Free The Secret Box by Whitaker Ringwald

she looks like?”
    â€œNegatory.”
    â€œDo 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.”
    â€œGreece?” I leaned closer. “She lives in Greece? Are you sure?”
    â€œThat’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—”
    â€œQuiet,” 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.
    â€œThat’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.
    â€œThat’s a lovely box,” the man repeated.
    â€œUh, 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