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by Denis Markell

  Mr. Archer moves into the doorway again, blocking our view. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Isabel feels that she’d rather not speak to either of you again.”

  “What?” Caleb exclaims. “We haven’t done anything!”

  “There must be some misunderstanding,” I insist. “If we could talk to her—”

  “No!” Mr. Archer says a little too loudly. Quickly, he tries his best to adopt the charming smile we’re so used to. “I don’t know what to tell you, but once Isabel makes up her mind, there’s no convincing her otherwise. If you knew her like I do, you’d know I’m right.”

  I sense this is a losing battle. Mr. Archer puts his hands on our shoulders and gently guides us away from the house.

  “I can’t believe my little girl is becoming a teenager,” Mr. Archer continues as he gives each of our arms a gentle squeeze. “You boys will have to face it, this sort of drama is only going to get worse as you get older. I wish I could explain it, but it’s basically just—well, the mind of a teenage girl is a mystery that would baffle even the world’s greatest scientists.”

  He laughs again, a little more easily this time.

  I see where his daughter gets it.

  “Will you at least let her know we stopped by?” Caleb asks.

  “Of course, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you hear from her once she’s back in New York.” Mr. Archer shakes his head in wonder. “You know, if it were up to me, I’d let you see her. I just do what I’m told.”

  I put out my hand. “Thanks, Mr. Archer, and please let her know we’re sorry if it was anything we said or did.”

  Mr. Archer looks sincere and grasps my hand firmly, like always. “I sure will, Ted. And please be careful biking home. It’s a pretty long trip.”

  “We’ll be fine,” I assure him.

  There’s an uncomfortable pause; then Mr. Graham slips away from us and hurries back to the house.

  He turns to us at the door. “Thanks for stopping by, and send my best to your parents,” says Mr. Archer, backing away from the door as he closes it.

  We stand there for a moment.

  “What just happened?” asks Caleb, looking at me with a stunned expression on his face.

  “Beats me. Part of me thinks he’s lying, but part of me knows that I don’t know squat about girls, so maybe he’s not,” I admit.

  We turn to walk back to our bikes.

  Thump.

  The sound comes from somewhere above us.

  We look up but see nothing.

  “A bird?” Caleb asks, none too convincingly.

  “Or a squirrel?” I suggest, although neither of us believes it.

  Thump.

  I’m able to determine that the sound is coming from the side of the house. “Go back and see if Mr. Archer is watching us,” I tell Caleb.

  Caleb heads back to the front door. Halfway there, he turns around. “What if he’s right there, looking out the window at me?”

  “Tell him you need to use the bathroom,” I say impatiently.

  Caleb goes the rest of the way and peers in a side window by the door. He turns and gives me the thumbs-up.

  “The coast is clear,” he calls back.

  “Wait there and signal me if he comes back.”

  Thump thump.

  Now it’s clear that the sound is coming from someone tapping on an upstairs window.

  I cautiously follow the path around to the side of the house and look up.

  Isabel is in the window, looking down with frustration. Her body language is clearly saying, What took you so long?

  “We were—” I call out, but Isabel immediately raises her finger to her lips and turns her head. She then makes a “wait a minute” gesture and disappears.

  I look around, knowing that Mr. Archer could come out a back door or appear at the window at any moment. I see Isabel’s window open a crack and then hear her voice.

  “I just wanted some air. God! Fine! I’ll close it!”

  Just before Isabel closes her window, something small and round is tossed out and falls close to my feet. I grab it and stuff it in my pocket, turn, and run back to my bike, motioning Caleb to join me.

  Caleb starts to lope over. With a start, I see the large frame of Mr. Archer fill Isabel’s window, looking out at us. I frantically wave at Caleb to pick up his pace. Caleb breaks into a sprint. I’m holding his bike for him and he jumps on.

  A few blocks down the street, I pull over.

  “Jeez, I almost sprained an ankle. What was the rush?” Caleb demands.

  “Mr. Archer was in the window. Something is definitely going on,” I say, and we start the long trip back to my house.

  —

  It’s close to lunchtime when Caleb and I drag ourselves up the driveway to my house. Peeling ourselves off our bikes, we throw our helmets in the general direction of the garage and collapse on the lawn.

  As I lie there, my hand brushes against my pocket and I’m reminded of the object Isabel threw to me from the second-floor window.

  I fish it out. Caleb turns over and rests on his elbows, and we regard what is sitting in my outstretched palm.

  It’s a small round case made of green marbleized plastic, with a hinged lid and a clear top. At one point it contained eye shadow or face powder. But clearly visible under the transparent lid is a piece of paper, folded many times and wedged inside.

  We both look at it in disbelief.

  “Dude, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Caleb asks, gazing at the case in wonder.

  “Yeah,” I answer, shaking my head in amazement.

  “Isabel wears makeup?” we say in unison.

  I pry off the top, and the paper falls to the ground. Caleb grabs it and starts to unfold it.

  “Careful, your hands are all sweaty!” I warn. “If it’s a message, you might smudge it!”

  “We’ll bring it inside and wash up first,” Caleb suggests.

  I nod in agreement. Besides, since we don’t know what it says, better to read it in private.

  A few minutes later, we’re cleaned up and ready to examine Isabel’s message, whatever it is.

  I carefully put it on the bed.

  “Maybe it’s just a goodbye note,” Caleb says, frowning.

  “Maybe. We’ll know soon enough,” I answer, pulling at the corners and revealing what is on the page:

  Hi, guys. I guess you know by now that my father has gone totally psychotic or something. He’s been really crazy overprotective of me since my mother died, but I thought he was over that when he let me hang out with you two. And then last night this man I’ve never seen before came over and asked my father to talk to him in private about something important. They talked for maybe fifteen minutes, and that’s when my father went nuts. He started going on and on about how he never should have brought me here and I had to leave as soon as possible. I told him he was acting crazy and he told me I didn’t know what I was getting myself into and he wanted me to promise I would never talk to or see either of you again. I said he was being ridiculous, as he was the one who wanted me to make friends and everything, and he went even further around the bend. That’s when he took my phone and my laptop and said he couldn’t trust me. That really got me nervous, but then it just got worse. He came back into my room and took all my paper and pens and pencils! Like I was going to mail you guys a letter or something? What he forgot was that I had my journal—that’s like a diary, Caleb, in case you didn’t know—

  “I know what a journal is, you stuck-up—” Caleb mutters.

  “You can tell her if we ever see her again,” I say, going back to the note.

  So I was able to tear out a page and use that. And I still have the typewriter I got for my eighth birthday. Ha ha!

  Anyhow, he also took The Maltese Falcon, which is bad for two reasons: 1. I didn’t finish it. 2. It’s REALLY GOOD!!

  So basically, can you guys figure out a way to GET ME OUT OF HERE? My father will be gone from tomorrow morning until
dinner. He’s got conferences. The problem is that he turns on the perimeter alarm when he leaves the house, so I can’t go out through the door or even any of the windows because if I break the beam, the alarm will go off. And he’s changed the code, obviously. Anyhow, I don’t want to go back to NY right now. I want to see you two, even if only for the day. Maybe one of your parents can talk to him or something.

  Isabel

  “I love how she signed it. Like we wouldn’t know who it was from otherwise,” grouses Caleb.

  “Shut up. This is really serious,” I say.

  Caleb looks into my eyes. “Yeah, I know. I wish we knew who that dude was who visited Isabel’s dad. And what could the guy have said that freaked him out like that?”

  I sit down on the bed. “Something to do with the Monuments Men?”

  Caleb sits next to me. “Yeah, those ‘other people’ Stan was talking about?”

  “I don’t know. But the first thing we have to figure out is if there’s any way of getting Isabel out of there tomorrow.”

  Caleb stands up, stretches, and walks to the door. “That’s your department, Ted. You’re the one who knows every trick to escaping a room. Maybe you can even dream up another ‘game’ to help you. Or you could always ask Tom and Barb.”

  He expertly dodges the pillow I throw at his head and yawns. “Man, those last few miles really wore me out. I think I need a nap.”

  I laugh and wave as Caleb leaves, closing the door behind him.

  I go back to my desk, flip open my laptop, and wait impatiently for it to boot up.

  It finally does, and I open my browser and navigate to a familiar link.

  This time, I know what I’m going to find there. It would have been a surprise if it weren’t there. And now it has a name.

  But there it is: “Coming Tonight: The Game of Ted 1.3—Escape the House!”

  It seems that Lila called from Harvard this morning, so the dinner conversation is all about how she is clearly the most incredibly talented, smartest person to ever go to Harvard, blah blah blah. I tune in and out, playing with my food as my mind turns over the one problem I need to solve.

  “Let’s say Isabel does escape her dad’s house? What do we do then?” Caleb asked when I called before heading down to dinner, to tell him I’m pretty sure I’ll have the solution to getting Isabel out by the morning.

  That stopped me cold.

  “I mean,” Caleb continued, “she doesn’t have a bike here. And there’s no way you and I can lug your mom’s bike up that hill.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “and I don’t see her riding on either of our handlebars.”

  For some reason, the image of that, with Isabel perched there like a scene from some corny movie, made both of us crack up. It’s clearly something that would never happen.

  “I can just see it. She’s up there, you’re going downhill, hit a bump and—”

  “Don’t go there,” I implored. “We need a real answer to this. I’m just glad you thought about this before we got there.”

  We agreed to try and find a solution by morning.

  I tune back in to discover that the dinner conversation is winding down.

  I get up with my dishes, when my dad’s question stops me in my tracks.

  “You really didn’t find any ‘treasure’ in Ted’s apartment, right?”

  I keep my back to my dad. I try to keep my voice as even as possible. “Yeah. Like I told you. All we found were some paperbacks that Isabel took, and his lighter.”

  Dad turns me around. His eyes catch mine and hold them. He’s clearly not finished. Mom is watching me as well. “I mean, if you did find something valuable, you’d tell us, right?”

  It’s not a lie, I tell myself. We haven’t found anything. Yet. “Of course, Dad. There’s nothing to find. We’ve gone through all this.”

  My dad hugs me. I can feel the worry as he holds me tightly. “Teddy, we trust you. You really are a very smart kid.”

  “Please be careful,” my mother adds.

  “Sure, Mom,” I say. “Dad, could we let up on the hug? I’m starting to have a hard time breathing here.”

  Dad laughs and relaxes his death grip. “Sorry about that. Guess I don’t know my own strength, huh?”

  Dad sounds relieved. I know as soon as the corny jokes come out, things are back to normal.

  As I move to head upstairs, a thought occurs to me. It’s risky, but it’s a plan. And it just might work. I look and see that Mom has gone into the kitchen and I’m all alone with Dad. Now is my chance. I pause, wondering if I really have the—well, let’s just say the nerve to do this.

  I know it’s the only way, and I have to make it convincing. I turn to Dad.

  “I need to ask a favor,” I say, hoping my face looks appropriately desperate.

  “What…kind of favor?” my dad asks, looking slightly worried.

  “The thing is,” I look away, figuring this is what I would do if I were actually telling the truth, “this has to do with Isabel.”

  My dad licks his lips. Clearly he’s no more ready for this conversation than I am.

  “We aren’t doing anything…you know…anything,” I stammer, “We’re just hanging out, you know?”

  “Of course. That’s what I thought.” Dad lets out a big breath, relieved. Even though we’ve entered uncharted territory (like they say on those old maps, Here Be Dragons), this is going even better than I hoped.

  Then, I kid you not, he jingles the coins in his pocket. Like some corny dad from a movie. All he needs is the pipe and sweater. Movie Dad nods wisely.

  “Ted, I just don’t want you to get hurt. Isabel’s not like the girls around here. And I know she’s really pretty, so it’s no wonder that—”

  “That’s not the reason I like being with her. The truth is, what I like about her the most is that she’s so smart…kind of like Mom.”

  I look at Dad at this point. I know I’ve taken a calculated risk with this one. For a moment I can’t tell if he’s going to burst out laughing or roll his eyes.

  But instead, his eyes are glistening.

  Oh, man. I’ve really hit a home run.

  Dad leans in conspiratorially. “So what’s the big favor?”

  “Apparently Mr. Archer feels strongly that Isabel should go back to New York and her old school.”

  “That’s too bad—” my dad starts.

  “And what’s worse, she’s leaving the day after tomorrow. And as you know, tomorrow’s that big all-day conference for new faculty members—so I was wondering if you’d drive me over there tomorrow morning. Otherwise we won’t have a chance to say goodbye.”

  Dad stands up. “Can’t he drop Isabel here? I really have things to do.”

  “She has to finish packing,” I say quickly. “Caleb would be coming too. We’ll meet her there and then you can pick us up like in an hour.”

  “An hour at most,” Dad says. “I think there’s a coffee place near there where I can get some reading done. But it can’t be much longer. I have some students coming in to see me at noon.”

  “That would be so cool. We’ll just be on the corner of Treemont and Alameda. You can meet us there.”

  “Well…I’ll think about it,” says my dad in that voice that usually means yes.

  “Awesome!” I yelp happily, and give him a huge hug. I leave before he can return the favor.

  —

  When I walk into my room, I look achingly at the bed. I could really use some sleep around now, but I’m not sure how long this game is going to take. Well, the sooner I finish it, the sooner I can get some shut-eye.

  I go to my desk, feeling good. By now, I know the score. The game will pop up. I’ll play it, playing will give me clues about how to get Isabel out, and then I can go to bed. My laptop boots up, and I see the familiar game logo. Here we go.

  I peer at the screen.

  I see a bedroom with boxes on the floor. I click around the room. There’s a bookshelf partially filled with books. A desk
with more books stacked on it. The spines read Jane Austen, F. Scott Fitzgerald….I’m clicking everywhere, trying to get something, anything, to pop into my inventory, going about my regular gaming routine.

  Then it hits me. This is Isabel’s room. This isn’t just a regular game room to escape. It’s her actual bedroom on the screen.

  And I’m in it.

  I have the uncomfortable feeling that I’m doing something wrong, that I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be.

  This is wrong. I have to get out of here before she comes back.

  I sit back in my chair, panic-stricken. And then realize with enormous relief that I am completely insane.

  This is just a game. I’m only in Isabel’s room in a game.

  And then another realization: I’m not me. I’m playing as Isabel. I have to be. It’s her escape.

  This has now become twice as hard. I don’t have to just figure out how to win the game; I have to get Isabel to follow the steps in order to get out of her father’s house.

  I sigh. That bike ride really took it out of me, and it’s getting hard to concentrate. I rub my eyes to clear the cobwebs. Time to get to work.

  I find a wallet on the desk. I click on it, and it opens, revealing a neat stack of cards. I click on them and a library card slides out and presents itself into my inventory. Clicking around the room, I find nothing else useful, and thankfully nothing embarrassing.

  Isabel is not a slob, like me.

  My next click takes me in front of Isabel’s bathroom.

  I grimace. Is this necessary? I know this is the last place in the world Isabel would want me to go. But at the same time, I have no choice. As I gear myself up, my eyes droop a little, and the screen is looking a little fuzzy. I clear my head by taking a few deep breaths, and dive in.

  The door opens, and I enter. Again, it’s all perfect, of course, with makeup and shampoo bottles lined up in rows. I click on each of them, finding nothing.

  As I absent-mindedly click on the screen, I arrive at the mirror above the sink and to my shock see Isabel’s face staring back at me.

  I gotta tell you, I almost close the game right then, before remembering that it’s “my” reflection.