Page 18 of Librarian for the Jock

Chapter Eighteen

CHET

I sat on the floor of my old childhood room, surrounded by boxes of dusty memories, my mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. I had thought tackling this room would be a quick chore, but it was taking me much longer than expected with so many fun distractions.

A burst of color caught my eye from beneath a pile of comic books. I reached in and pulled out a deflated, but still intact, whoopie cushion adorned with a goofy cartoon face. The sight of it instantly brought a wide grin to my face, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as a flood of memories washed over me.

I vividly recalled one summer when Brad and I were about ten years old. We had just discovered the endless entertainment that a simple whoopie cushion could provide, and we were eager to put it to use. Being the mischievous kids we were, we decided that our ultimate target should be none other than Grandpa Joe, the patriarch of the family and the man with the most infectious laugh I’d ever known.

Grandpa Joe was a stern-looking man on the outside, with his thick mustache and piercing gaze, but anyone who knew him understood that he was a big softie at heart. He loved a good joke and was always up for a laugh, especially if it involved his grandson. So, Brad and I concocted a plan to execute the perfect prank during Sunday dinner when the whole family gathered around the big oak table in the dining room.

That evening, as everyone bustled around preparing the meal, Brad and I snuck into the dining room and carefully placed the inflated whoopie cushion on Grandpa Joe’s chair, making sure it was perfectly concealed under the cushion. We could barely contain our giggles as we took our seats, eyes darting nervously as we awaited our unsuspecting victim.

When Grandpa Joe finally entered the room, carrying a steaming dish of his famous mashed potatoes, Brad and I exchanged an excited glance. He pulled out his chair, settled down with a satisfied sigh, and then—*PPPPPBBBBBBTTTTT*—the most glorious, thunderous fart noise echoed through the room.

For a split second, there was complete silence. Brad and I held our breath, eyes wide, unsure of how Grandpa Joe would react. Then, without missing a beat, Grandpa’s eyes grew wide in mock surprise as he looked around and exclaimed, “Well, I guess those beans I had for lunch are coming back to haunt me!” The entire table erupted into laughter. Baba shook her head with a smile, and even Mom tried to stifle her giggles behind her napkin.

But Grandpa Joe wasn’t done yet. With a twinkle in his eye, he shifted in his seat, causing another loud *brRRRTTT*, and added, “Looks like there’s a whole symphony in there!” Tears streamed down our faces as we laughed uncontrollably, and soon enough, the whole room was caught up in the contagious joy of the moment.

After dinner, Grandpa Joe pulled Brad and me aside, his face serious but his eyes still sparkling. “You boys think you’re pretty clever, huh?” he said, towering over us. We looked down, trying to hide our smiles, unsure if we were in trouble. Then he broke into a grin and ruffled our hair, saying, “That was a good one. Reminds me of something I would’ve done at your age. Just wait until I get you back!”

And he did get us back—a few days later, he swapped out the sugar in our cereal for salt, leading to some spectacular spit takes at the breakfast table. It became a running game between us, each trying to outdo the other with harmless pranks and jokes that filled that summer with so much laughter and warmth.

Holding the old whoopie cushion now, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for those simple, joyful times. Even though Grandpa Joe was long gone, moments like these kept his spirit alive in my heart. He had taught me the importance of laughter, of not taking life too seriously, and of cherishing the time spent with loved ones.

I gave the whoopie cushion a little squeeze, and it emitted a faint, pitiful squeak. I laughed to myself, deciding to tuck it back into the box as a keepsake. Maybe one day, I’d get the chance to pass on the tradition and share a good laugh with my own kids or grandkids.

For now, though, I had this mess to clean up and new memories to make—hopefully ones that would make Grandpa Joe proud.

The next box I opened was filled with books. My favorite summer books! I had been wondering where all of these had disappeared to. Of course, the books then took me to thoughts of my favorite book lady and what had happened yesterday at the library.

I’d been in plenty of tough situations before, both on and off the field. I’d faced down opponents twice my size, dealt with aggressive reporters, and I’d navigated the cutthroat world of professional sports in general. But never, in all those years, had I had someone stand up for me the way Paige did yesterday.

The way she confronted Rigs was something I’d never forget. There she was, this seemingly tiny, quiet librarian, turning into a force of nature right before my eyes. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t back down for a second. She was calm, strong, and completely in control of the situation. The way she shut Rigs down—telling him to put his camera away and leave—was nothing short of incredible.

I had always been the one to handle things on my own. It’s what I was used to, what I’d come to expect. I’d never needed anyone to come to my defense, and honestly, I didn’t think anyone ever would. But Paige… she hadn’t even thought twice. She saw what was happening, and she stepped in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t just what she did, though; it was the way she did it. There was this quiet strength about her, a confidence that I couldn’t help but admire. She hadn’t raised her voice or made a scene, but the stern “don’t mess with this librarian” look she gave Rigs, the way she spoke to him—it was clear she wasn’t going to let him get away with anything. And it worked. Rigs, the guy who’d been a thorn in my side for years, actually backed down when confronted for the first time. All because of Paige.

I kept replaying the moment in my mind, the way she turned to me afterward, her eyes softening as she asked if I was okay. I’d never had someone come to my defense like that before. It was a feeling I wasn’t used to—a mix of gratitude, respect, and something else, something deeper that I couldn’t quite put into words.

Sitting there now, I realized just how much Paige meant to me. She wasn’t just a friend, not just someone I’d been spending time with. She was someone who had shown me a different kind of strength, a kind of courage that didn’t come from physical power but from a deep sense of right and wrong, of protecting those she cared about.

In that moment at the library, Paige became my hero. I’d never thought of a woman in that way before, and it was making me see her in a whole new light. She was fierce, compassionate, and unafraid to stand up for what was right. And that was something I admired more than I could say.

I had to do something special for her to express my gratitude. I had to find her lost jewelry. It was hard not to feel frustrated. I’d been searching for that lost jewelry for almost a month now, but no matter how many places I dug or metal detectors I used, I’d come up empty-handed. The idea of making things right for Paige had been eating at me, and I was starting to wonder if I’d ever find it. Maybe something in this room would trigger the specific memory of where we hid that treasure, like the whoopie cushion just had with other memories.

I reached for another box. This one was filled with old toys, summer art projects, and bits of my past that I’d almost forgotten. I sifted through the contents, smiling at the sight of my old baseball glove and a few action figures I used to treasure. But as I dug deeper, something caught my eye—an old, weathered book that didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the items.

I pulled it out, curious because it looked so familiar. It was a hardcover edition of *Treasure Island*, the pages yellowed with age. Now, memories started flooding back to me! I remembered reading this book over and over as a kid, imagining myself as a pirate on the high seas, searching for buried treasure. Brad and I carried this book with us and had so many adventures, just like in the book.

Oh! I remembered something! Brad and I, pretending to be pirates, had sneaked Paige’s jewelry as our “treasure” and buried it somewhere we thought no one would ever find. I quickly flipped through the pages. Where was it?! In my urgency, something slipped out from between the pages and fell to the floor. It was a piece of paper, folded several times, the edges frayed. My heart skipped a beat as I picked it up and carefully unfolded it. Was it it?!

It was! It was THE map—an old, hand-drawn treasure map with familiar landmarks scrawled in a childish hand. Of course, the best place to hide our map would be in the book that inspired us to bury the treasure in the first place!

I looked closely at the map. Now, where did we bury that treasure? The map showed a spot deep in the woods nearby, a place I hadn’t thought about in years. As I studied the map, more memories started flooding back.

Brad and I had a secret hideout in the woods—a place where we used to escape to build forts and pretend we were pirates or explorers. We spent countless hours there, and it was our little world, away from everything. The hideout was hidden well, and we made sure no one else could find it. We even had a special name for it, though the memory of that name was fuzzy in my mind. Maybe Brad would remember.

As I stared at the map, trying to piece together the fragments of my memory, I noticed a few crude drawings of trees, a small stream, and what looked like a large boulder. It all felt so familiar, but the exact location was just out of reach in my mind. And then I saw it—a small "X" marked near the base of a tree, close to the boulder. Next to it, in faded pencil, were the words: "Pirate Treasure – Do Not Dig Here!" and beneath it, written in a different color and slightly neater handwriting: "Buried for Real Treasure."

Suddenly, it all started coming back. The tree was where we hid our most important treasures, and the boulder was our landmark. We used to bury things there—coins, toys, anything we deemed valuable. And one day, we decided to bury something really special—Paige’s jewelry, which we had “borrowed” for our pirate game.

I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about this place so completely. The backyard was never where the real treasure was—it was always in the woods, near our secret hideout. The memories rushed back quickly now, but the exact spot was still a little vague. I could see the general area in my mind, but after all these years, the woods had probably changed. Trees grow, landscapes shift, and my memory wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.

I was going to need some help finding the exact spot. I needed to borrow the metal detector from Mr. Saavedra again.

I carefully folded the map back up, my hands trembling with excitement. This was the clue I’d been missing—the key to finally finding that lost jewelry. I couldn’t believe it had been hidden in my old room all this time, waiting for me to remember our secret hideout.

I grabbed my phone and quickly dialed Mr. Saavedra’s number. When he picked up, I wasted no time explaining. “Mr. Saavedra, it’s Chet. I’ve finally figured out where the treasure might be, but I need to borrow your metal detector again. May I, please? This time, I know I’m on the right track.”

He chuckled on the other end of the line. “Well, Chet, sounds like you’re getting closer. Stop by anytime to pick it up! Good luck, and I hope this time you find what you’re looking for.”

Next, I called Brad and made arrangements with him to meet up when he was done with work.

My heart pounded with anticipation. If this map was right, if the treasure was really where it said it was, then I might finally be able to make things right with Paige.