I didn’t do everything her way. Just most things. Look, if I didn’t hang out with Jax I’d be totally alone most of the time. Or worse, I’d be stuck going to the movies with . . . my mother.
But there was something else. I went along with Jax because I figured she’d be safer with her loyal sidekick looking after her. She’d looked after me plenty of times. Like when, in the second grade, she’d knocked Jeremy Bishop off his feet because he’d been throwing dodge balls at me. And we weren’t even playing the game.
“Would you like me to introduce you to our guests?” Dad asked.
Whenever my parents introduced Tyler, there was always a long list of accomplishments that followed his name. “This is our son Tyler. He’s a this and a that and he’s won this and won that.” But with me it’s simply, “This is our son Ethan.”
“No thanks,” I said, staying next to the door. The sooner I got out of that noise, the better. I avoided my father’s trusting eyes. “Jax and I want to go to Washington, DC, to help Tyler with a geocaching competition.”
“Uh-huh.” Dad reached out and fiddled with a beaker that was full of greenish fluid. Then he wrote something on a clipboard.
“So? Can we go?”
“Go?” He continued to write.
“Dad?” I asked. He got distracted easily.
“Oh, right. You and Jax want to go somewhere.” He set the clipboard aside, then put a hand on my shoulder. “Is everything okay with Jax? It’s been a few weeks since I checked in with her. Do you think she needs to talk about anything? Anything in particular? Boys, maybe?”
I cringed. Dad was trying to pay attention to Jax, just as he’d promised. But he never knew quite how to do it. He’d never once offered to talk to me about girls. And I was a year older than Jax. Did he think I was so shy I’d never get a girlfriend?
“Dad,” I said. “Jax doesn’t need dating advice. We want to go to Washington, DC.”
The Chinese translator interrupted us. “Doctor Hoche, my employers have a few more questions for you.”
“Yes, of course,” Dad called. He adjusted his safety goggles. “Can you work this out with your mother? I’m okay with whatever she decides.” Then he joined his clients.
After leaving the goggles and coat in the dirty laundry bin, I headed down the hall to find my mom.
Mom’s section of the company was totally different from Dad’s. No beakers here. Just a big bright room with tables and kid-sized chairs. When I was little, I usually sat in the green chair. Mom would sit in the corner, observing, taking notes. She never included me in her testing groups because if there were other kids around, I’d refuse to play with the toy and I’d hide under the table. So she’d bring me in alone. And she’d ask questions like, “Do you like the way the stuffed bear smells? Which color car do you like better?” She’d actually encourage me to taste the toys. For a long time, I thought all parents took notes while their kids played.
“Hey,” Mom greeted. “I need your opinion.”
She stood at a counter in her lab coat, a robotic dog perched in front of her. She handed me a remote control. “What do you think?” I pushed a button. The dog stood. I pushed another. The dog walked forward. I could make it sit and bark. I could even make it wag its tail. “Would you play with this?”
“I’m thirteen,” I reminded her.
“Oh, so you’re too old to play? That’s the trouble with our society,” she said, taking back the remote. “We think play is something only little kids should do. But it’s just as important for adults—maybe more important.” She tucked her short hair behind her ears. Even without her high heels, she was still taller than me. “So, what are you doing here?”
“Uh . . .” I could practically hear Jax’s voice in my head. She’d made me memorize some of the lines. “Tyler wants to enter a contest and he said that Jax and I can be on his team. He said he’ll drive.” I held out the flyer.
“Geocaching?” She read the flyer. “It looks like fun but I’m confused. Why would Tyler want to take you and Jax? You don’t exactly get along with him.”
I pointed to the word trophy.
Mom smiled. “Oh, I see.” She set the remote aside, opened a small fridge, and handed me a container of orange juice. “It all started with that first trophy in kindergarten. He built a working catapult out of Legos. The teachers couldn’t believe it. They thought we’d helped but I assured them we hadn’t. He did it all himself.” She stopped abruptly. Then she smiled at me, her other son. “You made amazing things for the science fair too.”
“Amazing?” I nearly snorted orange juice out of my nose. “I did the same potato electricity project five years in a row.” Why? Because whenever the science fair rolled around, Tyler’s experiment took over our house. Dad special-ordered supplies off the internet. Mom cleared the dining-room table, where Tyler toiled like a mad scientist. My parents always asked if I needed help with my project but I always said no. I could never compete with Tyler, so why try? I’d grab the old wires and a new potato. Kids started calling me Mr. Potato Head.
“Can we go to DC?” I asked.
“Hmmm.” Mom pursed her lips. “How many nights?”
“We’ll leave tomorrow morning and stay one night. That’s it.”
She slid her red glasses up her nose. “Did you ask your father?”
“He said it was up to you.” I drank the rest of the orange juice. Mom hadn’t made up her mind but the way her eyes were narrowed, I knew she was on the brink of a decision.
Jax’s voice rang in my head. She’d come up with a pretty good argument. “Tyler’s just going to sit in his room. This trip will get him out of his cave for a couple of days. Into actual sunlight.”
Mom’s eyes relaxed. “Sunlight? I didn’t know his kind could venture out into sunlight. He’ll need sunglasses.”
“And sunscreen,” I added. We both laughed.
“Okay, I’d better stop making fun of your brother. I think it’s a great idea. It’s summer and you need an adventure. And Tyler definitely needs a reason to get away from his computer.” She smiled and kissed my cheek. “Okay. Tell your Aunt Lindsay that we’ll cover the hotel and gas.”
“Thanks,” I said. Things were falling into place. Maybe everything would work out. We’d go to DC, the box would open, and Tyler would believe that the person in charge of the Geocaching contest had printed the wrong date on the flyer.
Maybe.
I tossed the empty juice container into the bin and headed for the door. But then I remembered something Jax had wanted me to ask. “Hey, Mom, who is Great-Aunt Juniper?”
Mom frowned. “How do you know about Juniper?”
I fiddled with the doorknob. “Well, Jax got a present in the mail and Aunt Lindsay took it away. Jax said the return address was Juniper Vandegrift. And Tyler said she’s our great-aunt.”
Mom sighed. “Look Ethan, just because a person is related to you by blood doesn’t mean that person is family. Juniper is not someone you or Jax or Tyler need in your lives. She’s not someone you should think about. “
“Did she do something wrong?”
“Her mistakes have nothing to do with you children. But please, don’t bring this up with your Aunt Lindsay. It will only upset her. Just forget you ever heard the name Juniper.” She hugged me. “Now go pack your bag for DC, and I’ll make the hotel reservation. This will be a great way to start the summer.”
As I stood outside Rainbow Product Testing, a familiar sensation tickled my nose. I leaned my bike against the building, then tilted my head back as the blood began to flow. Luckily it was a small bleed and stopped after a few minutes. The Kleenex I always kept in my pocket was all I needed.
I fished out my phone and called Jax. “I feel bad. We’re lying about everything.”
“We’re not lying about everything,” she said, the connection a bit fuzzy. “The part about going to DC isn’t a lie. And the part about Tyler driving us and—”
“We’re liars,” I said, w
iping my nostrils. “No matter how you try to spin it, Jax, we’re lying.”
“Do you see another way to figure out what’s in the box?”
“Uh . . .” I said. “No.”
“Stop worrying. It’ll be fun. And you can have half of whatever’s inside. But first we have to go to DC and open it.”
“And then what?”
She chuckled. “If I had an answer for Then what? it wouldn’t be an adventure.”
9
Jax
When Mom works a long shift at the Chatham Diner, I cook for myself. Last summer I figured out how to make a cheese omelet. And I know how to dump fish sticks on a cookie sheet and shove them into the oven. I’m not much of a cook but I don’t starve. That night I made spaghetti with olive oil and Parm cheese. Since I hate doing dishes, I ate right out of the pan. I didn’t make anything green even though I know it’s healthier to add a vegetable or two. Green is my least favorite flavor, except for pickles, which don’t taste green.
There were two pieces of birthday cake left so I took one upstairs and ate it while sitting in my closet. I don’t usually eat in my closet but the box was in there and, well, I liked looking at it. The metal was polished to a glossy sheen and perfectly smooth. And it was kinda warm to the touch. Maybe the heat came from a battery that kept the LCD screen working. That made sense. As I munched on cake I imagined what might fit inside. A piece of heirloom jewelry, a wad of cash, a treasure map?
When Mom got home, she barely had the energy to ask how my day was. She headed straight for the bathroom and filled the tub. I like hanging out with her while she takes a bath. I sit on the floor, a pile of beauty and fashion magazines in my lap. You can buy them for ten cents apiece from a big bin at the library. We laugh about the stupid things those people write about, like how to make your lips look plumper, or what kind of underwear makes your butt look smaller. This was our talking time.
“Mary’s having gallbladder surgery,” she told me as I settled on the floor. I set a fork and plate with the last piece of birthday cake on the edge of the tub. “I agreed to take her shift, which means I’ll be doubling my hours this week. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the best way to start the summer.” She pulled her long hair into a knot, then sank into the water.
Even though Mom worked all the time, we never seemed to have enough money. We’d always been renters, we’d always had an old car, we’d always clipped coupons. Aunt Cathy and Uncle Phil offered to help, but Mom refused. So Aunt Cathy used every holiday, even Bastille Day, as an excuse to give me gift cards. Hello? Bastille Day is celebrated in France.
“I was hoping we could go camping,” Mom said as steam coated the mirror. We usually went camping the first week of summer vacation. “I’ll see if your Aunt Cathy is planning any trips. Maybe you could go with her.” She took a few bites of cake. Bathwater dripped off her hands, onto the plate.
“Actually, Ethan and Tyler are going to Washington, DC, to do this geocaching contest. I was hoping I could go with them.” Did my voice sound innocent? Could she tell I’d planned the whole thing?
“What kind of contest?”
“Geocaching. It’s a treasure hunt. The winning team gets a trophy.”
She took another bite. “Is your aunt okay with this?”
“Yes,” I said. “We already talked to her. She’s going to pay for the hotel and gas. Tyler and Ethan are leaving in the morning. Can I go with them? It sounds like a lot of fun. And I’m not doing anything else. Besides, Ethan needs me. It will be crowded in DC and you know how he gets.”
“It’s so nice that you feel protective of your cousin.” She licked frosting off her lips. “You were a baby the last time I visited DC. The cherry blossoms were beautiful. We went to the Lincoln Memorial. We . . .” She stopped speaking. Her brows pinched for a moment, as if fighting a headache. Was it a bad memory?
She finished the cake and set the plate on the corner of the tub. Then she closed her eyes and thought for a long while, the steady drip from the faucet the only sound. Her toes rested against a broken tile. I wanted to ask her about Great-Aunt Juniper. Why so many secrets? But she was tired and I didn’t want to push things. And if I asked about my father, I’d just get the same response as always—I’ve told you a million times, Jax, I don’t know anything about him and I’ve forgotten his name. So my nervous gaze flitted over a magazine advertisement for lipstick that never wore off, even if you ate a hamburger, even if you kissed. What was it made of—glue?
“You’ll stay with your cousins?” Mom asked, turning to look at me.
“Yes,” I said as I sat up straight.
“You won’t get into trouble? Please, Jax, I really can’t handle any more trouble right now. That candy-bar incident was very upsetting.”
Candy Bar Incident. That sounded like the title of a novel. Yeesh.
“I won’t get into trouble.” I would do my absolute best to keep that promise. The last thing I wanted was to make my mom worry, or to disappoint her. She’d never have to know about the box or its contents. Life would return to normal as soon as I got back.
“Well then, it sounds like fun. I know you want to travel. There’s a lot to see in DC.” She closed her eyes again and sank deeper. “I love you, Jax.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Neither of us mentioned the birthday box. We acted as if it never existed.
10
Jax
Monday
I didn’t have to look out the window to know that the obnoxious person honking a car horn at eight in the morning was my cousin Tyler.
“Coming!” I hollered. Mom had already left for the diner. She’d tucked a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket. I ran across the lawn. The morning dew had already evaporated and a piercing blue sky promised a hot day. Good thing I’d chosen shorts. As I shoved my backpack into the trunk, Tyler honked again. Mr. Smith stood on his front porch in his pajama pants, glaring at Tyler’s car. “Sorry,” I called to him, then shut the trunk. Oops. I’d forgotten to return the stupid axe.
“Get in,” Tyler barked. He hadn’t combed his hair and his T-shirt was all wrinkled as usual.
“Jeez, you don’t have to honk a million times. I heard you the first time. Everyone in the universe heard you the first time.” I scrambled into the backseat next to Ethan, who’d slid down so no one could see him.
“Your neighbor looks pissed,” Ethan said.
“He always looks that way.” Mr. Smith was the kind of person who complained about everything—the way we didn’t mow our lawn, the way Mom left stuff hanging on the clothesline, the way our garbage cans stayed on the curb long after the garbage had been picked up. Putting his nose in our business was like his part-time job.
I set the metal box on the seat between me and Ethan. Tyler turned around. “Be sure to put on your seat belts. I promised Mom that I’d make sure you . . . Hey, is that the box you got at the garage sale?”
“Yep,” I answered.
“Have you solved the puzzle yet?”
“Nope.”
“You should take a reading in DC.”
“Hey, that’s a real good idea. I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks.” I smiled at Ethan.
Tyler’s car was pretty nice. His parents drove it for a few years, then gave it to him when he turned sixteen. As we pulled away, Tyler honked again and waved at Mr. Smith. Ethan groaned and slid lower.
“Did you bring the measuring stuff?” I whispered.
“Uh . . . yeah. A protractor, a ruler, a pencil, the map . . .” Ethan paused for a moment. “I think that’s all we’ll need.” He held on to a paperback book. His baseball cap was the same one he always wore, but instead of jeans, he was wearing plaid shorts. I’d almost chosen plaid shorts that morning. Thank goodness they were in the washing machine. Ethan and I didn’t need to be matchy matchy.
I could barely sit still; every muscle in my body wanted to sprint. Today I’d push the button again and that would make me even closer to opening the box. “Thi
s is going to be fun,” I blurted.
Tyler glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Fun? This isn’t a game, Jax. It’s a serious quest. There’s a trophy at stake.”
I had to stifle a giggle. Quest is such a gamer word. Tyler took things so seriously. I turned to ask Ethan if he’d brought any snacks, when weird music poured out of the back speakers—heavy drumming accompanied by a woman who was singing in a strange language. Correction, not singing—screeching as if being tortured. I wanted to plug my ears. The sound started to creep under my skin. “What is this?”
“It’s the soundtrack from War Machine,” Tyler said.
One of his games, Ethan mouthed.
“Don’t you have any music that’s good?” I asked.
“Good?” Tyler glared at me in the rearview mirror. “Define good.”
“You know, like music the rest of the population listens to?” The screeching was joined by more female voices. A chorus of women in pain. I was in pain. “Anything. I’ll even listen to country.”
“For your information, little cousin, the rest of the population consists of mindless zombies who consume mainstream pop culture because they’re brainwashed by the constant flow of commercials that convince consumers to buy anything no matter—oh look, there’s Starbucks.” He made a sudden turn off the road.
The Secret Box Page 5