For months, I thought I’d hit the jackpot with my neighbor’s kids—two teenagers who seemed to spend every Sunday morning cleaning up the street like future public servants. But when I spotted one of them hiding something under a bush, I realized their so-called “good deeds” weren’t what they appeared to be.
As a woman in my 60s, I’ve seen a lot in this neighborhood. The good, the bad, and everything in between. But seeing two teens, barely out of middle school, devoting their weekends to tidying the streets? Well, it gave me a spark of hope for the younger generation.
Every Sunday morning, I’d sit by the window with my cup of tea, watching them sweep the sidewalks and haul away trash bags. It was impressive. They reminded me of my own kids when they were younger, before they grew up and left the nest. I admired their work ethic.
One morning, I spotted their mom, Grace, hurrying out of her house, likely off to work. I couldn’t help but call out to her. “Grace! I just have to say, your kids are doing a wonderful job cleaning up the street. You must be so proud!”
She paused and looked at me with a peculiar expression, almost as if I had said something strange. Then she forced a polite smile. “Oh, yeah… thanks. They’re good kids.”
There was something odd in her tone, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. I assumed she was just in a rush.
Weeks passed, and I continued to watch Becky and Sam—yes, I think those were their names—hard at work every Sunday morning. Once, I offered them lemonade, but they declined, saying they had to “finish up.” I couldn’t help but think how mature and responsible they were for their age.
Then, last Sunday, things took a strange turn. I was watching them from my usual spot when I noticed something off. Sam wasn’t just picking up trash—he was crouched near the big oak tree in front of my house, sweeping leaves aside, and carefully tucking something under a bush.
I squinted, trying to make out what it was, but I couldn’t see clearly. It didn’t look like trash, though. He was being secretive, glancing over his shoulder before moving on. My curiosity was piqued.
After they finished and disappeared around the corner, I decided to investigate. I slipped on my gardening gloves and shuffled outside. The breeze caught my hair as I bent down near the oak tree, pushing aside the leaves Sam had so carefully arranged.
There it was—a small stash of loose change. Quarters, dimes, and even a few shiny pennies. Confused, I stood up, looking around. Intrigued, I started checking other spots along the sidewalk, and sure enough, I found more coins hidden behind street signs, between bricks, and even near the storm drain.
By the time I was done, I had nearly five dollars in change. But why were they hiding money instead of picking up trash?
That afternoon, I saw Grace unloading groceries from her car and seized the opportunity to get to the bottom of this mystery. I walked over, the coins jangling in my pocket.
“Grace!” I called out, waving her over.
She looked up, a bit surprised but smiled. “Hey! Everything alright?”
I chuckled, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, I just wanted to mention again how thoughtful your kids are, cleaning up the street every week.”
Grace furrowed her brow, looking genuinely puzzled. “Cleaning up the street? What do you mean?”
I blinked, taken aback. “You know, they’re out there every Sunday, sweeping up and picking up trash. I watch them from my window all the time.”
For a moment, she looked completely confused, but then, realization dawned, and she burst into laughter. “Oh, no, no, no! They’re not cleaning!”
I stared at her, baffled. “Wait, what?”
“They’re on a treasure hunt!” she said, still laughing. “Their grandpa hides coins around the neighborhood for them to find every Sunday. It’s a game they’ve been playing for years. They’re not picking up trash—they’re searching for treasure!”
I stood there, stunned. “A treasure hunt? So, for months, I thought they were being model citizens, cleaning up the neighborhood, and they’ve just been playing a game?”
Grace nodded, still grinning. “Exactly! My dad started it when they were little to keep them entertained. He hides coins—quarters, dimes, sometimes even a dollar—and they spend the morning hunting for them.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I’ll be! Here I was thinking I was watching the most responsible teens on the block, and all along, they were just playing pirates!”
Grace joined in my laughter. “Sorry for the confusion! I guess it does look like they’re cleaning, but trust me, it’s all about the treasure.”
I reached into my pocket, pulling out the handful of coins I’d collected. “And this? This is the grand prize I found under the bushes today!”
Grace gasped. “Oh no, you found their loot!”
“I couldn’t help myself,” I admitted, laughing again. “I saw them hiding something and thought they were up to something sneaky.”
Grace waved it off with a grin. “No worries. I’ll let them know where their treasure went. They’ll get a kick out of it.”
We stood there for a moment, still chuckling. Then Grace asked, “So, what did you think they were doing all this time?”
Embarrassed but still smiling, I shrugged. “Honestly? I thought they were being good Samaritans, doing some kind of community service. I even complimented you on raising such responsible kids!”
Grace shook her head, still laughing. “Well, in a way, I guess they are. They’re keeping Grandpa entertained, and they’re getting fresh air, right?”
“True,” I said with a smile. “But next Sunday, I think I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show… treasure hunt and all.”
Grace winked. “Sounds like a plan.”