The Emerald Treasure: Chapter 1

1.

I tap my pencil against my desk, tapping for every second that passes on the large black and white clock on the wall. 29, 28, 27, 26 seconds. I see Becca two seats ahead of me, her wavy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. I look at the clock again. 20, 19, 18, 17 seconds. Summer is almost here, and I can be done with school for the entire summer. It’s not that I hate school, I love it, I just need a break. 10, 9, 8, 7 seconds. A silent haze falls over the room. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. BRRRING! The bell rings and I'm pretty sure every kid in the room threw their papers up in the air and yelled in joy. School, teachers, exams, homework. It's all over. I fix the gray square glasses sitting on my nose, pick up my backpack, and make my way out of the room, following my friend Becca, and also trying to avoid my step-sister, Nicole. Becca turns to me.

“We’re finally done, thank god! No more essays, or teachers, or college planning,” she exclaims. I chuckle.

“Well, I’m glad to see you have your priorities in line. Also, college planning isn’t that bad,” I respond. She scoffs.

“I beg to differ, and of course, you would say that. You’re a complete genius! Any college would scramble to get a student like you in one of their programs,” she tells me. I laugh again.

“I don’t think so, I’ve got too much going on at home to deal with constant scholarships and stuff like that,” I explain.

“Did you ever get a response from the University?”

“No, even after the professor put in a word for me, I got nothing,”

“Meanwhile, Nicole is getting a cheer scholarship to a tech college. To be fair, you’re way better off,” she tells me. I laugh again.

Ever since my dad married Nicole’s mom, we have this mutual hateful relationship. Don't get me wrong, I love her mom, she’s a sweetheart, but Nicole is just a total bitch. It's odd that such a kind woman raised that monster. The girl is constantly trying to steal my motorcycle keys and keeps rubbing it in my face that she’s more popular than me. She cannot, however, answer simple questions about the world. What are the five pillars of Islam? When was the first moon landing? Who was William Shakespeare? Like I said simple questions.

After waving goodbye to Becca, I make my way towards my locker on the far side of the building, and also waving at some of my Advanced History friends. I'm not the most popular girl in school, but I'm pretty well liked so people are normally really friendly towards me. Also, the fact people say that I'm a complete genius. I'm taking 3 advanced history classes, advanced chemistry, calculus, as well as being the president of the gaming, science, and history clubs. Just because I take advanced classes doesn’t mean I’m a genius, it just mean I like to push myself. Anyway, I've always been incredibly fascinated by history, more accurately the unknown history of the world. Because the things we don't know about the world are much more interesting than the things we do. I get that from my mom.

I pull the last of my books out of my locker, then I grab my leather jacket and my motorcycle helmet before making my way towards the history room to see the professor. Professor Devereux is an old friend of my parents’, and also my Advanced European History teacher. He’s actually a university professor, but teaches a few advanced classes at the high school I go to. I enter the room and can’t see him at first. I call out to him.

"Professor? Professor!" I hear a thud followed by a groan in pain. Then a stack of books on his desk slides off and falls to the ground with a crash. I drop my bag and run over to find the professor covered in books and his brown jacket plastered with dust. "Professor! Are you alright?" I shove all the books off him and help him to his feet. He brushes off his jacket with his hands and then sees it’s actually me.

"Ah, Emerald, it's just you," he says. I smile and lean down to pick up his books.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to startle you,” I tell him, picking up the last of the books and setting them in a neat pile on the side of the desk.

“It’s alright, I was just looking for my glasses case. I seem to have misplaced it,” he tells me, patting down his jacket and jean pockets. I see it sitting on the edge of the desk. Picking it up, I hold it out in front of me and look at the professor rummaging through some papers. I clear my throat and hold it up. He chuckles, comes over, and takes it from me.

“You should really slow down, you aren’t as young as you used to be,” I tell him. He frowns at me.

“Is this your subtle way of telling me I’m old?” he asks.

“What? No…” trail off. He picks up a small paperback book off the desk and whacks me with it. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Calling me old,” he responds. I roll my eyes and laugh. He smiles before staring at me.

“Professor, what is it?” I ask.

“You…” he hesitates. “You just remind me so much of your mother,” he finally says. I fall silent. It’s been almost 8 years since my mother died in a car accident in Arizona. She was on a business trip for work in Phoenix, and never ended up coming home. It hit me and my dad pretty hard. I was only 12 at the time, so it was a bit difficult for me to understand what was going on, but I began to understand over time. I smile at the professor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up,” he says after a moment of silence.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it by now,” I say, but I was lying. Talking about my mother was a very difficult subject for me and my dad. We hardly even mention her name in our home anymore. It’s just too painful.

He chuckles before grabbing my bag, as well as a stack of books, and handing them to me. He then went walking with me out of the room, through the school and out the doors. Waving goodbye, I remember back to the time when I first met the professor. I was 8 years old at the time, coming back from a museum tour with my mom and we saw him as we entered the university campus. My mom apparently had to pick up some papers from him. When we got into his office, I remember he had a massive collection of ancient pottery pieces he’d found on a recent dig in Peru. He was investigating a recently found set of human remains, dated at 500 - 600 years old. It was amazing. Then after my mom died, he kind of took me under his wing, and he’s now kind of like an uncle to me.

When I get out into the lot, I see Becca's boyfriend and another good friend of mine, Adrian, walking to his car. He sees me and waves.

“Hey, Emmie!” He calls. I wave back at him.

“Any summer plans?” I call back. I see him shrug.

“Eat, sleep, VIDEO GAMES!” the kid’s just as much of as geek as I am. His 16th birthday party was literally Star Wars themed. It was awesome. I laugh and turn back to my bike. I pull on my black and silver motorcycle helmet, turn my keys in the ignition and speed away, through the bustling streets of Orlando.

...

When I pull into the driveway of my house, I see Nicole sitting with a few of her friends on the front porch. She's wearing a pink tank top, a pair of very revealing denim shorts, and sunglasses. Her light brown hair falls in a long braid down her back and she's sitting on the railing, leaning against a post. Her two friends are all wearing similar outfits and are all on their cell phones. I park my bike in the garage, shove the keys in my pocket and head into the house through the front door. I run up the steps past Nicole and her friends. Her one friend whispers something to her before the two of them start laughing hysterically. I frown at them, confused, but they just keep laughing. I shrug before turning the knob and opening the door. Nicole jumps up from her seat and grabs my arm.

“Oh, hey Emerald. Can I borrow your bike to get a ride to a party later?” she asks. I scoff.

“You got a drunk driving ticket last month in a car, and almost killed someone. So, I ask you this Nicole, what could possibly possess me to allow you to use my bike?” I say with a smug smile. Her face goes white and she looks really pissed. Turning on my heel, I enter the house and close the door behind me, right in Nicole’s face. I chuckle and hear my dad’s voice.

“Nicole?”

“No, it’s me!” I call back, hanging my jacket up on one of the hooks on the wall beside the door and kicking off my shoes on the mat. I drop my backpack on the bench in the hall and walk into the kitchen, being met with my stepmom, Danielle, and my dad.

“Oh hi Em,” he says, coming over and putting me in a choke hold and messing up my hair. I try to wriggle out from his grasp, but unfortunately, he’s way stronger than me. Danielle laughs as I continue to writhe from his clutches, but I’m not sure either of them remembered I took aikido and karate for 8 years. I pull my chin below my dad’s forearm to give me the advantage in body weight. I then do a soft elbow to the stomach, which loosens his grip, and I maneuver out and away from him. He stumbles back, and I land in a very low, balanced position. Danielle laughs and comes over to me as I stand up.

“Well Marcus, it seems you have a worthy opponent,” she comments, putting her arm around my shoulders. She isn’t my mom, but I love her like she is. Her wavy brown hair and beautiful grey-blue eyes are soothing and she’s absolutely beautiful. She’s really sweet, and absolutely is fascinated with my passion for history. I’ll accidently leave a book about the Dynasties of China sitting on the counter and come back 20 minutes later to see her reading it. No wonder my dad likes her. I smile.

“I think someone forgot about my keen survival skills,” I reply with a grin, brushing at my shoulders jokingly. Danielle laughs again before patting my shoulder and walking over to the oven, which reminded me of the amazing scents that filled the room. She was making her lasagna again, which is so good.

“So, Emerald, how was the last day of school?” she asks.

“It was good. Mrs. Bargens brought us cookies shaped like iconic landmarks from Ireland. It was awesome!” I said, jumping up and down a little and having a mini fangirl attack. My dad laughed.

“I will never understand why you love that so much,”

“Because those who forget the past, are-”

“-are bound to repeat it,” Danielle finishes. I smile and laugh.

“Look who figured out my motto,” I say.

“I thought your motto was “Hakuna Matata,” my dad inputs.

“That’s my movie motto, repeating the past is my life motto,” I explain.

“You can have more than one motto?”

“Yes, I can and I do. Don’t judge,” I say, walking over to the fridge and pulling out the pitcher of iced tea and a glass. Sitting up on the countertop, I pour myself a glass and take a swig. The icy chilled liquid goes down my throat and soothes my body. My dad turns to me.

“Oh, did you get your summer assignments for your college courses next year?” he asked. I nod.

“The professor got them for me early so I can finish them without any trouble. I love being smart,” I reply, taking another sip of tea. I hear Danielle laugh at my comment. “Anyway, I’m going upstairs to get started on my summer stuff,” I jump down from the counter where I was seated, and take my iced tea and summer work folder upstairs to my room.

My room was specifically designed for me by my mom. She added fake versions of classical artistry, replicas of lost treasures in the world, and posters from just about every country imaginable. I sit down at my desk and turn on the navy blue desk lamp, the bright light blinding me for a moment after I turn it on. The mid-afternoon thunderstorms are starting to form outside, and I can hear faint clashes of thunder in the distance. My mom always loved the afternoon thunderstorms. She always told me it was the world’s response to our beauty, that they should try to ruin it with lightning and rain, but that even harsh weather couldn’t do that. I open the yellow folder and stare at its contents. 3 packets full of in depth history subjects from around the world. I pick up a black ink pen from the cup on my desk and begin to annotate the article on Mayan civilizations. After an hour or so of being bent over my desk, I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling. Then I see something strange. An anomaly in the ceiling tiles. An odd shape on the ceiling that I never noticed before. It almost looked like a part of the ceiling or a to the attic that had been sealed up, but those were only found in the garage. I move my swivel chair over right underneath it and stand on the chair to reach up. Standing on a swivel chair in socks is basically a disaster waiting to happen but whatever. I am just barely tall enough to give it a little pressure and the wooden ceiling tile breaks away. I gasp. I’ve lived in this room for so many years and never before did I know this was here. I push my upper body through the gap and end up breathing in 15 years of dust within the first 10 seconds of being in that part of the house. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and use it’s light as a flashlight as I pull the rest of my body into the opening. The space is tiny; only about 4 feet high and 6 feet wide, way smaller than the attic connected to the rest of the house. Crawling through the space, I see boxes upon boxes of random stuff that my parents kept over the years. A few photo albums of my baby pictures. An old vintage radio. A few spider webs. Then, in the corner of the crawl space, I see a small lockbox, only about a foot long and a few inches deep. I grab the handle and drag it with me out of the crawl space and back into my bedroom. On the top of the box has the initials C. F. Camille Fellowes. My mother. I see that the box has a small padlock on it, one from probably when my mom was a kid. I pull a bobby pin out of my curly hair and smile.

“Well it could work,” I say to myself, putting the end of the bobby pin into the lock. I didn’t even move it a centimeter and the lock just falls right off. “Wow Mom, great job locking this up tight,” I pull the lock off and set it on the desk in front of me before opening the lid of the box. I am shocked by what I see. There’s a bunch of crumpled up papers, a small ring box, and a journal, held together with a rubber band. I pick it up out of the dust, it’s leather cover sliding over my fingers, cool and refined. I pull off the rubber band and toss it aside. Opening the journal to the first page, I see a bunch of scribbled drawings and hieroglyphics I’ve never seen before, as well as partial translations of the hieroglyphics on the next 5 or 6 pages. It all just looks like chicken scratch to me. Then, as I open to the last page, a slip of old, crusted paper falls out onto my lap. I pick it up and unfold it. Then I realise. It’s a map! My heart skidders in my chest as I look over the map, trying to figure out where it leads or what it leads to. I flip it over and see more of the hieroglyphics, but these aren’t translated.

“What is this for?” I ask myself. Then under the journal, I find a ring box and a note. I unfold the piece of paper and begin to read.

Dearest Emerald,

If you are reading this, it means you’ve found my lockbox in the attic above your bedroom. Sadly, I am not able to give you my message in person, but it doesn’t mean the message isn’t important. Anyway, my message to you is this, and I entrust you, my daughter, with the finding of the contents enclosed the blue journal. For many years, I went looking for the Lost City, but ultimately was unsuccessful in finding it. This treasure that is now within the city is worth millions, maybe even billions of dollars, and I was so close to finding it. Unfortunately, if you are reading this letter, it means something has happened to me, and I am unable to find the treasure myself. Which is why I enlist you, Emerald, to find it for me. The clues required for finding the treasure are enclosed in the journal included in this box along with something of mine to keep you going. You must use them both to find the treasure, and protect it from those who want it as well. Be warned, Emerald, you and I aren’t the only ones looking the City. Trust your instincts and your abilities, and don’t let anyone stray you from your goal. Go to the professor, he will explain everything in more detail.

I love you, Sweetheart

~Mom

I stare at the piece of paper, shocked and amazed. What is this for? What does it have to do with my mom? What is she even talking about? Why didn’t she tell me? Millions of questions are running through my head, I realise only the Professor can answer my questions. I grab my backpack and sprint out of the room, running down the stairs and causing a stampede of noise. My dad peeks into the hallway.

“Emerald, are you alright?” I turn and look at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just...um...forgot something at the school, I’ve got to go get it. I’ll be back later,” I say, grabbing my helmet, my jacket, and my keys before running out the door. Nicole and her friends haven’t moved.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“I’m sorry Nicole, I can’t talk right now, I gotta go,” I say, jumping on my bike and speeding off.

When I get to the school, I jump off my bike and sprint inside, nearly slamming into a few walls in the process. I run to the professor’s room and burst through the door, and I see him jump on the other end. I maneuver through the rows of desks and shout for him.

“Professor Devereux! Professor Devereux!” he looks up from his notes and sees me, shaken and confused.

“Emerald dear, are you alright?”

“What is this about a city? And a treasure? What is it and what does it have to do with my mom?” I almost yell.

“Hush, keep your voice down,”

“No, tell me what’s going on!” I slam my fist on the table.

“Okay, Em, sit down. This will take some explaining,” he replies. I sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. The leather molds to my body and is comforting, but I’m so confused right now that I can’t stop shaking. “Okay, where do I start?” he says. I dig the lockbox out of my backpack.

“Start with this,” I say, placing it on the table. He stares at it for a moment before sighing.

“Emerald, what did your mother do?”

“I don’t have time for stupid questions, Professor!”

“Answer the damn question Emerald!” he has never raised his voice at me. I stare for a moment.

“Museum. She worked in a museum,” I answer finally.

“That’s not all your mother did, Emerald. She was one of the most thoughtful and brilliant people I’ve ever met. And her knowledge of history was unmatched by anything. She was one of my best friends,” he says, sitting down and opening the lockbox. “And, she was a treasure hunter,”

“A treasure hunter?”

“Did you read the note she left you?” I nod before responding with a question.

“Yeah, what is this about a treasure?”

“The treasure that we were searching for was that of Francois L’Ollonais, a french pirate from the mid 17th century. He and his crew of almost 200 men sailed throughout the world and collected millions of dollars in gold and jewels,” he explains.

“Yeah, the Lost Emerald City, I know,”

“Did you know that’s what your mother named you after?” I stare at him, shocked. My mother named me after a treasure? I down at the lockbox.

“Why did she say she needs me to find it?” I ask.

“Because you are her daughter, and only you can find it. But unfortunately, you can’t,” he replies.

“Why? If it’s what my mom wanted, why shouldn’t I try to find it?”

“Because you are too young and the journey is far too dangerous. Your mother and I went after the treasure 8 years ago, and that’s how…” he trailed off.

“That’s how what?”

“That’s how your mother was killed,” he finished. It feels as if I’ve just been punched in the gut. My mind was spinning and I was starting to get a headache.

“The treasure got her killed?” I whisper to myself, not meaning for the Professor to hear me, but he did anyway.

“It wasn’t the treasure, it was the man also looking for the treasure who killed your mother. A man by the name of Monroe Hutchinson,” he explains.

“Wait, just hold on a second. My mother was… my mother was murdered...?” He nods and looks down at his hands on the desk. I slump in the chair, so shocked I can barely breathe.

“Your father doesn’t even know that. He thinks she died in a-” I cut him off.

“A car accident. I know,” I can barely look at him now, I’m so shocked and confused. I look down at my hands; I’m shaking. He must have noticed because the next thing I know he’s crouched beside me, his hand on top of my own.

“Promise me something, Emerald. Promise me you won’t go looking to seek revenge on your mother’s murderer. It isn’t your fight,” he says to me. I look at him before getting up from my seat, grabbing the lockbox, my backpack and my helmet, and turning back to him.

“Thank you, Professor,” I turn on my heel and walk out of the room.

End of Chapter One