“We can’t split up. We can’t take the pictures unless the whole team is there. We need to make a decision,” Leo says. “Backpack mission or hunt mission?”

“Um. Hate to break it to you. But ticktock.” Noah taps his wristwatch.

Ginny stares at Noah. “Hello! Some kid doesn’t have her bag for school. She might even have her lunch in there.”

He scoffs like that’s what he meant to say. “Yeah, exactly. Ticktock, as in, let’s get our butts in gear and drop this backpack off at Isabelle’s place.”

Ginny smiles warmly at him. “I thought that’s what you meant.” Her words come out a little flirty.

Leo checks the address tag. “Her apartment is a few blocks away. Let’s see if there’s a doorman we can leave it with, at least.”

“Wait.” My warning comes out before I expected it to. But the conversation with RaeLynn replays in my head. Would she have planted this backpack? Is this scavenger hunt sabotage? Or worse, did George—sweet, put-upon, beleaguered George . . . Would he have done this to slow down the team in the lead? Both of them are salivating for the prize, albeit for different reasons. I’d hate to think the triplet daddy would do this, but I don’t know either one of them. There could be more to this than meets the eye. Isn’t there always?

“What is it, Lulu?” Leo asks curiously.

“Do you think this is a trick? Like, some sort of sabotage?”

“Dude, that would make this one cutthroat scavenger hunt,” Noah says.

“But it’s possible. It could totally be some crazy scheme concocted by those manifesters. The Frodo’s people,” Ginny suggests, loving the conspiracy idea.

Leo cuts in, his voice confident and commanding. “Guys, it doesn’t matter whether it’s a trick or real. Our choices are the same. Leave it or return it. Which one are we doing? I know my decision. What is yours?”

Just like that, he assumes the leadership role fully, and I tuck away my doubt.

All at once, the three of us declare, “Return it.”

“I’ll do it.” Noah reaches for the backpack. “Told you I was Usain Bolt.”

And bolt he does. His feet are winged. He’s Hermes, flying down the block before anyone can stop him. We jog behind, but he’s propelled by jet fuel, racing along the block, stopping briefly to cross the street, then speed-demoning it down the next one.

I point at him. “Holy smokes. That dude can fly.”

“He sure can,” Ginny says, admiration in her tone.

“Ginny, do I detect a note of you’re-seeing-Noah-in-a-new-light in your tone?” Leo asks.

She snaps her gaze toward him. “What? New light?”

“Oh, come on. The two of you clearly have some sort of Sam and Diane vibe.”

“You’re so old, Leo,” Ginny says.

“Ha. Cheers is on Netflix. I didn’t watch it in the ’80s. Also, I turn thirty-three today, so I’m not that old.”

“Happy birthday, Leo!” Ginny says.

I stop him, slamming an arm against his. “Today? You turn thirty-three today? You were trying to sneak a birthday past me again?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m not turning one, twenty-one, or one hundred one, so it’s no big deal.”

“It’s your birthday. That’s a huge deal, and you never ever let us celebrate it before.”

“I’m just not one of those birthday people.”

“Whatever. That’s crazy talk. I’m making you a cake, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“No?” he offers.

I wave it off. “Won’t accept it. The only question you should be answering right now is chocolate, marble, black forest, pineapple coconut, or strawberry.” I tap my toe, deliberately impatient. “What does the birthday boy want?”

His eyes roam up and down my body, lingering on my throat, my breasts, then finally my lips.

That, right there—the dark look in his brown irises. That’s the definition of “melting point.” I go from solid woman to liquid desire.

“I want . . . pineapple coconut.”

Have it. Have me. Have everything, I want to say.

“I’ll make it for you.” My voice betrays me. It’s breathless, husky. I want to make him a cake, and I want him to have it and eat it too.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Speaking of vibes . . .”

But before I can ask about vibes, Noah is Forrest Gumping toward us again, pointing down the street. “Isabelle called her building! I talked to the doorman. She’s at school. It’s two blocks away. I’m going to get it to her before second period.”

Then he’s Road Runner, flying past us, turning down the next block, and blowing away all the cheetahs in the world.

Ginny watches him, stars in her eyes.

Despite Noah’s best impression of cheetah-meets-Olympic-medalist, we arrive at Grand Central Terminal thirty minutes after we wanted to.

But Isabelle has her backpack, and she told Noah through tears and a smile how happy she was to have it.

Inside the still-grand train station, we rush to the famous clock. It’s made of gold, and because of its four opal faces, it’s said to be worth $10–$20 million. Hence the weigh me part of the clue, since gold is valued by weight.

We take a photo beneath it.

Next, we head to the departure boards, where every train is listed as running one minute earlier than it actually leaves. That’s deliberate to accommodate stragglers. We snap another shot of the four of us.

After that, we look skyward, where the stars and the constellations are depicted in gold and green on the ceiling. Another picture.

Finally, we hunt for the marble inlays that appear to be squashed pineapples but are actually acorns, a symbol of the Vanderbilts, who financed the terminal. We find them and take the final photo, sending it in right before the two-hour deadline.

All the items we’re unearthing are from years ago. The clock. The ceiling. The departures board. Even the symbol of the Vanderbilts. For a moment, it’s as if Kingsley is reading my mind. Making me think about the past. Leo and I have so much past between us.

But even so, I’ve learned the past isn’t what matters anymore.