Treasure

Sanjiv always contrived to sit close to us on the school bus. Since he was two years younger, we called him bacchu. To make up for this handicap, he let us in on the secret of the treasure on the roof of his house. Having obtained our half-hearted oaths of secrecy, he told us about the block of precious stone, worth at least a million bucks. We didn’t believe him, of course, but we didn’t completely disbelieve him either. A million bucks is a lot of money.

When Sanjiv’s family moved, we asked what had become of the treasure. He hesitated for just the slightest moment before confiding that his father had buried it somewhere, and was going to reveal the spot only when Sanjiv turned twentyone.

“What if he dies before that?” someone asked.

a metallic fly
on the bus window
blue
or maybe green