The Secret Box

by Whitaker Ringwald

  Thankfully, the music stopped when Tyler shut off the engine. He pulled a card from his wallet, one of the cards I’d given him as a bribe, then strode toward the coffee emporium’s green doors. While we waited for him to get his mocha frappe triple shot whatever, I hatched the next part of our plan. “We should press the button as soon as we get to DC, but not in front of Tyler. I don’t want to share it with him. Whatever’s inside is for me and you. No one else.”

  “How are we going to get away from him?” Ethan asked. “Mom made him promise to watch us every second. She’s worried we’re going to get into trouble.”

  “We’ll slip away when he goes to register for the competition.” It sounded so easy.

  “What if we can’t figure it out?” Ethan fiddled with his book. “What if we can’t get the box open?”

  “Don’t say that. We can figure it out. It will be attempt eight of ten. We’ll still have two more tries.” I set the box on my lap. “Besides, why would Juniper send a puzzle that’s impossible to figure out? She wants me to open this. It’s my birthday present.”

  Ethan glanced over at Starbucks. Tyler was still inside. “When he finds out he’s a week too late for the competition, he’s going to freak out.”

  I was used to Ethan’s worrying but I was also used to calming him down. Stress wasn’t good for him because it brought on nosebleeds. I cringed at the thought. “Tyler’s always freaking out. We can deal with it. Besides, he can game in the hotel all night. Room service will bring him whatever he wants.” I clutched the box. “This is so exciting. I can’t stop thinking about what might be inside. Maybe it’s some really expensive jewelry, like an heirloom. Or maybe a rare coin or a plane ticket for a trip to Paris. Do you think Juniper is rich?”

  “I don’t know,” Ethan said. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I hate it when you get your hopes up and then it doesn’t work out. You get all sulky.”

  “I don’t get sulky,” I said. “When do I ever get sulky?”

  “When do you get sulky?” Ethan pushed his baseball cap up his forehead. “Uh, last week when you thought that movie had opened and we went down to the theater and it wasn’t playing and the rest of the day you were in the worst mood ever. And before that, when you didn’t make the chess team and you locked yourself in your room and wouldn’t come out. And—”

  “Yeah, well I should have made that team. I’m good at chess.” So maybe I sulked a little bit, but that’s only because I don’t like to be disappointed. Who does? It’s so . . . disappointing.

  Tyler opened the driver’s door. He was wearing his favorite T-shirt, which read, To Save Time Let’s Assume I Know Everything. He set his drink into the cup holder and started the engine. “Hey, Tyler,” I asked loudly, over the music. “Do you know if Juniper is rich?”

  “Nope.” He backed the car out of the parking space.

  “Do you know what kind of job she has?”

  “Noooo.” He pulled out of the parking lot.

  I brushed my hand across the box’s smooth, slightly warm surface. “Do you remember what she looks like?”

  “Negatory.”

  “Do you remember anything about her?”

  He headed toward the highway on-ramp. “Are you going to yap at me the whole way? ’Cause if you are, I would prefer the conversation to be about someone interesting. Like Marc Andreessen, inventor of the browser; or Elon Musk, SpaceX guy; or Bill Gates, all-around genius and master of the universe. Not some stupid old aunt who lives in Greece.”

  “Greece?” I leaned closer. “She lives in Greece? Are you sure?”

  “That’s what I remember.”

  I didn’t have a Greek travel guide. I had one of Turkey, which was pretty close. I’d cut out a photo of a fishing village where you could rent a donkey to carry your stuff, then hike to a secluded white sand beach with water as blue as a Slurpee.

  Did I finally have a relative living somewhere other than New Jersey?

  Then I sighed, remembering that the return address on the package was for New Hope, Pennsylvania. “Do you know if—”

  “Quiet,” Tyler interrupted. “This is the good part.” As he turned up the volume, a choir of screeching women, or perhaps they were birds, I really don’t know, filled the car. The drumming was accompanied by the clang of clashing swords. Ethan and I were prepared. We pulled out our earbuds and stuffed them into our ears. Then I leaned my head against the window and watched the cars whizz by.

  I imagined that if my dad had been around, he would have driven us to DC and Tyler would still be sitting in front of his computer. Dad and I would be buddies. He would have said to my mom, “Relax, Lindsay. Let Jax have some fun.”

  I don’t normally notice cars but after we’d been driving for a while, a black car pulled up in the passing lane. It stayed there, right next to us, matching our speed for a really long time. “Pass already,” Tyler grumbled. The car’s windows were tinted so I couldn’t see inside. I liked the silver jaguar that perched on the hood, as if ready to leap off. “Idjot,” Tyler grumbled as the black car slowed and slid behind us.

  About a half hour into our trip, Tyler stopped at a gas station. It was one of those big travel centers with the mini-market, bathrooms, and showers for truck drivers. While Tyler filled the tank, Ethan wandered over to a fruit stand and bought a bag of apples. I grabbed the metal box and followed. We sat on a bench in the fruit stand’s shade. Mom called Ethan’s phone to check on me. I told her everything was fine. After handing the phone back to Ethan, I decided that if the box contained birthday money, I’d use it to buy myself a new phone.

  Ethan wiped one of the bright red apples on his shirt, then handed it me. Juice ran down my hand as I took the first bite.

  “That’s a lovely box,” someone said.

  Both Ethan and I nearly jumped out of our shorts. We’d been looking in the other direction and hadn’t noticed the two old people who’d walked right up to us. They stood very close, ignoring the whole personal space rule. Ethan immediately slid down the bench. He hates it when people get too close.

  I’m not that good at telling how old someone is but the man looked older than God, with a totally bald head and a bunch of big brown splotches on his face. His mustache was perfectly trimmed, as if someone had drawn a white line above his lip, and his nose was real long—it reminded me of a beak. The woman’s skin was much darker than his and her silver hair was knotted in a bun at the base of her neck. They were dressed in an old-fashioned way, as if going to church. He had a bow tie, and her floral dress reached to her ankles.

  “That’s a lovely box,” the man repeated.

  “Uh, thanks,” I said, tossing my apple into the bushes. I gripped the box because they were both staring at it as if they wanted to eat it. Over at the pump, Tyler screwed on the gas cap, then went into the convenience store.

  “That’s a very interesting feature.” The woman reached out to touch the screen but I hugged the box to my chest. She held her fingers aloft for a moment, her eyes widened, then she dropped her hand.

  The man cleared his throat. “Where did you get it?”

  “It was a present,” I said, and suddenly I thought that maybe I was volunteering too much information. I mean, who were these people? Why did they care about my box?

  The man wobbled a bit. That’s when I noticed his cane. “It’s so unusual. No seams. No hinges. How does it open?”

  I looked at Ethan. He’d been very quiet but that was no surprise. A flash of understanding passed between us. Neither one of us wanted to talk to these two. We both rose from the bench. “Well, gotta go,” I said.

  “Wait.” The woman’s voice was so desperate-sounding that it stopped Ethan and me in our tracks. She smoothed her hair. “Would you be interested in selling it?”

  Other than the fact that these people were a bit snoopy, I didn’t have any reason to be worried. But an uncomfortable feeling settled over me, as if I’d been cor
nered and needed to get away. Why did I feel like this? They were so old, surely they couldn’t hurt me. I hugged the box to my chest. “Why would you want to buy my box?”

  The man’s gaze drifted up to my eyes. Though he smiled, it was cold and forced. He leaned on his cane. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Hatmaker and this is my wife, Mrs. Hatmaker. We own a store called . . . Peculiarities. We specialize in unique pieces of folk art.” The woman continued to stare at the box. “We travel around and buy odd items. And that box is odd indeed.”

  “Oh,” I said. I guess it made sense that they’d be interested in my box. But the way he was smiling made me shudder. The smile was frozen in place, as if he wanted me to inspect his teeth.

  Mrs. Hatmaker’s finger trembled as she pointed. “What about the little screen? Does it do something special?”

  “Not really,” I said. Their questions were boring. Besides, I wanted to get a candy bar before we hit the road again. “Well, nice talking to you.” I tugged on Ethan’s sleeve and was about to walk away when Mr. Hatmaker’s eyes widened.

  “We’ll pay you two hundred dollars,” he said.

  My mouth fell open. “Huh?”

  “Three hundred dollars.” He took out his wallet. I was about to say no when Mrs. Hatmaker offered five hundred dollars.

  Ethan gasped.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You’d pay five hundred dollars for this box?”

  “It’s very . . . peculiar,” Mr. Hatmaker said. He pulled out five bills and offered them to me. Maybe they did this all the time. Maybe five hundred dollars was no big deal to the owners of a shop called Peculiarities. But it was a big deal to me. I’d never had that much money.

  But something felt wrong—very wrong. I hugged the box tighter. “This is a family box,” I said. “I can’t sell it. Thanks anyway.”

  As Ethan and I walked away, the Hatmakers started to argue with each other, their voices carrying across the parking lot.

  “We can’t let it go,” Mrs. Hatmaker pleaded.

  “Calm down, Martha.”

  “How can I calm down? I can feel it. I can sense its presence.”

  “Control yourself. Don’t make a scene.”

  I glanced over my shoulder as Mr. Hatmaker grabbed his wife’s arm and yanked her away. They got into a black car with tinted windows and drove off, taking their five hundred dollars with them. Mom could have used that money. Had I made the wrong decision not selling the box?

  No, I couldn’t second-guess myself. I’d come this far to find out what was inside. I was going to see it through.

  “Five hundred dollars,” Ethan said. “Can you believe it? You know, after you get whatever’s inside, you can always sell the box.”

  Clearly, carrying around such an unusual box had attracted unwanted attention. I didn’t want anyone else to ask questions, so I opened the car door and set the box on the back floor, covering it with my purple coat. Ethan tossed the bag of apples inside. After making sure Tyler hadn’t left the keys in the ignition, we locked the doors and walked toward the convenience store.

  “Those people were weird. Did you see how she was breathing? She was panting like a dog,” I said.

  “She’s old. She’s probably got emphysema or something.”

  “And her fingers kept twitching. I thought she was going to grab it.”

  “She probably has Parkinson’s,” Ethan said. “It makes you tremble and shake.”

  But something wasn’t right. “They didn’t get gas,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “They pulled their car into the station but they didn’t get gas. They just talked to us.”

  “Maybe they just wanted to go to the fruit stand.”

  “They weren’t carrying any fruit and they had plenty of money to buy some.” Weird.

  “Money is clearly not an issue,” Ethan said. “They were driving a brand-new Jaguar. Those cars are expensive.”

  “A Jaguar? Did it have a silver jaguar on the hood?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  I didn’t know what to make of this information. Of course it was a coincidence. What else could it be? My stomach growled. I looked back to make sure the creepy old Hatmakers were definitely gone, then went into the store.

  Tyler had found an old-fashioned pinball machine at the back. As he flipped the levers, lights flashed and a bell chimed. Lost in another game, he’d forgotten all about us.

  I got a Snickers bar. Ethan grabbed a bag of chips and some mini doughnuts. After we’d paid, we headed out the door. Tyler caught up to us. “Did you go pee-pee?” he asked us in a baby voice.

  Ethan turned red. “Oh that’s real funny. We’re not little kids, Tyler. You don’t have to ask us if we peed.”

  “Yeah, well I’m the chaperone on this trip. So pee now or hold it until we get there, little bro.” He stopped. “What the . . . ? My car!”

  I dropped the Snickers bar and gasped.

  11

  Ethan

  FACT: The average American eats sixty-three doughnuts a year. That’s a little more than one a week, which doesn’t seem like a lot to me. The box I’d just bought at the convenience store had six mini doughnuts. I’d eat them every day if I could. Mom never buys doughnuts. She’s waging a battle against anything deep-fried.

  Just as I opened the box of minis, Tyler started yelling. Who was he yelling at? Wait. Why was there glass on the ground?

  It was gone. I knew it was gone before Jax yelled at Tyler to unlock the doors. I knew it before she reached in, before her face turned as pale as the moon. Before her eyes welled with tears.

  “They took it,” she cried. “They took my box!”

  There were no other people around. Ours was the only car at the pump and the fruit stand guy was plugged into headphones, reading a magazine. Tyler stood absolutely still, his mouth halfway open, staring at the bits of safety glass that dangled down the side of the car door. Someone had broken the back passenger window. I didn’t know what to do.

  A red truck pulled up to the opposite pump. The driver got out and glanced at our window. “Tough luck,” he said. Then he began to fill his tank.

  “If they took my music I’m going to freak!” Tyler climbed into the driver’s side and searched through his stuff. Then he emerged, his GPS unit in hand. “Everything’s there,” he said with a puzzled look.

  I searched the trunk. My backpack lay next to Jax’s. “Everything’s here, too.”

  Tyler threw his hands in the air. “So why’d they break the window if they didn’t take anything? What was the objective?”

  “Hello?” Jax said. “Aren’t you listening to me? They took my box!” She ran toward the sidewalk and frantically looked up and down the street.

  “Who cares about your stupid box?” Tyler said, running a hand through his messy hair. “When Mom sees this window, she’s going to kill me.”

  He’d had the car for only a couple of months and he’d already dented the back fender and broken a front headlight. Yeah, Mom was going to kill him. But Tyler’s fate didn’t worry me. It was Jax who worried me. She paced up and down the sidewalk, her fists balled up, her face flaming. She’d sulk for weeks over this. We’d talk about nothing else. It would be even worse than the time she lost that lottery ticket, the one she’d been sure was a winner. We’d retraced her steps for days but never found it.

  “Jax,” I called. “You can’t do anything. They’re gone.”

  The cashier stuck his head out the convenience store door. “You want me to call the police?”

  “Yes,” Tyler said. “Request immediate assistance. Thanks.”

  Jax ran back to our car, her ponytail coming undone. “We can go after them.” She brushed glass shards off the passenger seat, then scrambled in. “Let’s go. Hurry!”

  “What are you talking about?” Tyler asked. “We don’t know who did this.”

  “Yes we do,” she said. “It was those two old people. I know it was them!”

  Could it have been the Hatmakers? But
they were ancient. Old people don’t break car windows. “We watched them drive away,” I pointed out.

  “Well they came back, broke the window, and stole my box.”

  I peered into the car. Jax was getting all worked up, clutching the front seat, her hair hanging in her face. I tried to be the voice of reason. “We can’t follow them. We need to stay and talk to the police.”

  “But they’re getting away,” she insisted. “Let’s go!”

  How could I get through to her? She always did things without thinking about the consequences—it was her modus operandi. Was that my sidekick role, to constantly warn her of danger? If this were a comic book, I’d be called Caution Boy.

  “We can’t leave the scene of a crime,” I told her as I tossed the bag of chips and the box of doughnuts into the front seat. Early that morning, Mom and Dad had called a family meeting to discuss what to do if we got lost, what to do if we got a flat tire, and what to do if we got into an accident. Wait. For. Police. “The insurance company won’t cover the repairs unless we file a report.” I knew this because we’d been in an accident before. Some uninsured guy had rear-ended us at a four-way stop. “Maybe the police will catch the Hatmakers and get the box back.” I tried to sound hopeful.

  “Hatmakers? Who are the Hatmakers?” Tyler asked.

  Jax climbed back out and stood with her hands planted on her hips. “Okay, listen carefully. This is important. The Hatmakers are two old people we were talking to over by the fruit stand. They wanted to give me five hundred dollars for the box.”

  “Are you saying that two old people broke my car window just so they could get your box?” Tyler asked.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying, so let’s go find them,” Jax urged. “That box was my birthday present.”

  “Hey, you said you got the box at a garage sale.” Tyler folded his arms and glared at Jax. “I’m sensing some deleted details. Reboot and try again.”

  The pause was a long one. I could practically hear Jax’s brain calculating the risks. Was she going to tell him the truth—that the box was supposed to be returned to sender but we took it? If he knew, he’d have blackmail power over Jax until she gained blackmail power over him.