Free The Secret Box by Whitaker Ringwald Page B

see it through.
    â€œFive 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.
    â€œThose people were weird. Did you see how she was breathing? She was panting like a dog,” I said.
    â€œShe’s old. She’s probably got emphysema or something.”
    â€œAnd her fingers kept twitching. I thought she was going to grab it.”
    â€œShe 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.”
    â€œMaybe they just wanted to go to the fruit stand.”
    â€œThey weren’t carrying any fruit and they had plenty of money to buy some.” Weird.
    â€œMoney is clearly not an issue,” Ethan said. “They were driving a brand-new Jaguar. Those cars are expensive.”
    â€œA Jaguar? Did it have a silver jaguar on the hood?”
    â€œUh . . . 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.”
    â€œYeah, 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.
    J ust 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.
    â€œThey 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.
    â€œIf 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