“HOW WOULD YOU like to make thousands of dollars, from the comfort of your very own living room?”

Hi read from note cards. He wore a white button-down shirt, navy clip-on tie, and tan slacks. Business casual. A quick glance at his audience, then he resumed his presentation.

“What about cash? Fabulous homes? Luxurious vacations?”

Hi searched the group for receptive faces. Found none.

“You can’t be serious,” Shelton groaned, eyes returning to his laptop. “I’d nearly hacked the Ben and Jerry’s website when you called. We could’ve been eating free Chunky Monkey right now. I’ve got to start all over.”

After cleaning the kitchen, Coop and I had walked to the bunker. Hi wanted a Virals meeting. With a sinking feeling, I began to understand why.

Shelton and Ben slouched on the window bench, sporting identical frowns. I sat on the rickety wooden chair beside the only table. Coop was curled at my feet.

The furnishings weren’t exactly GQ. But what our clubhouse lacked in amenities, it more than made up for with privacy.

Built during the Civil War as part of Charleston’s naval defenses, our bunker once guarded Morris Island’s northern tip. Buried in a sand hill overlooking the harbor mouth, the sturdy, two-room wooden dugout is practically invisible.

No one else remembers it exists. The place is our fiercely guarded secret.

Sensing resistance from the bench sitters, Hi turned his charm on me.

“And you, Miss? How would you like to be your own boss? To earn more in a month than most people do in a year?”

My snort was sufficient response.

Hi soldiered on. “Join our team at Confederated Goods International, and you too could realize the dream of being—” dramatic pause, arms swept wide, “—a millionaire!”

With a flourish, Hi dropped a folder onto the table. Inside was a stack of papers printed off the Internet.

I did a quick perusal.

“There’s nothing in here but clip art,” I said. “Images of yachts and sports cars. This page is just a giant dollar sign.”

“Ridiculous.” Snapping his computer shut, Shelton grabbed a sheet at random. “Silver-haired men standing in front of mansions they don’t own, arms around models they don’t date.”

Shelton tossed the folder to Ben, who didn’t bother to catch it. The pages scattered across the floor.

“Now, now!” Hi continued quickly, reading from a new card. “I can tell you’re excited to get started on the home business of your dreams. Just sign our ‘personal empowerment agreement,’ and we can open your path to financial success!”

“This is a rip-off, dude.” Shelton scooped up a sheet. “Twenty pages, and I still don’t know what these people do. But here’s a JPEG OF A DIAMOND RING. VERY HELPFUL.”

“You sell their products or something,” Hi said. “‘Just as good as available in stores.’ I pay a small start-up fee and find three people to work for me. Then those people—you guys—each find three more people—”

“That’s a pyramid scheme, you dope!” Ben smirked. “It’s a scam.”

Shelton shook his head. “Oldest trick in the book.”

Hi flipped through his index cards, selected one from the back.

“I’m sensing you might be hesitant to embark on this new phase of your life,” he began. “But don’t let fear of the unknown—”

Hi ducked as his folder sailed inches above his head and exploded against the far wall. “Hey!”

Coop shot to his feet, startled, growling everywhere at once. I arm-wrapped his neck to calm him.

“Great.” Hi began gathering the strewn papers. “You just ruined our marketing department. That’s more overhead.”

“Oops,” Ben said.

“It’s a classic rip-off, Hi.” I corralled the last few pages. “We won’t make any money. Get-rich-at-home programs never pan out.”

“Fine.” Red-faced, Hi pulled off his tie, untucked his shirt. “But we need to raise cash somehow.”

“We need to make money,” Ben said, “not lose our own in the process.”

“And we need a lot of it,” I muttered, stroking Coop’s back. “Millions.”

I told the others what Kit said over breakfast. “What about bank robbery?” Hi scratched his chin. “I mean, how hard could it be? We’re pretty good at breaking into places, sneaking around. Plus we have superpowers. Sort of.”

“Try again.” Ben.

“Bank heists are a little out of our league,” Shelton agreed. “I don’t want to move away, but a prison cell? No thanks.”

“Well we need some kind of plan,” Hi said. “We can’t allow ourselves to be split up. I don’t want to be a freak alone. Been there, done that. I like having friends.”

His voice dropped. “And this virus terrifies me.”

For a moment, I felt as hopeless as Hi sounded. What could four teenagers possibly do?

“Stop whining, hippie.” Ben crossed to Hi and mussed his hair. “We’ll figure something out. But no spazzing inside the bunker. I won’t allow it.”

Hi swatted Ben’s hand away. “Why, because that’s your specialty?” But he was grinning. Sometimes, Ben knew exactly what to do.

“I got an email from a Nigerian prince.” Shelton kept his face straight. “Apparently I just send him my bank account info, and he deposits a bunch of money. Can’t see how it could go wrong.”

“The lottery,” Ben said. “Let’s just play Powerball.”

“Vegas?” Hi suggested. “I’ve got forty bucks and a fake moustache.”

“Great ideas all around,” I deadpanned. “But we do need to come up with something. We have to fight this.”

The others nodded, but offered no serious suggestions. They were just as stumped as I was.

“And now I have to go.” I sighed. “Keep me in the loop.”

“Now?” Shelton asked. “You just got here.”

My eyes rolled on their own accord. “I have a cotillion event. Some yacht-club charity fundraiser thingy. Whitney is insisting, and Kit took her side.”

Three wide smiles.

“Oh shut up.”