The fluorescent lights of the classroom hummed a dull, irritating tune, a stark contrast to the frantic drumming of my heart. Jbanz. The name itself felt like a brand seared into my consciousness. Not just any classmate, but *Jbanz*. The golden boy, the student council president, the one who glided through the halls like royalty while I shuffle-footed in his shadow. And now, history project partners. The universe had a cruel sense of humor.
Mrs. Davison's voice, usually a soothing balm, now sounded like a death knell as she announced our pairing. "Elias Thorne and Jbanz Sterling, you'll be working together on the local history project." A collective gasp rippled through the room, or maybe it was just the blood rushing in my ears. I risked a glance at Jbanz. He was beaming, a picture of effortless charm, already clapping his hands together. He caught my eye and offered a wide, blinding smile. I felt a primal urge to melt into the floor.
"This is going to be amazing, Elias!" he'd boomed, his voice carrying across the room. "I've already got so many ideas. We should meet up after school, maybe grab some pizza, brainstorm. What do you think?"
What did I think? I thought I'd rather wrestle a badger. But his enthusiasm was a tidal wave, and I was a flimsy raft. Refusal was not an option. His sheer social magnetism was a force of nature, capable of sweeping away any objection, any resistance. So, I'd mumbled something incoherent, a pathetic attempt at an agreement, and spent the rest of the class trying to convince myself I wasn't about to experience a social apocalypse.
Now, the school day was over, and the dreaded meeting was upon me. Jbanz had insisted on his place, a sprawling Victorian house on the edge of town that looked less like a home and more like a forgotten monument. My own house was a modest, practical structure, devoid of any architectural flair. Walking up his long, gravel driveway felt like trespassing. Each crunch of my worn sneakers was a shout of my inadequacy.
The front door was heavy oak, carved with intricate patterns that hinted at generations of wealth and, I suspected, eccentricity. Jbanz opened it before I could even knock, his smile as radiant as ever. "Elias! Come in, come in! Sorry, I didn't hear you pull up. My dad's got some newfangled intercom system that's way too sensitive." He ushered me into a foyer that was more like a museum. Dark wood paneling, gleaming brass fixtures, and portraits of stern-looking ancestors stared down at me. I felt like a mouse that had accidentally wandered into a lion's den.
"Wow," I managed, the word feeling small and insignificant in the cavernous space.
"Thanks," he said, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. "My family's lived here for ages. Anyway, let's get to work. I've got a lead, a *really* good one." He led me into a study that was even more overwhelming. Bookshelves lined every wall, stretching to the impossibly high ceiling. The air smelled of old paper, leather, and something faintly floral. In the center of the room sat a massive mahogany desk, piled high with documents and artifacts.
"A lead?" I asked, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. "For the history project?"
"Precisely!" Jbanz's eyes sparkled. "You know Mr. Abernathy, right? The town's oldest resident? Lives over on the hill, the one with the overgrown garden and the… well, the reputation."
I'd heard of Mr. Abernathy, of course. Everyone had. He was a local legend, a recluse who was said to know more about the town's history than the town itself. He rarely spoke to anyone, and his house was surrounded by a formidable, untamed wilderness. "Yeah, I know who you mean. But how… how do you know him?"
Jbanz chuckled, a rich, easy sound. "I don't, not really. But I know his niece, Clara. She's a grade above me, and we're in the debate club together. I mentioned our project, and she said her uncle might be willing to talk. He's apparently the keeper of all sorts of old stories." He winked. "A bit of charm and a well-placed compliment to Clara went a long way."
I stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and grudging admiration forming in my chest. He'd secured an interview with Mr. Abernathy, the mythical historian, just by talking to someone. My methods usually involved poring over dusty library archives for weeks, hoping to unearth a single forgotten fact. Jbanz, it seemed, just… talked to people.
"You got an interview?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"We're going tomorrow afternoon," he confirmed, beaming. "Clara's going to bring us. She said he's a bit… peculiar, but he's got a sharp mind and a memory like a steel trap, at least when it comes to the past."
My skepticism warred with a growing sense of excitement. This was huge. An interview with Mr. Abernathy could be the key to a truly exceptional project. It could be the difference between a passing grade and something truly memorable. "That's… that's incredible, Jbanz. I didn't think anyone could get him to talk."
"Well, that's the thing about history, Elias," he said, leaning back in his chair, gesturing expansively. "It's not just in books. It's in people. Their memories, their stories. And sometimes, you just need to know who to ask, and how to ask." He tapped a finger on a stack of aged papers. "And speaking of stories, I've been doing a little digging myself, based on some vague hints Clara dropped. Apparently, Mr. Abernathy is the undisputed authority on the town's founding. Like, *the* authority. He's got documents, artifacts, the whole shebang."
My mind raced. The town's founding. That was the core of our project. If Abernathy had primary sources, actual historical documents… this could be it. The motherlode.
"So, what exactly are we going to ask him?" I ventured, trying to sound like a useful partner and not a bewildered bystander.
Jbanz grinned. "Everything! I've got a list here," he said, pulling a neatly written notepad from beneath the pile on his desk. "I've got questions about the original settlers, the town's name, the early industries, any notable figures from that era…" He paused, his eyes gleaming. "And Clara mentioned something about a legendary treasure. Apparently, there's an old tale about it, dating back to the very first days of the settlement. Mr. Abernathy might know something about that."
A treasure? My eyebrows shot up. This was sounding more like an adventure novel than a history project. "A treasure? Seriously?"
"That's what Clara said," Jbanz confirmed, his tone laced with amusement. "She said he has a few 'curiosities' that might shed some light on it. I'm hoping he'll let us see them." He pushed a thick, leather-bound book across the desk towards me. "This is one of his personal journals. Clara managed to borrow it for a few days. It's mostly rambling, but there are some fascinating entries about the town's early days. I've started transcribing some of the more relevant bits."
I picked up the journal, its pages brittle and yellowed. The handwriting was spidery and elegant, a stark contrast to the blocky print of my own notes. I flipped through it, catching glimpses of faded ink and pressed flowers. It felt like holding a piece of history itself.
"So, my plan," Jbanz continued, his voice picking up speed, "is to go in, be polite, show genuine interest, and then gently steer the conversation towards the founding period. We'll ask about the treasure, of course, but the main focus is the historical context. We can use his knowledge and any documents he's willing to share to build our presentation. Imagine, Elias, a presentation based on direct testimony from the oldest living link to our town's origins!"
He was practically vibrating with excitement, and despite myself, I felt a spark of that same energy ignite within me. This was no longer just a school assignment; it was an opportunity. A chance to uncover something real, something tangible, something that went beyond textbooks and dry facts.
"You've really thought this through," I said, my voice softer now. The initial dread was slowly, tentatively, giving way to something akin to hope.
"Of course!" Jbanz clapped his hands together again. "This project is important. And working with you, Elias, I think we can really make something special. You've got that sharp analytical mind, all the research skills. I've got… well, I guess I'm good at talking to people and finding the interesting angles." He grinned. "It's a good partnership, don't you think?"
I looked at the journal in my hands, then at Jbanz, his face alight with ambition and genuine enthusiasm. He was right. He *was* good at talking to people. He'd managed to secure an interview with a hermit historian, a feat I'd considered impossible. And my own strengths, my meticulous research and analytical skills, would be essential in sifting through whatever information Abernathy provided.
"Yeah," I admitted, a small smile finally forming on my lips. "Yeah, I think it might be."
He clapped me on the shoulder, a gesture that, surprisingly, didn't feel entirely unwelcome. "Great! So, while I've got Clara working on getting us the interview, why don't you take this journal and see what you can glean from it? Focus on any mentions of the town's founding, key figures, or anything that hints at the treasure story. I'll keep digging into other potential sources, and we can compare notes before the interview."
I nodded, clutching the journal. The weight of it felt significant. It wasn't just a book; it was a key, a potential gateway to a past I'd only ever glimpsed in fragments. The thought of Mr. Abernathy, of the stories he held, of the possibility of a legendary treasure, sent a thrill down my spine. The dread had completely evaporated, replaced by a focused determination. This was more than just a history project now. It felt like a genuine exploration, a quest, and for the first time since Mrs. Davison had announced our partnership, I felt a flicker of genuine excitement about working with Jbanz Sterling. The reclusive historian, the eccentric Mr. Abernathy, was our promising lead. And I had a feeling this lead was going to take us somewhere extraordinary.