Read Online Through the Hidden Door by Rosemary Wells - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rosemary Wells
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three acres of the frigid, softly crusted sand—that day or on any other day that week.
Miserably I tramped back to the stables, blindfolded and led by Snowy, on Friday afternoon.
“What are you thinking, Barney?” Snowy asked.
My brain was as cold and useless as my frozen fingers. All it told me was Dead end. Give it up. Dead end. Give it up, as flatly as my little cousin’s Speak & Spell. “The hell with it,” I snapped. “We’re never going to find anything, Snowy. We’re beating a dead horse. Who knows what the bone is or what the steps are. We’d have to be scientists to find out.”
“Don’t quit, Barney.”
“Snowy, what good is it? We’re just a couple of schoolkids. We don’t know anything.”
“Barney, please!” Snowy’s voice was like a little boy’s. A far cry from the one in which he usually gave me orders like a sergeant.
I promised myself I’d call Dad that night. I was tired of hiding out from Rudy and Company in a bone-frosting cave. I was tired of Snowy and the digging. If Dad could get me into another school after Christmas vacation, it would suit me just fine. A semester of surfing in Monterey looked very good that afternoon. No Rudy or Danny. No Silks. No freezing, frustrating caves. Dad was right. Muddy water had dripped onto my head on the way out of the cave. My hair stood up in ice spikes. I looked like a unicorn—a multicorn. California would be a very good place to go to school, I decided. Chicken! said a voice in my head.
Mellor, who went skiing every weekend with his Boston family, had dumped in the hall enough filthy laundry to clothe five boys for a month. I took off my clay-streaked shirt and dirty socks and threw them in the pile. My pants had seen five straight cave trips. They were in terrible shape due to the slide and the mud tunnel. I turned out the pockets, because the laundry won’t do your pants unless the pockets are free of spitballs, chewing gum, and dead lizards. I threw the pants in the pile and remembered the dirty frozen socks, in the pockets of my parka, from earlier in the week. I tossed them in too and strolled down the hall to wash up.
My hands were filthy, with slight bleeding around the base of every fingernail due to tunnel crawling. I ran them under the warm water. Just before I reached for the soap, I noticed little pellets or nodules of something on my nails. I took the pellets off and automatically saved them on a wad of Kleenex, telling myself to toss them out.
I began whistling “California, Here I Come.” Then I opened the Kleenex and stared at the four reddish peas. I couldn’t figure out where they’d come from since no hard bits had shown up in the sand in the past five days. Our feet were warm and sensitive in the hunter’s socks. We’d even examined the bottoms of our feet with the flashlights after every turn around the squares.
Since it was Friday afternoon, most boys were gone for the weekend. Those who hadn’t left for home had all piled into a bus and gone to a Christmas dance at a girl’s boarding school forty miles away. Off limits for boys on probation like me. There was not much for me to do. Unwillingly I wandered down to the science room, all the while mumbling to the air, “Give it up, Barney. It’s just a couple of pebbles.” The first pebbles we’ve found, said the voice in my head.
So what? I answered.
It won’t hurt to try and find out what they are, will it? wheedled the voice.
Fine. But I’m not going back in that Siberian cave. Give me a break! the voice said.
I reached Snowy by phone at eight o’clock. Snowy met me at the stables first thing the next morning. On a sun-filled window ledge I spread out two wads of tissue and a magnifier I’d borrowed from the science room cabinet.
Snowy squinted through his awful glasses into the magnifier. “What are they?”
“What do they look like?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Tiny pieces of reddish-brown something. The top edge shiny and with
Miserably I tramped back to the stables, blindfolded and led by Snowy, on Friday afternoon.
“What are you thinking, Barney?” Snowy asked.
My brain was as cold and useless as my frozen fingers. All it told me was Dead end. Give it up. Dead end. Give it up, as flatly as my little cousin’s Speak & Spell. “The hell with it,” I snapped. “We’re never going to find anything, Snowy. We’re beating a dead horse. Who knows what the bone is or what the steps are. We’d have to be scientists to find out.”
“Don’t quit, Barney.”
“Snowy, what good is it? We’re just a couple of schoolkids. We don’t know anything.”
“Barney, please!” Snowy’s voice was like a little boy’s. A far cry from the one in which he usually gave me orders like a sergeant.
I promised myself I’d call Dad that night. I was tired of hiding out from Rudy and Company in a bone-frosting cave. I was tired of Snowy and the digging. If Dad could get me into another school after Christmas vacation, it would suit me just fine. A semester of surfing in Monterey looked very good that afternoon. No Rudy or Danny. No Silks. No freezing, frustrating caves. Dad was right. Muddy water had dripped onto my head on the way out of the cave. My hair stood up in ice spikes. I looked like a unicorn—a multicorn. California would be a very good place to go to school, I decided. Chicken! said a voice in my head.
Mellor, who went skiing every weekend with his Boston family, had dumped in the hall enough filthy laundry to clothe five boys for a month. I took off my clay-streaked shirt and dirty socks and threw them in the pile. My pants had seen five straight cave trips. They were in terrible shape due to the slide and the mud tunnel. I turned out the pockets, because the laundry won’t do your pants unless the pockets are free of spitballs, chewing gum, and dead lizards. I threw the pants in the pile and remembered the dirty frozen socks, in the pockets of my parka, from earlier in the week. I tossed them in too and strolled down the hall to wash up.
My hands were filthy, with slight bleeding around the base of every fingernail due to tunnel crawling. I ran them under the warm water. Just before I reached for the soap, I noticed little pellets or nodules of something on my nails. I took the pellets off and automatically saved them on a wad of Kleenex, telling myself to toss them out.
I began whistling “California, Here I Come.” Then I opened the Kleenex and stared at the four reddish peas. I couldn’t figure out where they’d come from since no hard bits had shown up in the sand in the past five days. Our feet were warm and sensitive in the hunter’s socks. We’d even examined the bottoms of our feet with the flashlights after every turn around the squares.
Since it was Friday afternoon, most boys were gone for the weekend. Those who hadn’t left for home had all piled into a bus and gone to a Christmas dance at a girl’s boarding school forty miles away. Off limits for boys on probation like me. There was not much for me to do. Unwillingly I wandered down to the science room, all the while mumbling to the air, “Give it up, Barney. It’s just a couple of pebbles.” The first pebbles we’ve found, said the voice in my head.
So what? I answered.
It won’t hurt to try and find out what they are, will it? wheedled the voice.
Fine. But I’m not going back in that Siberian cave. Give me a break! the voice said.
I reached Snowy by phone at eight o’clock. Snowy met me at the stables first thing the next morning. On a sun-filled window ledge I spread out two wads of tissue and a magnifier I’d borrowed from the science room cabinet.
Snowy squinted through his awful glasses into the magnifier. “What are they?”
“What do they look like?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Tiny pieces of reddish-brown something. The top edge shiny and with
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