The Secret Box by Whitaker Ringwald Page B

of—”
    â€œNot enough room,” Tyler repeated.
    I tapped Jax’s shoulder. “Remember what I told you.” After flunking the parallel-parking section of the driving test, Dad had tried to explain the technique in mathematical terms. Tyler had gotten so frustrated he overturned his cereal bowl and stomped out of the kitchen. It was a sensitive subject.
    Tyler drove around the block, twice, then found a space in a church lot that didn’t require parallel parking. Even though it was hot out, Jax grabbed her purple coat and slipped it on. She’d found it at a garage sale and had talked the woman into selling it for $1.50. She loved that coat because it sparkled. I can’t say I’ve ever loved a piece of clothing. I don’t even care what I wear, so long as it’s comfortable and not sparkling purple. I used to wear hoodies, but Mom said I was always hiding beneath the hood. So she banned them. Then I got the baseball cap and even though I wear it every day, she hasn’t complained. Yet. The brim shades me from the sun, and from people who try to look into my eyes when talking to me.
    We had to walk a couple of blocks to Ferry Street. “We’re here,” I said, checking the map on my phone. We stopped on the sidewalk, across the street from a bunch of identical houses. They were row houses—individual houses that share walls. A factoid popped into my head. The Europeans developed row houses in the sixteenth century as a way to fit more people into smaller spaces. I didn’t share that info, however. It would have gone unappreciated in this group.
    â€œJuniper’s address is the one on the end,” Jax said.
    While the other porches were decorated with flowerpots, the last porch was bare. And the curtains were closed. Was Juniper the person who lived in that house? A person who’d erased all her records from the internet. A person who’d been evicted from our family. A person we weren’t supposed to think about.
    Just then, Tyler’s phone rang. “Is it Mom?” I asked, my heart doubling its pace. What would we tell her?
    â€œIt’s Walker,” Tyler said reading the screen. “Hey, Skywalker, what’s up?” Pause. “No way, dude.” From what I could tell, Walker was having some sort of gaming crisis. “Just go on the attack. If Doomringer’s a noob, he’ll try to hide behind the temple wall.” While Tyler launched a series of directions, his eyes darting wildly as if watching the action live, Jax pulled me aside.
    â€œI’m kinda nervous about meeting her,” she said.
    â€œMe, too.” A funny feeling had settled in my stomach. Maybe it was the pizza-flavored chips I’d eaten during the ride, combined with the mini doughnuts, but it felt like more than that. I was jittery, on the verge of turning around and heading back to the car. What if Juniper was living off the radar because she was some kind of crazy person?
    â€œLet’s go,” Jax said, then she hurried across the street.
    Tyler, who was still commanding the attack on Doomringer, seemed totally uninterested in the real world at the moment. “Flank him!” he yelled into the phone. “Listen to me. You can’t take down the temple without more life points. You have to kill Doomringer first. Use the Sword of Athena. And watch out for the Gorgons!”
    I rolled my eyes. My parents worry about me ?
    Jax had already reached the door and was knocking. There wasn’t much movement around the row houses. A man at the far end was mowing his little strip of grass. A few cars passed by. Tyler slashed the air with an imaginary sword as he continued to direct the assault. A jogger slowed and gawked at him.
    I joined Jax on the porch. As I tried to steady my breathing, she knocked again.
    â€œNo one’s home,” I said, totally relieved. “We can still get to DC and check into our hotel before Mom gets