The Only Girl in School

  I’m going to try to draw it for you here.

  I gasped.

  “It’s a treasure map!” I told everyone.

  “Let me see!” Henry called out. “Wow!”

  Webby played it cooler (although I could tell he was excited too). “What?” he said. “You mean we have to do more digging?”

  “There’s something else here,” I said.

  There was another piece of parchment under the map. It had shaky, faded writing on it that was hard to read. Mom helped me piece it together. Here’s what it said:

  To the Finder of This Map—

  I, Joseph Tarbox of Foyes Island, Maryland, do hereby declare that the treasure buried on the spot marked herewith belongs to me. In the event of my demise, if ye be an honest man or woman, deliver this map or the treasure, whichever ye have found, to my good friend Josephine Maloney, who runs the Three Fiddlers Pub. Joe and Josie we are, two scalawags who mean no harm to anyone.

  The chest contains the spoils of my hard work, a good score of years of smuggling tea and sugar and other goods to the hungry fisherfolk of Foyes, which earned me the affectionate moniker of Smuggler Joe. I carry the name proudly. A smuggler I am and always will be.

  Signed this 3rd day of September, 1788

  Joseph Tarbox

  Bess, I couldn’t believe my luck. This was what I’d been hoping for! Proof that Smuggler Joe was a real person! AND a treasure map!

  “NOW can we do Smuggler Joe for our project?” I asked Webby.

  This time his answer wasn’t fishy at all.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “Let’s find the treasure!”

  Henry pointed to the X on the map. “All we have to do is go right THERE.”

  Joe had marked an X at the end of a finger of Eliot Point that stuck out into the Chesapeake Bay. The way Eliot Point was drawn didn’t look quite right. I don’t remember ever seeing that finger jutting into the water like that.

  Dad studied the map. He frowned and showed it to Mom, asking her what she thought.

  Mom shook her head. “Uh-oh. No. Uh-oh.”

  “What? What’s uh-oh?” I asked.

  “I don’t think that spot is there anymore.”

  It was Webby who asked the next question. “What do you mean, that spot isn’t there?”

  “The end of Eliot Point washed away a long time ago,” Dad explained. “I think it was Hurricane Agnes, wasn’t it, honey?”

  Hurricane Agnes. I had just read about it at the historical society.

  Mom nodded. “That’s what my parents told me. Hurricane Agnes flooded half the island, knocked down a bunch of buildings, and wiped the end of Eliot Point clear off the map. I think it was in 1972.”

  “But the treasure could still be there,” I said. “It might be underwater! Let’s go see.”

  Dad looked so sad when he said, “I doubt it’s there. It probably washed out to sea. But when we give these documents to the state historical society, maybe they’ll send divers down there to look for it.”

  “The historical society! No!” Webby cried out. “We found this stuff! We need it for our social studies project.”

  “I think this is kind of a big deal,” Mom said. “Historians will want to see what you found.”

  “Maybe they’ll let you show them to your class once they’ve had a look,” Dad consoled. “You can certainly take pictures of everything and show those.”

  We put everything in ziplock bags to protect them from the elements. Henry, Webby, and I spent the rest of the afternoon figuring out what we’re going to say in our presentation.

  It’s going to blow Mr. Harper’s mind!

  Your favorite treasure hunter,

  Claire

  Dear Bess,

  Today was Foyes Island History Day. We presented our projects, and guess whose was the best? I’ll describe them and then you tell me.

  Calvin, Kevin, and the Zachs did a presentation called Jerry Jawbreak: The Greatest Person Who Ever Lived on Foyes Island, about that guy Jerry Jardine, who became a famous professional wrestler. Remember old Mr. Jardine, who sits in a rocking chair on his porch with a shotgun on his lap, yelling at kids to keep off his property? Jerry is his son. He’s the most famous person who ever grew up here. The highlight of the presentation was when Calvin and Kevin reenacted the 2004 World Wrestling Championship in which Chester the Chomper shoved a six-inch nail up Jerry Jawbreak’s nose. Calvin, as Jerry, howled in pain, but kept on fighting with the nail sticking out of his nose. He won the championship. Calvin and those guys acted the whole thing out. They didn’t use a real nail—they made a pretend one out of gray construction paper. The grossest part was when Calvin pulled the nail OUT of his nose. The whole class went, “Eewwww!”

  Then there was Gilbert’s project. Nobody wanted to work with Yucky G. I felt sorry for him. Zach R. had been assigned to his team, but he defected to the Jerry Jawbreak group. Mr. Harper said that wasn’t allowed, but Gilbert said he didn’t mind.

  He stood up in front of the class all by himself and said, “My project is called The Only Girl in School: The Claire Warren Story.”

  I had no idea his social studies project was about ME!

  I was shocked.

  Basically, it was about how this was the first time in the history of Foyes Island Elementary that there has been only one girl in the whole school.

  I’m making history just by existing.

  This is what Gilbert said:

  “Foyes Island was first settled by the English in 1681. For a long time people on the island didn’t go to school. They just farmed and fished and struggled to survive. In the 1700s, if kids wanted to go to school, they had to take a ferry to St. Anselm. Finally, in 1823, the people of Foyes opened their own school. It had seven pupils, four boys and three girls. I went to the library and looked up the school records, and they show that every year since then, there have always been at least two girls at the Foyes Island School—until this year.

  “That means that someone in our class—Claire Warren—is making history!

  “She has made island history in other ways too. She is a top scorer on the soccer team. She played more parts in a single holiday play than anybody ever has before. She has won the junior regatta twice in a row, and this weekend she might win again. That will make three times in a row, which no one else has ever done.

  “In conclusion, I just want to say that Claire Warren is amazing. Thank you for your attention. The end.”

  He sat down. The boys clapped politely. Henry clapped more enthusiastically and even whistled. So that was nice.

  Mr. Harper seemed impressed. “Very good, Gilbert,” he said. “Claire, you’re part of history! How does that feel?”

  It feels like everyone’s looking at me right now, I thought. But what I said was, “Okay, I guess.”

  “Great,” Mr. Harper said. “You’re up next!”

  Webby, Henry, and I went to the front of the room.

  “Our project is called Smuggler Joe Was a Real Person and We Have Proof,” I announced to the class. “Here’s what happened. I kept seeing a face near our boat shed. It turned out to be a ghost—the Ghost of Smuggler Joe. That gave Henry an idea.”

  “And me,” Webby butted in. “This was my idea too.”

  I was about to say something to that, but Henry stepped in and continued the presentation as we’d planned it. “Everyone knows the Legend of Smuggler Joe. His ghost haunts the island to guard his treasure. I figured, if his ghost was haunting Claire’s boat shed, that must be where the treasure was.”

  “So we pulled up the floorboards and started digging,” I said. “And we found a chest!”

  The class was so excited! Mr. Harper had A-pluses in his eyes. And it got even better when Henry proclaimed, “And inside the chest was … this!”

  I unrolled the treasure map and held it up for everyone to see. The boys gasped. Mr. Harper spread out the map and the letter on his desk so everyone could look closely. He made sure no one touched them bec
ause they were so delicate.

  Webby pointed to a spot on the map.

  “That’s where my grandfather, Robert Webster Peterson, caught the biggest fish ever. I just thought I’d add that since we’re talking about local history.”

  “Thank you, Webby,” Mr. Harper said politely. “Good to know.”

  I continued with our presentation. “We told the historical society what we found. They drove straight over to our house to look at the boat shed and see if there are any more artifacts buried there. So our boat shed is kind of a mess right now. They also said they might send divers out to Eliot Point to see if they can find the treasure! They don’t think they’ll find anything, but they said it’s worth a look.”

  The class couldn’t stop talking about our discovery. Everybody else got As, but we got an A++. Mr. Harper said he’s never seen such good teamwork.

  If only he knew the truth. Worst teamwork ever! But it turned out pretty well in the end.

  We had lunch after social studies. I went to the clubhouse with my lunchbox. Before eating, I drew some pictures.

  First my fall in the woods, with the Killer Deer talking to me.

  Then the discovery of Smuggler Joe’s treasure map.

  Then three scenes from social studies: the boys acting out Jerry Jawbreak’s championship fight, Gilbert declaring me part of island history, and our presentation of the treasure map.

  While I drew, there was a knock at the door.

  Strange. Only one person had ever knocked at the clubhouse door before: Webby. That time he had the nerve to ask me to crew for him. I hoped this wasn’t Webby again, with some new way to insult me.

  I opened the door. There stood Henry.

  “Hey,” he said. “Aren’t you coming to lunch?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I mean, you know, that meal we eat after breakfast and before dinner?”

  “I know what lunch is. I mean, I always have lunch here.”

  “In the bathroom?”

  “It’s not just a bathroom. It’s my clubhouse. Haven’t you noticed that I haven’t been to the cafeteria, like, all year?”

  Henry blushed. “Um, yes, I guess I kind of noticed.” He looked around a bit in a really obvious way. “It’s nice in here.”

  “I like it.”

  I dropped the blue pencil I’d been drawing with. Henry leaned down to pick it up … and three markers fell out of his pocket.

  The marker colors looked just like the ones that had been used by the prowler who broke in and drew mean things!

  Henry hurried to pick up the markers, but it was too late. I had already spotted them.

  “You’re the prowler!” I accused.

  Henry tried to act confused. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “You sneaked in here and drew on the walls.”

  He didn’t say anything. But he turned BRIGHT red.

  “Why did you do it?” I asked.

  The best answer he had to that was, “Um …”

  He looked down at the floor and blinked fast.

  Then he looked back up at me and said, “I’m sorry, Claire. I feel bad about the way I acted this year.”

  I crossed my arms and aimed my stinkiest stink eye at him. “Why DID you act so weird all year? Why did you stop walking to school with me?”

  “I was going to come pick you up on the first day, just like always. But remember the day before? The barbecue at the dock?”

  He meant the end-of-summer crab feast. Where I ate so much corn on the cob and watermelon I thought my stomach would explode.

  “What about it?” I asked him now.

  Before he could answer, I knew. Henry and I had been hanging out together at the crab feast all day long. Just like you and me and Henry did last year, and the year before, and like we would have this year if you’d been there. But you weren’t there, so it was just me and Henry. And somehow, that looked different.

  “Afterward, I met Webby and the other guys at Ike’s Ice Cream, and he started teasing me about you. And all the other guys joined in. They said you were my girlfriend.”

  “But that’s not true!”

  “I know. I told them, we’re good friends. Best friends, even. But that’s all. But Webby wouldn’t let it go. He started singing this song he made up, ‘Claire likes Henry, Henry likes Claire, they go together like a cuss and a swear …’ ”

  “That’s dumb,” I pointed out. “It doesn’t even make sense.”

  Henry gave me a look and I knew—it didn’t matter if it made sense or not. The damage was done.

  “All the boys were singing that,” he said. “And then Webby told me if I showed up at school with you in the morning they were going to hold a wedding ceremony for us at recess to make it official.”

  I gasped. “Ack!”

  “I didn’t want that. And I knew you wouldn’t like it either. You wouldn’t—right?”

  “No!”

  I was horrified. That would have been so embarrassing. A wedding!

  “So, in a way,” Henry continued, “I was avoiding you for your sake.”

  Nice try, I thought.

  “Hold on just a second,” I told him. “Don’t try to pin this on me. You were spineless, that’s what you were. Instead of telling Webby he could think what he wants, you let him tell you what to do.”

  Henry’s red face was now going pale. “Yeah, you’re right. I was spineless. I felt like I had to prove I wasn’t your boyfriend, or they’d never believe me. That’s why I drew those mean pictures on your wall.”

  “So you sneaked into my clubhouse?”

  I hate to think of our sacred clubhouse being violated by the presence of enemy boys.

  Henry nodded.

  “Webby too?” I asked. “And the other guys?”

  Too horrible to imagine.

  “No, I didn’t let them in. I told them if we got caught it would be bad. Unitas would use our heads for basketball trophies.”

  “So how did they know you did it?” I challenged.

  “I took pictures on my phone to show them.”

  His words sank into me like a punch in the stomach. Henry, my old friend, OUR old friend, has betrayed me for almost the whole school year. He has let me be lonely and friendless, pounded with dodge balls and jeered at. AND he sneaked into my private clubhouse and defaced the walls.

  But now he was telling me why. He was telling me the truth. And he was sorry. I could see it in his face.

  “Will you forgive me?” he asked.

  I hesitated. I stalled. I made him wait for my answer.

  After all, it had been a long, hard year.

  Then, at last, I answered him.

  “I will forgive you,” I said.

  Bess, you should have seen the look on his face. He brightened up like a sunflower after you water it.

  “We’ve got a race to win tomorrow,” I reminded him. “We can’t go out there as enemies.”

  “No we can’t,” Henry agreed. “We’re a team!”

  “Yes. We’re a team.”

  We shook hands.

  Then Henry said something I didn’t realize I’d been waiting almost a year for him to say: “Why don’t you come to lunch now? If you want to. I saved you a seat at my table, next to me.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. “I will.”

  I left the clubhouse and took my lunch to the cafeteria. I sat next to Henry and no one bothered me except Webby, who couldn’t resist throwing bread balls at me every once in a while.

  I didn’t really mind.

  I’ve found my table,

  Claire

  Dear Bess,

  Take out the school picture of me that I sent you a few months ago. Set it in front of you.

  Now:

  Guess who won the Foyes Island junior regatta for a HISTORIC THIRD TIME IN A ROW?!!!!

  (Pick up my picture and look at it.)

  That’s right. YOU’RE LOOKING AT HER!

  Oh yeah oh yeah oh YEAH!
br />   And, oh yeah, Henry helped a little.

  Just kidding! He was fantastic. The best crew ever, after you.

  Gilbert was sad that I replaced him, but he crewed for Cal and they came in second! He didn’t seem so sad after that. He’s turned out to be a decent sailor. I taught him everything he knows.

  Of course, that means Cal and Gilbert beat Webby and Kevin. Probably because Kevin kept dragging his arm in the water, which slowed them down. Webby yelled at him the whole race.

  “What?” Kevin yelled back. “I’m hot!”

  It was a hot day for June. Tempers were short as a bald man’s hair, as Dad likes to say.

  Third place is not bad. That’s what I told Webby.

  He didn’t take that well.

  At the trophy ceremony, Mr. Peeler called up Kevin and Webby and gave them a little silver cup. Then he called Cal and Gilbert and presented them with a slightly bigger silver cup. Webby booed them. Mr. Peeler warned Webby that he would disqualify him for poor sportsmanship if he didn’t watch out.

  Then Mr. Peeler called up me and Henry to give us our big first-place trophy. I braced myself for booing, but Webby was silent.

  For about three seconds.

  Then, as Henry and I raised the trophy in victory, Webby yelled, “Kiss! Kiss!”

  “Webster, I warned you,” Mr. Peeler said.

  Webby strutted in front of us chanting, “Henry likes Claire! Henry likes Claire!” He seemed to be trying to whip the crowd into a frenzy, but it didn’t work. People were just staring at him. So Webby tried it the other way around: “Claire likes Henry! Claire likes Henry!”

  “Webster, sit down!” Mr. Peeler shouted.

  Gilbert, meanwhile, jumped to my defense.

  “No!” he cried. “Claire doesn’t like Henry! She likes me!”

  I stink-eyed him.

  “I hope,” Gilbert added.

  I double stink-eyed him.

  “Someday?”

  I knew he was trying to help. So this time it was only half a stink eye.

  That took the wind out of Webby’s sails, anyway. Mr. Peeler disqualified him for poor sportsmanship, just like he said he would. He took away Webby’s third-place cup.