Free Danger Guys Hit the Beach by Tony Abbott

ONE
    â€œDid I say this was boring?”
    That was my best friend, Zeek Pilinsky. He was leaning back on his elbows, staring out across the hot beach.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Twice.” I was lying next to him on a beach blanket.
    I had just flipped another page of Adventure magazine. But I wasn’t really reading it anymore. I had started to doze off.
    â€œWell, I take it back,” Zeek said. “This isn’t boring. This is deadly!”
    I had to agree. Nothing was happening. It was all just kids with buckets, and parents talking.
    â€œCome on, Noodle! You’re the guy with all the bright ideas. You’ve got to think of something!”
    I usually do think of something. I am the guy with all the bright ideas. That’s why everybody calls me Noodle. And Zeek, he’s the guy with all the muscles. That’s why they call him … well … anyway, we’re pretty much a team.
    â€œNoodle, we need something different. Something fun. You know, something exciting !”
    â€œZeek,” I said. “What you really mean is …”
    â€œYeah. Something DANGEROUS!”
    I know how he feels. In the past couple of months, we’ve brushed with death no less than thirteen times. We’re Danger Guys. We live the life of danger.
    Well, we did. Until now.
    â€œHow about something like this?” I cracked open the magazine to a picture of two people in underwater diving suits.
    â€œThe Emersons!”
    Yeah, it was Mr. and Mrs. Emerson. They were the famous husband-and-wife exploring team we had met fighting treasure thieves.
    â€œNow that adventure was different, fun, exciting, and dangerous!” I said.
    â€œRight. But this?” Zeek said, looking out at the water. “If this keeps up, we won’t be Danger Guys anymore. We’ll have to call ourselves …”
    â€œCheeseburgers?”
    My dad said that. He and my mom had just come back from the snack stand with a pile of burgers, some sodas, and a few bags of chips.
    â€œAll right, Mr. Newton.” Zeek laughed. “You can call us cheeseburgers, just don’t call us late for lunch!” Zeek grabbed a burger right off the top and stuffed it in his mouth.
    â€œListen, boys,” my mom said. “If you’re looking for something to do, you might watch those surfers over there.” She pointed down the beach to a bunch of guys with ponytails.
    â€œI just heard them talking about something called the Golden Crest. You might ask them …”
    Zeek grabbed my hand just as I was about to chomp my burger.
    â€œ Golden …? ” he gasped.
    â€œ … Crest? ” I whispered.
    â€œDo you think it’s a ship? A sunken ship?”
    â€œIf there’s a ship, there must be treasure! Sunken treasure!”
    Zeek and I shot up from the sand like rockets.
    â€œNoodle, we’ve got to check this out!”
    â€œYeah, and we’ve got to go under cover.”
    â€œGood call, Nood!”
    We wrapped a couple of my mom’s scarves around our heads like bandanas. Then we each slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
    â€œAre we cool, or are we cool!” said Zeek.
    We were cool. And we were ready.
    A minute later we were at the surfer camp. One of the guys was strumming a guitar. Another was playing bongos. A third was carrying a surfboard to a motorboat sitting in the water.
    Zeek nudged me. “I’m the muscle man, remember?” He flexed his arms. “Just let me do all the talking.”
    I nodded. Sometimes Zeek knows best. Sometimes he really surprises me. Like just now, when he walked up to the surfer with the board and started talking to him.
    â€œHail, surfer dude!” shouted Zeek. “Slide any choice channels lately?”
    My mouth fell open. That’s Zeekie—a guy of many talents.
    The surfer dropped his board and hugged us. “Fellow wave dogs! People call me Boomer.”
    â€œBoomer?” I