shut, fought off a shudder, and using what supplies I had, I mixed myself a warm kombuchatini.

But the truth is I'm not much of a drinker, and there are reasons why kombucha isn't commonly used as a mixer. It was even worse than the Sparkl*Juice
™
Katie had served up. I took one sip and just about dumped it out in the sink. But I was starting to twitch a little, and I needed something to do with my hands.

Back in the dining room, conversation had moved on to other things. Dad was getting his band back together. Nothing new there. He was always getting his band back together. I didn't even know that they'd officially split. They were a Christian rock band now—or as Dad put it,
a band that just happens to be Christian
—and they were calling themselves “The JC Wonder Excursion.” Or at least that's what Dad wanted.

“But Manuel, our bassist? He wants the JC Wonder
Experience
. I keep telling him, Hendrix already used
Experience
. That name is taken. You tell me, which is better?”

“I agree,” said Evie. “
Excursion
, not
Experience
. How about you, Aaron?”

“Have you considered
Riven Filth
?”

“
Risen Filth?
” said Dad. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not risen—
riven
. It's cooler that way.”

The door flew open and Sam appeared.

“Greetings, all! The arrival of sister Shiloh is imminent! I just got a call from mile marker 108! Fire up the barbecue!”

Let me tell you, the dude was amped. He unpacked the groceries and flew around the house, tidying as he went—moving a plant one inch to the left, rearranging knickknacks on a shelf, that kind of thing. At one point he lifted the glass out of my hand, took a chug, and came up coughing.

“Whew!” he said, wiping away a tear. “That is some
strong
kombucha!”

“Isn't it?” said Dad. “It's got a zing!”

“It's the ginger!” said Evie.

I already mentioned the legendary hotness of the Latham sisters. Well, Shiloh was no different. She was a year older than me, and I knew
of
her—I mean I'd watched her and her sisters from a distance—but I'd never really spent any time with her on account of the Lathams—all except Sam—had been homeschooled. She was dressed in a tie-dyed tank top and jean shorts, and she had new LCD MotionNails
®
(YAY!)—they can be cheesy, but they sure looked good on Shiloh: sunflowers and stars dancing along the tips of her fingers.

Sam was stoked to have her home, and stood her in front of us and gave us her life story. Her full name was Shiloh Marie Latham and she was a freshman biology major at the University of Nevada, Reno. Also—and against her parents' explicit wishes—she'd recently started having FUN
®
. According to Sam, he and Shiloh were the black sheep of the family—Sam for obvious reasons, and Shiloh because she was the first of eight children not to attend BYU.

“Word on the street is, she even drinks!” Sam said. “I'm just so very proud of her.”

“
And
I almost failed Intro to Chemistry,” said Shiloh.

“Well,
I
came out at a family reunion. Top that.”

His sister gave a faint smile like,
I could, believe me, but you don't want me to
.

And yet despite their boasts, when you got down to it, Sam and Shiloh were pretty much wholesome to the core. You could just tell. The fact could not be concealed. Something to do with their sturdy Mormon heritage, I guess. All those years of selective breeding. Like Labrador retrievers.

“I'm trying to convince her to come back here for school,” said Sam. “Shiloh had a little bit of a run-in with—”

“It was completely unfair!” she interrupted. “I didn't even have a sip! I was the designated driver!”

“Apparently campus security disagreed, and now she's on academic suspension.”

“Academic probation.”

He gave her a hug. “Sweetheart, either way I'm just so proud of you. I think it's a sign. Come back home and live with me!”

“I don't know….” she said. “I'm still thinking about it….I moved to get
away
from the hicks.”

“Slander!” said Sam. “Libel! Heresy! Isn't that right, Evelyn? Is not that right there the very textbook definition of heresy?”

“No,” she said.

“And yet how can Shiloh stand here, before this town's finest citizens, and compare them to hicks?”

“Well, I didn't mean any of
you
, obviously,” she said, and her eyes flickered over mine.

It was time for dinner. We sat out back and ate hamburgers, and let me tell you, that girl was having FUN
®
. I mean
really
having FUN
®
. Username: shiloh_lilly. Unlike me, she wasn't in
FAIL
—in fact, she was working on her Seventh Star. I watched her with envy. She wasn't rude about it or anything, but you could tell—I could anyway—that while she smiled and nodded and answered questions, she was doing ten other FUN
®
things at once.

I kept stealing secret glances at her—she really knew how to rock a tie-dye. She was a pretty quick eater, too, but this turned out to be because she was in a hurry to meet up with some of her friends. Sam was going, too. The rest of us were invited, but only out of Mormon politeness, and we all said thanks but no thanks. Dad had to leave for band practice, and so then it was just me and Evie.