The Secret Box

by Whitaker Ringwald

  “Not far,” he said. “We passed it on the way into town.” Then he frowned. “Uh, no way. We’re not going after them.” He took off his baseball cap and wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead. “Are we?”

  My mind was racing so fast, I had to grab my thoughts and line them up, one by one. My feet wanted to race too, straight out of the row house and back to Tyler’s car so we could begin the pursuit! “Look,” I said. “If we want to get the box, which we do, we have to find these people. And since we don’t know the right spot, the only other choice is to go to their house.”

  “Actually, there are other choices,” Ethan said as he stuck his hat on. “We could go home. Or we could go to the hotel like we’re supposed to.”

  “I don’t like those choices,” I said. I felt desperate for anything that might convince Ethan to not give up. Our great-aunt wasn’t here. She couldn’t help us. But the box was with the Camels and I wanted it back. “Just remember this one thing—the Camels were willing to pay a lot of money for that box. And they broke laws to get it. It’s got something valuable inside. So valuable that you have to solve a puzzle just to see it.”

  Ethan was still holding the sticky note with the Camels’ address. He looked at it. Was he considering? Then he shook his head. “No way. I promised Mom that I wouldn’t let you get me into trouble. I say we call the police and—”

  Tyler snatched the sticky note. Then he held it high above his head, as if holding a torch. “No puzzle shall remain unsolved. I hereby declare that the quest has been rebooted. Objective—to disable the Camels and retrieve the secret box. Onward, minions.” He turned on his heels and headed out the office door.

  “Yay!” I cheered. Then I patted Ethan’s shoulder. “I couldn’t do this without you, partner.”

  Ethan sighed. “That box is the worst birthday present ever.”

  16

  Ethan

  FACT: Sidekicks were invented so the superhero had a loyal assistant. Sherlock Holmes had Dr. Watson, the Lone Ranger had Tonto, Frodo had Samwise. The sidekick is supposed to perform functions that the hero can’t perform. Dr. Watson helped solve crimes, Tonto helped bring justice to the Wild West, and Samwise killed a giant spider and became a ring bearer. What did I do?

  I looked things up on my phone.

  “Did you get the directions?” Jax asked.

  “Yeah.”

  I hadn’t realized it before, but Tyler and Jax had one big thing in common—they were stubborn. When they wanted something, there was no giving in. Jax sat in the front seat, humming along to the battle march of the orcs or trolls or whatever mythological monster inhabited the soundtrack. Tyler thumped his hand on the steering wheel. They were a team. I would have never imagined Jax and Tyler working together. Until today, she couldn’t stand him. And now they were like Bonnie and Clyde, those gangsters who robbed banks. Jax and Tyler, united on their quest for the box. What they didn’t seem to understand was that not everything had to be a conquest of some sort.

  Or maybe that’s where I had it wrong. Maybe that’s why Tyler had shelves of trophies and I didn’t.

  I checked the time. Mom would be calling soon. What would I tell her?

  “Hey, Ethan, can you read that article?” Jax asked.

  “What article?”

  “The one you found online. The one about the Camels getting into some kind of trouble.” She turned off the music.

  I found the article and read it out loud.

  ARCHAEOLOGISTS WANTED FOR FRAUD

  The International Society of Archaeologists released an official statement today. Two of its members, George and Martha Camel, owners of Camel Auction House in London, have been ejected from the respected institution after evidence of forgery and fraud surfaced. The society collected proof that the pair advertised and sold ancient artifacts, most of which were fake. Attention was drawn to the auction house when the Camels announced that they were in possession of the famous Pandora’s box. An auction for the box was held privately, with an unnamed source paying an undisclosed amount of money. The box was not delivered to the buyer and the Camels have since disappeared.

  “Pandora’s box?” Jax said. “Hey, Tyler, you mentioned that earlier. What is it?”

  “It’s a box that contains evil,” he said. “Walker and I’ve been working on a design for Pandora’s box in Cyclopsville. Once you get into the temple and pry open the vault, you take Pandora’s box to the Cyclops king and he rewards you with entrance to the next level. But if you open it before giving it to the Cyclops King, then your head explodes and the rest of your body bursts into flame. It’s awesome.”

  “So if you’ve put it into your game, does that mean it’s a Greek myth?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s a Greek myth.” He snorted. “Once again, the public education system has failed to enlighten the masses. Unbelievable.”

  I’d heard of Pandora’s box, but I didn’t know the story either. “Tyler, could you give us a break from the insults and just tell us what you’re talking about? But first take a right at this intersection.” I’d switched back to Google Maps. “Uh . . . right. Go right!”

  The wheels squealed as Tyler made a sharp turn. The plastic-wrap window was holding nicely in place.

  “Why’s it called Pandora’s box?” Jax asked.

  “According to Greek mythology, Pandora was the first woman on earth.”

  “You mean like Eve?” Jax asked.

  “Yeah, just like Eve. Pandora was the Greek Eve. Before she arrived, there were only men on earth. Zeus, the leader of the gods, was mad at men for some reason, I can’t remember.”

  I almost snorted. Tyler had just admitted to not knowing something. That was like a mini miracle.

  “Anyway, Zeus was angry with men so he invented women as revenge.”

  “That’s not very nice,” Jax snapped.

  “Don’t get cranky with me. I didn’t write the story.” Tyler scratched his armpit. “Because Pandora was the first woman, and it was her birthday, the gods gave her all sorts of gifts like speech and beauty and clothing. Zeus gave her a box but he told her that she wasn’t supposed to open it.”

  Jax sat up real straight. “Pandora got a box for her birthday? Just like me?”

  “That’s right, Sherlock. A box. Unfortunately, one of the other gifts was curiosity, so of course, being curious, she opened the box. Turns out it contained evil.”

  “Take a left,” I said, checking the directions. “Uh . . . left. Left!”

  Tires screeched again.

  “What kind of evil?” Jax asked.

  “What do you mean what kind of evil? Evil is evil. It’s the opposite of good.” Tyler turned the wheel. “The point is, when Pandora opened the box, evil escaped and was spread throughout the world. And that’s why humanity is in such a mess all the time. That’s why we’re doomed.”

  Jax scowled. “That’s stupid. Why are women always to blame in these old stories? Eve ate the apple and mankind was doomed with sin. Pandora opened the box and mankind was doomed with evil. It’s totally unfair.” She had a point.

  “Speaking of apples, give me one, will ya?” Tyler held out his hand. I took three apples out of the fruit-stand bag and we all munched.

  “I don’t understand something,” I said. “Pandora’s box is a story. But the Camels claimed that they had it and they put it up for auction. And someone tried to buy it. Why would someone buy a box that doesn’t exist?”

  “A good con artist can talk anyone into buying anything,” Tyler said.

  I scooted low in my seat. Great. Not only were the Camels thieves who’d ransacked a house and broken our car window, they were also con artists. This was getting better by the minute.

  “You don’t think . . .” Jax turned and stared at me over the seat. “What if it’s not just a story? What if the box Juniper sent to me is Pandora’s box?”

  Tyler tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Not likely. They didn’t have GPS technology in ancient Greece. That box
is twenty-first-century design.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She turned back around. “I’m glad it’s not a box full of evil. That would be a total drag.”

  “Unless you wanted to take over the world.”

  I sighed. They were both mental.

  Ten minutes later, we reached our destination. This place that was the exact opposite of New Hope. No crafts shops, no art galleries or overflowing flowerpots. The road was lined with fast-food joints, gas stations, and a couple of motels, the kind that offered weekly and monthly room rentals. Google Maps led us to one of these motels, two stories tall, brick, with powder-blue trim on the windows. The sign advertised kitchenettes and microwave ovens in every room. A row of garbage cans cluttered the sidewalk. It looked like someone had driven a truck into the side of each one. An old broken television lay next to the cans, along with a broken broom and a battered motorcycle helmet.

  “What a dump,” Tyler said.

  “Look for their car,” Jax said.

  We drove around the building twice, but didn’t see a black Jaguar, which made me feel a bit better. As much as I wanted Jax to have her birthday present, it would be nice to avoid a big scene. Tyler passed two perfectly good parallel-parking spots, claiming he was “surveying the terrain.” Then he parked at the far side of the building.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked before we got out.

  “To get the box,” Jax said.

  “Great,” I mumbled. “No plan.”

  A couple of kids were swinging on a rusty swing set at the edge of the parking lot. A woman sat on a bench nearby, reading a magazine. The day was warm, so many of the motel windows were open, with music and television soundtracks leaking out. Wet laundry lay on windowsills to dry. This was no vacation spot. People were living here—people who were down and out on their luck.

  “Room Two C,” Tyler said as he read the sticky note he’d taken from Juniper’s office.

  The Sunny Days Motel was designed so that all the doors faced the road. Jax took the lead, marching up the steps with determination. We walked along the balcony until we came to room 2C. Traffic whizzed by, which made me feel a bit better. The Camels wouldn’t try to hurt us, not with so many witnesses around. I reminded myself that they were old people, and that we could easily overpower them. Jax was good at wrestling and Tyler was six foot two. I felt around in my pocket until my fingers rested on the Swiss army knife. Just in case.

  The door had a peephole. Jax covered it with her hand. Down the balcony, a TV blared, pots and pans clinked. It smelled like someone was making grilled cheese. My stomach growled super loud. Both Tyler and Jax shot me a glare. I glared right back. How was I supposed to keep my stomach from growling? I hadn’t eaten anything all day except those mini doughnuts, the pizza-flavored chips, and a couple of apples.

  Jax pressed her ear to the door. Then she knocked. And knocked again.

  “They’re not here,” I said with relief. “Let’s go.”

  “Looks like a dead end,” Tyler whispered.

  “There’s no such thing as a dead end,” Jax said, knocking louder and louder.

  “Actually there is,” Tyler corrected. “We built one in Cyclopsville.”

  “This is not a dead end,” she insisted, grabbing the knob and wiggling it. She wiggled it again and again, then pushed her shoulder against the door.

  “Uh . . . what are you doing?” I asked, looking around to make sure we hadn’t drawn attention. “It’s locked. Jax, stop it.”

  But she didn’t stop. With a grunt she pushed harder and harder, her face turning red. Then she grabbed the knob with both hands. “The box is inside this room,” she said, her teeth clenched. “I know it’s in there.” Strands of hair fell out of her ponytail and dangled in her eyes. Her knuckles turned white.

  “She’s going berserk,” Tyler said in a matter-of-fact way.

  She was. She was about to throw her entire body against the door but I squeezed in front of her. “Jax,” I said, my voice low and calm, as if talking to a rabid dog. “Why would the box be inside if the Camels aren’t here?”

  She took a long breath, then unclenched her hands. “I have a feeling. And I’ve never had a feeling like this before.”

  “A feeling?” Tyler asked.

  “It’s in there. Trust me.” She undid her ponytail and remade it, tighter and neater. Oh no. She wasn’t giving up. “I’m getting my box.”

  “Wait a minute.” I kept my voice low. “Maybe we didn’t technically break into Juniper’s house because the door was unlocked and we’re family, but there’s no way we can go into the Camels’ motel room unless we’re invited. Otherwise, it’s definitely trespassing.”

  She ignored me, which is what she did when I didn’t agree with her. And she marched back down the stairs and over to the woman who sat reading the magazine. Tyler and I followed, except I stood back a ways, watching. It always amazed me that Jax could walk up to anyone and start talking. “Excuse me,” she said. The woman looked up, her lip curled. Jax had interrupted her reading. I could relate. “I’m looking for my grandparents. He’s bald and walks with a cane. And she’s really tall and has silver hair.”

  “I don’t know ’em,” the woman said. She turned the page. It was one of those magazines that was all about celebrities. The movie star on the cover had been labeled the worst dressed.

  “Is there an office manager, or someone who might have an extra key to my grandparents’ room?” Jax asked.

  “The manager’s only here in the morning. Then he goes and gets drunk. He won’t be no help to you.” She turned and hollered at her kid. “Max, stop throwing sand on your brother!”

  A couple of teens, dressed in ripped jeans and high-tops, walked past. With Jax in the lead, we followed them into the motel laundry room. An old tan dryer bounced from side to side, overloaded. Cigarette butts had been swept into the corner. Junk mail was piled on a counter, next to empty boxes of Tide.

  “Hey,” Jax said. “I’m looking for my grandparents.” She described them.

  The girl wore a gold chain that connected her nose piercing to her ear piercing. When she shook her head, the chain swayed. I wondered about the intelligence behind attaching two parts of your face that weren’t supposed to be attached. If she got that chain caught on something, she’d rip an earlobe and a nostril. “What’s your problem?” she asked me with a sneer. “What are you staring at?”

  “Uh . . . nothing,” I murmured, stepping back.

  “Maybe you’ll remember their car,” Tyler said. “They drive a black jag.”

  The guy, who’d been texting, quickly glanced at Tyler. “Yeah, I know that car. I helped the old man carry in some suitcases.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Few days ago.” He kept texting. “They paid me one hundred bucks. Cash.”

  “One hundred bucks to carry suitcases?” Tyler whistled. “That’s good money. If they can pay that, then they can pay for my car window for sure.”

  “We came to see them but they’re not here and the office manager isn’t here either,” Jax told the guy. “Do you know if there’s anyone else who might have an extra key?”

  He texted something, then said, “We always climb in through the windows when we lock ourselves out. They open super easy. Just slide a knife under the frame. Everyone does it. There’s a ladder out back.”

  “Really? Thanks,” Jax said, then she started around the building without a word. Uh, shouldn’t breaking into a motel be a group decision? Whatever happened to democracy?

  “We’re going to end up in the back of a police car,” I grumbled.

  An alley ran between the motel and some sort of warehouse. There were no doors back there, but each of the rooms had two windows that offered a boring view of the warehouse’s cement wall. Jax counted along the second floor, then pointed. “That’s Two C.” Curtains were drawn, the windows closed tight. A ladder lay on the ground. “We’re not really going to do this,” I said. But Jax had
already grabbed it.

  A memory flashed across my mind. When we were little, Jax spotted a bird nest in the tree outside her bedroom. She waited weeks for the baby birds to leave the nest, then she tried to climb the tree. When that didn’t work, she got a ladder. When that didn’t work, she got a table. I was opposed to setting the ladder on the table but she talked me into it. A minute later she was lying on the grass, cradling a broken elbow. The paramedics were nice. One of them climbed the ladder and scooped the nest right up. But we both got grounded.

  Watching her grab that ladder, I got the same feeling of foreboding as when we were little. “Uh, Jax, I don’t think—”

  “It’ll be okay.”

  Famous. Last. Words.

  Two boys zipped into the alley on their bikes. As they rode past, Tyler and I froze, unsure what to do. But Jax smiled and waved. “We forgot our key,” she told them. They didn’t seem to care, just kept riding up and down. “If you act like you’re not doing anything wrong, most people won’t question you,” Jax said. “Just look confident.”

  I’d heard that piece of wisdom countless times. Turned out it was true. If you sit in the reserved section at the Chatham Playhouse, and you act as if you belong in the reserved section, no one asks any questions. But it still didn’t feel right. Sometimes it felt like I was witnessing my life, watching myself from afar—there I was, up to my eyeballs in a Jax situation again.

  As Tyler helped her lean the ladder against the wall, a woman on the first floor peered out at us. Jax smiled and waved at the woman. “We forgot our key.”

  “You need a knife?” the woman asked. “The kids above me use a knife to get in.”

  “We have a knife,” Jax said, looking at me. I handed over my Swiss army knife. Then, trying to muster confidence, I smiled at the woman, but the smile felt forced and goofy.

  A baby cried in the background. The woman closed the window and disappeared.

  “You see, act like you belong and no one questions you,” Jax said. “Hold the ladder, please.”