The Accidental Siren by Jake Vander Ark Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t recall climbing out of the tree,
and I’m not sure how Mara reached the rope over the barb-riddled
bushes.
    I do remember tying the basket to the blanket
and the way her slender arms hoisted the contraption like an anchor
on a boat. I remember the last words she whispered from her perch,
“ See ya later, alligator.”
    I remember her smile.
    Somehow, Whit had managed to keep us out of
trouble. I snuck through his house, down the ramp to the basement,
then regaled him with my adventures until the morning sun turned
his bedroom orange.
    We attended our last day of elementary school
with heavy eyes and naps at recess. When the last bell rang and the
kids went berserk, I felt above it. Mrs. Conrad picked us up at the
flag pole and unknowingly ushered us into the craziest summer of
our lives.
    Back in Whit’s bedroom I remembered the item
that sparked the evening’s insanity.
    “Is it broke?” he asked.
    I inspected the plastic casing and twisted
the dials.
    “Is it gonna work?” he asked.
    I rotated the lens... and it fell off in my
hand.
    “Shit!” he said. “That dick weed broke
it!”
    “Crap...” I said, but before the grief had a
chance to settle, a hatch sprung open. I scrunched my brow and
poked the camera’s innards.
    “What?” Whit asked. “What is it?”
    I removed a black and yellow canister of film
from the open chamber.
    “Didja already shoot somethin’?”
    “No,” I said. “The old lady must’ve.”
    Whit grinned. “We gotta develop that shit. Today. ”
     
     
    3. SAINTLY
MS. GRISHAM
     
    Tuesday.
    Mara’s variation of Amazing Grace had
been stuck in my head on an endless loop. It wasn’t a bad thing–the
music rocked me to sleep at night and nudged me awake in the
morning–but the melody had kindled a blistering thirst that
couldn’t be satisfied. When I was alone, the girl’s voice was so
translucent that I swore she was hiding between my bedroom walls or
serenading me from the distant woods.
    I had to see her again. But opportunities
were gonna be sparse.
    Three days into summer vacation and Whit was
already a regular at the Parker home. His parents worked all day,
so the moms decreed that the bulk of our playtime would be spent at
the castle. Whit’s mom even taught my mom how to assist with his
nightly leg stretches.
    Luckily, the castle was the perfect place to
have a best friend and a mystery to unravel. Tucked behind my
clothes in my bedroom closet was a secret passageway with a door
small enough for a garden gnome. I told the lil’ tykes that it lead
to Narnia and Cair Paravel, but the real passage was a million
times cooler than some make-believe world. The walls were lined
with cotton-candy insulation. There were knotty joists, archways of
colorful wire, and mysterious rattling sounds that spurred my
imagination. I had to crawl for the first few feet, but then the
tunnel grew into a plush cavern and I could sit upright without
bumping my head against iron pipes. An orange extension cord ran
from my bedroom, beneath the tiny door, to a power strip where I
could charge my camera batteries, play my stereo, or run a fan
during the summer. The only source of light came from a naked bulb
screwed between the plastic ears of a Mickey Mouse lamp. I had a
personal stash of books, journals, and Batman comics stacked
beneath the rectangular duct in the corner. On the opposite end of
the secret cavern, the tunnel narrowed, curved right and led to
another tiny door in the library. My best screenplays were written
in that dusty womb beneath Mickey’s dim light.
    To fit through the opening, Whit had to
vacate his chair and crawl. “Your the only person who’ll ever see
me do this,” he said. “It’s flippin’ embarrassing.” Although he
moved a bit like a broken marionette, I retained my dignity (as Dad
would say) and held back my laughter.
    “I’m not a bad case,” he told me in the
cavern’s musty pink fluff. “I don’t have any of the usual symptoms
of spina