Open If You Dare

by Dana Middleton

  “What’s in there?” Ally asks.

  “Animal bones,” Rose whispers.

  “Cut it out, Rose.” I bend down further and look inside the hole. There’s a little compartment in there, a hollow space at the very center of the brick housing. The light from the flashlight is illuminating something. But I can’t tell what it is.

  I hand Rose the flashlight and start to reach inside.

  “Stop!” she says.

  I look up at her.

  “Bones,” she says. “Seriously.”

  “No bones.” Even if there are bones, I don’t care. I’ve come too far. I have to know. I reach in. The narrow hole swallows my hand and wrist before I touch anything. Thankfully, when I do make contact, it feels like a plastic bag. But there’s something hard inside so I can’t help but think there might be bones in there after all.

  My fingers wrap around the plastic as the lights flip on in the Gillans’ kitchen.

  Rose kills the flashlight and we hurry through my yard and back inside the house. We’re all breathing hard when we get back into my room and I close the door quietly behind us.

  “That was close,” Ally whispers as I place the plastic bag on my bed. It’s folded over and stapled at the top. For a tense moment, we just stare at the bag, illuminated by the light of the moon coming through my window.

  I click on the flashlight and examine it more closely. The plastic bag is white. We can’t see through it. And none of us goes to touch it.

  “This was your idea,” Rose finally says.

  She’s right. If I hadn’t figured it out, we never would have gone to the mailbox.

  “Scissors,” I say and Ally retrieves my scissors from the desk. Carefully, I grasp the top of the bag and snip off the top. I gaze up at my friends before pouring the contents out onto my bed.

  Whatever it is is wrapped in an old dishcloth, held together with a rubber band.

  “Okay…,” Rose says cautiously.

  Slowly, I reach for the object. As I pick it up, the rubber band disintegrates in my hands. The dishcloth falls open. And it’s worse than bones.

  It’s a knife.

  “What?!” Ally gasps.

  Not a long knife. Not a normal knife. A knife with a short blade that curves backward. Like when you Scotch-tape your nose up to look like a pig.

  “This is so wrong,” says Rose.

  I hold up the knife and Rose hits it with the flashlight beam. “Have you guys ever seen anything like this before? What is it?”

  “The police will know,” Ally says.

  “Is this the murder weapon?” Rose asks gravely. “Is this the knife that killed Ruthie Delgado?”

  “It doesn’t look like a murder weapon kind of knife,” I say.

  “How do you know what a murder weapon knife looks like?!” exclaims Ally.

  “Shhhhh!” Rose shushes her.

  Ally leans in and whispers, “How do you know?”

  We all look at that strange curved-back blade again.

  “I don’t think it’s the murder weapon, either,” Rose says. “I mean, you could kill someone with any sort of blade as long as it’s sharp, I guess. But it’s not like regular murder-knives weren’t available in 1973.”

  “Regular murder-knives?” Ally backs away from the bed. I notice she’s still carrying the brick from the mailbox in her hand. “Al.” I point at the brick.

  She looks down, surprised it’s there, then drops it on the bed. “Well, what was I supposed to do? We had to run.”

  “Something else is in there,” Rose says, tilting her head to look into the bag.

  I peek inside. “No way,” I say and gently pull out a yellowed piece of folded notepaper. “The next clue.” I unfold the paper and smooth it out on my bed. The writing is more faded than on the last clue. As Rose hits it with the flashlight, I clear my throat and begin reading:

  Congratulations. You’re smarter than you look.

  Now you know.

  Ruthie didn’t go to see Gregg.

  Because of him.

  He knows how to use this.

  Of course he does!

  Find him and you can find her.

  Keep following the clues!

  But here’s the Wrinkle—

  Meg is waiting.

  Silently, we stare at the clue. Three pairs of eyes reaching back to 1973.

  “Who’s Meg?” I ask.

  “Who’s Gregg?” asks Rose.

  “The Allman Brother,” Ally says quietly. “You know, the one who lived.” Somebody’s been paying attention.

  “None of that matters,” says Rose. “Who is he? The one with the knife? The killer.”

  Ally squeals and springs away from my bookshelf like one of my books suddenly bit her.

  “What’s wrong?” I jump up and look behind her.

  “That! Why do you have that thing out?” She points with a trembling finger at the black ring from the clue box that’s been sitting on my shelf for the past two weeks. “Birdie, that ring is haunted!”

  “No, it’s not,” I say before even thinking.

  “No, it’s not?!”

  “Shhh,” says Rose.

  “First, we find a haunted ring,” Ally hisses. “Now we find a killer’s knife. You want this to be our last summer for real.” She glares at me in a very un-Allylike way.

  “It’s not going to be our last summer together that way,” Rose says. “Just in every other way.”

  PART 3

  SOME OTHER TWELVE-YEAR-OLD

  15

  IT’S THE day of the championship game. Rose and I are behind the concession stand when a man wearing a baseball cap and carrying a satchel passes us and walks up the stairs to the announcer’s booth.

  “That’s Coach Rodriguez,” Rose says quietly. “The old middle school coach. He was Simon’s coach when he went there.” That was before they built the new middle school and everyone in our neighborhood still went to the old one.

  “Ally better be awesome today,” I say. The knife almost ruined it. Ally was so freaked-out after we found it that she hardly slept at my slumber party. So yesterday, we didn’t even mention the box or the knife or anything concerning the mystery. Instead, Rose and I spent the whole day focusing Ally on her number one priority: kicking Joey’s butt and not wearing a Broncos jersey in the Fourth of July parade!

  I did revisit the scene of the crime this morning, though. Mr. Gillan was replacing the missing brick from his mailbox. When I walked up, he said, “New brick doesn’t match but I suppose it will have to do.”

  I felt bad because I knew the matching brick was upstairs in my bedroom, right beside the clue box under my bed. “It’s not so bad,” I said encouragingly.

  He stood back, a cement-covered trowel in his hand. “Who would take a brick from a mailbox?” he asked and looked at me. “It’s a strange world, Birdie.”

  If he only knew.

  At the game, Rose and I sit in the bleachers next to the General, as usual. Mark’s there, too, skipping soccer for the championships.

  As Ally takes the pitcher’s mound, everybody cheers loudly. There are high hopes and expectations in these stands.

  Until Ally walks the first batter.

  “Oh no,” the General says.

  “Come on, Ally!” Mark yells from beside their mom.

  “What’s going on, Simon?” Rose turns and looks at her brother, who’s sitting behind us with his girlfriend, Ashley.

  “Don’t know. Could be nerves.” Simon looks up at the announcer’s booth, at Coach Rodriguez in his bird’s-eye seat behind home plate. “Shake it off, Al!” he shouts.

  As Romeo steps into the batter’s box, Joey appears from the dugout, carrying three bats and a face full of intimidation. He steps into the on-deck circle taunting her. “Pitch-pitch-pitch-pitcher! Come on, Blondie, walk another one! Then I can bat ’em in!”

  Ally throws the first pitch.

  “Ball,” the umpire calls.

  “Way to throw, Blondie!” Joey
yells. Ally must want to kill him but she acts like he’s not there. She throws again and almost hits Romeo, who ducks just in time.

  “Ball two,” the ump says.

  The catcher stands and throws the ball back to her. “You can do it!” I yell as she steps back on the mound. “Strike him out!” Romeo pulls a face at me then turns back toward Ally, bat held high over his right shoulder.

  She pitches. “Ball three.”

  “Come on, Ally!” the General calls out beside us.

  Ally throws again and, “Ball four. Batter, take your base.”

  Romeo drops his bat and jogs toward first base while Rose starts quietly clapping. I grab her hand. “You can’t do that,” I whisper.

  Joey drops two of the bats he’s been swinging and carries the remaining one to home plate. He steps in the batter’s box, digs in his cleats, and glares at Ally.

  Ally’s coach calls time-out and steps onto the field.

  “I hope they don’t take her out,” the General says as we watch the coach and Ally confer on the mound.

  “Maybe they should,” Mark says from the other side of the General.

  “Mark!” she exclaims.

  “I just don’t want that big guy to kill my sister.”

  After a minute, Ally nods and the coach goes back to the dugout. Everybody on our side starts to cheer. Mark yells, “You can do it, sis!”

  Ally looks up at us then steps on the white rubber strip in the middle of the pitcher’s mound. Her eyes sharply focus on home plate. On Joey.

  She winds up and throws a hard one. Right down the middle. And WHACK! The ball comes off of Joey’s bat fast and straight, like he’s aiming for her. Ally can’t get her glove up in time. The ball smacks her right in the face.

  “Ally!” The General stands.

  As the ball rolls down the pitcher’s mound, Joey drops the bat and runs to first base. The catcher hurries to the ball and stops the third base runner from coming home. Ally’s bent over, her hands to her cheek. If I were her, I’d be crying.

  But I’m not Ally. And Ally’s not me. As the General hurries down the bleachers, Ally straightens and holds her glove out to the catcher. He throws her the ball.

  “She’s going to have a real shiner,” Simon says.

  “He did that on purpose!” Rose exclaims. We start booing Joey from the stands and some of the other Hunters fans join in. “Jerk-bag!” she yells.

  The coach walks out to the mound to check on Ally and the General isn’t far behind. When Ally sees her mom coming, she waves her off, though. “I’m okay,” she says.

  “Are you sure?” the General asks.

  “Mom, yes.” Which translates to Mom, get back to the bleachers, you’re embarrassing me.

  “Does the little girl need her mommy?” Joey calls out from first base, and Ally’s coach yells, “Come on, ump!”

  The ump gives Joey a stern look while Ally nods to her coach, then prepares for the next batter.

  She makes it through the inning. Nothing great. But nothing horrible. Two runs come in. At least Joey isn’t allowed to score.

  When the inning ends, we follow the General to the dugout and meet Ally outside.

  “Put this on it.” The General hands her a plastic bag filled with ice. “It’ll take down the swelling.”

  Ally takes the ice and puts it against the side of her face. “Ouch!”

  “Keep it on there,” her mom says. “It’s going to hurt.”

  Ally puts the ice back on and winces.

  “You want to keep playing?” her mom asks.

  “I do.” Ally’s eye looks awful but we all know Ally doesn’t care about stuff like black eyes or bruises or even broken bones.

  “All right,” says the General. Maybe it’s because Ally has four older brothers that her mom’s that cool with it. My mom would be driving me to the hospital by now.

  Over the next few innings, it’s not bad but it’s not good. Ally keeps pitching but only good enough to keep her from being pulled from the game. Joey, on the other hand, is pitching great. He even strikes out Ally when she’s up to bat.

  By the fourth inning, Ally’s eye’s grown deep purple and the Broncos lead 6–1.

  “Ah, shoot!” We turn to Simon. He’s looking up at the announcer’s booth. Coach Rodriguez is walking down the back stairs.

  “Maybe he’s getting a drink,” I say.

  “Not with his stats satchel,” Simon says. “He’s out of here.”

  “Simon, get him to stay!” Rose pleads.

  We watch as the coach heads to his car. “Don’t think it would make a difference, Rose. Ally did not bring her A-game today.”

  As Ally walks back to the pitcher’s mound, I see her watching the coach leave, too. I know she must feel terrible. This was her big chance and she blew it. But at least now she might pitch better. After Coach Rodriguez leaves, she doesn’t pitch better, though. In fact, she might be even worse.

  I drop my face into my hands. How can this be happening? Ally’s never going to hear the end of this from Joey. She won’t pitch in the big charity game. She might not get on the middle school team. And she’s going to lose the Fourth of July parade bet!

  I think back to that day in Rose’s front yard when Simon and Ally were throwing. Simon had said that pitchers often have slumps because of something psychological. Something in their head. But if something in her head is causing the problem, what could it be?

  Think, Birdie, think. It just doesn’t make sense. Ally’s been doing great again. The past three games have been solid. So what’s so different about today? What made her go into the slump again?

  I don’t think it’s the championship, because Ally usually shines under pressure. Joey is a pain but she’s beaten him before, with pleasure. It could have been about being scouted by Coach Rodriguez, but then shouldn’t she have improved after he left the ball field? And honestly, I don’t think it’s about the knife.

  I squeeze my palms against my eyes willing my brain to find an answer. And suddenly, it appears.

  “Mark!” My head pops up from my hands.

  Ally’s brother looks over at me. “What?”

  “Come with me!” I bound down the bleachers and Rose comes after me. At the bottom, I look up and see Mark still sitting there.

  “Come on!”

  The General nudges him. “Go with them,” she says.

  Mark rolls his eyes and stands up. “Girls,” he mutters but follows us anyway.

  I lead them behind the concession stand, where Rose and I were talking before the game. When Mark rounds the corner, I confront him. “It’s you, Mark. You’re the reason Ally can’t pitch today.”

  “What are you talking about, Birdie?” he asks.

  “I know I’m right. Just listen. When was the last time you watched her play and she was good?”

  Mark thinks for a second. “I don’t know. She’s been bad for a while now.”

  “No! She got good again! When you missed her games for soccer practice. Don’t you get it? She’s good when you’re not here.”

  Rose glares at Mark. “What did you do to her?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” he says, but guiltily, like he’s hiding something.

  “Mark!” I say. “I can tell. You did something. You’ve got to tell us. For Ally!”

  “Ah, crap,” he says and kicks the ground.

  “What?” Rose demands.

  “Shhhh,” Mark whispers. “Listen. I didn’t think she heard me at the time but maybe she did.”

  “Heard what?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. It was weeks ago. Ethan was over and we were in my room.” Ethan is Mark’s best friend and they’d played on the same baseball team for years. “I was missing playing and Ethan was trying to get me to come back on the team. I told him I couldn’t. But he kept bugging me about it, until I kind of exploded.”

  “Exploded, how?” I ask firmly.

  “I said I couldn’t play because my little sister was better than me. And
it made me mad. And it wasn’t fair. Stuff like that.” He pauses. “But I yelled it. And I guess Ally was in her room.”

  “You mean in her room that is right next to your room,” Rose says accusingly.

  “Yeah. But it doesn’t mean she heard me.”

  “Oh, she heard you,” I say.

  “I was just frustrated! I didn’t think she’d fall apart or anything.”

  “Well, you were wrong,” Rose tells him.

  “She only falls apart when you’re there,” I say. “Because she’s guilty. Ally’ll let herself beat anybody at baseball, Mark. Except you.”

  He lowers his head for a moment and then looks up. “How do I fix it?”

  * * *

  Rose and I stand by the dugout waiting for Ally to finish up another mediocre inning. When she comes off the field, we grab her and send her to Mark, who’s waiting outside the fence down the first baseline.

  From the back of the dugout, Rose and I watch them. While Mark talks, Ally studies the ground. When he finally stops, her head tilts up and they just stare at each other. Still as statues.

  Rose and I watch them like they’re a science experiment ready to blow.

  Then Ally winds back like she’s going to punch him hard. Her fist flies forward but slows as it lands on Mark’s shoulder. Grabbing his arm, Mark pretends he’s hurt like he used to do when they were younger. He pushes her. She pushes him back. In other words, the Lorenz family hug.

  Over the last three innings, Ally goes back out there and plays like she’s pitching for her life. She strikes out Joey twice and even though it’s too late and the Hunters lose 8–6, Ally is back again. In those last innings, she does what she came to do. She pitches better than the boy.

  16

  “IT’S A skinning knife,” I tell them.

  “What?!” Ally says, hands covering her ears.

  We’re sitting on the island under the willow tree. Ally’s eye is every shade of purple in the indigo rainbow. It looks like she was in a prize fight. And lost. After the game, we took a selfie together and Ally smiled big, in a way you wouldn’t expect from a girl whose face looked like that. She didn’t care. I printed the photo out last night and added it to my corkboard.

  “How do you know?” Rose asks.