Ann Martin - Mary Anne And The Secret In The Attic

" 'Bye, Mary Anne," said Charlotte. "Thanks for helping me." She hitched up her pajama bottoms, yawned, and waved to me as I headed out the door.

As I rode my bicycle home, I thought some more about the photographs and letters we'd been looking through. Charlotte had her

whole family history practically at her fingertips. All I had was my awn history — the ticket stub from the "Remember September" dance I'd gone to with Logan, a sand dollar from a trip to the shore, my Mickey Mouse ears from the time I went to Disneyland, and a few pictures from a vacation the entire BSC had taken in New York City. As much as I loved those souvenirs, I needed more.

I thought again about asking my dad about the past. I knew he could give me answers to some of my questions. But then I thought of how he'd looked that morning at breakfast, talking and laughing with Sharon. He was so happy since he'd married her and had put the past behind him. How could I do anything that might jeopardize that happiness?

By the time I reached my house, I was really feeling down. I slammed the front door and walked through the living room. I went into the kitchen and started opening cabinets, as if I was looking for something to eat. But the cans and jars on the shelves were just a blur. I wasn't even very hungry. There were two notes on the table, one from Sharon and my dad saying they'd gone out to a late dinner, and one from Dawn saying she'd gone to the movies. It was fine with me that nobody was home. I felt like being alone. I took some crackers and a glass of ginger

ale into the living room and flopped down on the couch. I picked up a book Dawn had been reading and flipped through it. Ghosts I Have Known, it was called. Dawn loves anything to do with ghosts, but I can take them or leave them. I put the book down, picked up the remote for the TV, and pressed the on button. I ran through all the channels, but I didn't see anything worth watching for more than ten seconds. I turned the TV off, and watched the screen fade to black.

Tigger had jumped up onto the couch, and he was sniffing at my crackers. They didn't seem to interest him, which didn't surprise me. They didn't even interest me, since they were the healthy kind that Sharon buys. No salt, no sugar, no white flour ... no taste. "Oh, Tigger," I said, picking him up and burying my nose in his fur, "how can I find out more about who I am?"

Tigger purred and dug his claws into my shoulder, but he didn't answer, of course. Maybe I needed to talk to someone who could talk back. I decided to call Kristy. I picked up the phone that sits on the end table and dialed her number. She answered on the second ring. "Hello?" she said. I could hear shrieking in the background, and a dog was barking loudly.

"Hi, it's me," I said. "What's going on over there?"

"Hi, me," she said. "I'm sitting for David Michael and Emily Michelle, and they've just discovered a way to make Shannon bark. David Michael blows in her ear, and it works every time."

Shannon is a puppy. She's a Bernese mountain dog, which means she's a big puppy who's going to be a big, big dog. She's the sweetest, most gentle puppy I've ever seen, which is a good thing. She gets quite a workout from those kids.

"How are you?" she asked. "Are you home from your job already?"

"I've been home for a while," I said. "And I'm fine. Except — Kristy, does your family save stuff, like old pictures and letters?"

"Sure!" she said. "Why?"

"Oh, it’s just that — " I heard a sudden explosion of barking.

"Shannon!" said Kristy. "Hush. I'm trying to talk on the phone. David Michael, don't blow on her for a while, okay?" The barking stopped. "What were you saying?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," I said. "I was just wondering . . . where does your family keep all that stuff? Is it stored away, or can you look at it any time?"

"If s in the attic, I think," she said. "Or no, maybe it’s — " the barking started up again. "David Michael Thomas!" said Kristy. "I thought I told you to stop that!"

"Sorry." I heard David Michael's little voice.

"Okay," said Kristy. "Why don't you and Emily Michelle go and color in the den? I'll be there in a minute." I heard her sigh. "Sony, Mary Anne. it’s just one of those nights, I guess. Now, what were we talking about?"

"Ifs not important," I said. I could see that Kristy was too busy to be bothered. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure," she said, too distracted to notice that I was upset. "Don't forget we're supposed to go to the mall in the afternoon, okay? I'll call you in the morning."

"Okay," I said. "See you." I hung up and sank down on the couch. Now what? I wondered if I should just get a head start on my homework for next week, but I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate. I couldn't stop wondering about family pictures and letters and stuff. Didn't we have any? I had foggy memories of looking at old pictures when I was younger, but I was sure I hadn't seen any recently. It was hard to believe that Dad would have destroyed them or something.

Then I thought of what Kristy had said about where her family kept that kind of stuff.

"In the attic," she said. Maybe, just maybe, if we had some of those things, they'd be in our attic. I thought back to when Dad and I had moved in with Sharon and Dawn. We'd worked all day, carrying boxes out of our old house and into the truck, then out of the truck and into Dawn's house. I'd been in charge of the kitchen stuff and the things from my room, and Dad had taken care of a lot of the other things.

Suddenly, I remembered something. I remembered Sharon looking at a pile of boxes that were stacked on the living room floor. "Where do these go, Richard?" she'd asked my dad. He'd barely looked at them.

TH take care of those," he said. He didn't even open them to see what was inside. Instead, he took them upstairs to the attic.

At the time, I hadn't stopped to wonder about what might be in those boxes. But now, all of a sudden, I was dying to know. Maybe we did have some family pictures! Maybe I could learn something about myself if I found them.

I grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and charged up the stairs. When I reached the door that leads to the attic, I stopped short. I realized that I'd never been in the attic before. And the thing is, this house can be kind of spooky. It has narrow hallways

and low ceilings (people were shorter two hundred years ago when this house was built), and creaky floors. Not to mention the secret passage. When I first moved into Dawn's house, I would get scared every time I heard, a squeak or a creak. Then my dad explained that a house this old is always making little noises, and soon I got used to them. But it was one thing to become familiar with the main part of the house, and another thing entirely to think about exploring the attic for the first time. All alone.

I only paused for a second, though. I was too excited about what might be in those boxes. I pushed the door open and was greeted by a musty, stale smell. And darkness. But I could make out a steep, narrow flight of stairs. I shone my flashlight all over, looking for a light switch. Guess where it was? At the top of the stairs! I started to climb, shining the flashlight on each stair before I stepped on it. The flashlight's beam was weak, but was I glad to have it. Finally I got to the top and turned on the light.

"Oh, no!" I said out loud. I was surrounded by boxes. Big boxes, little boxes, battered boxes, and boxes that were coming apart at the seams. How was I ever going to find the boxes I was looking for? I pulled one of them off a pile. "Linens" it said on top, in Sharon's

handwriting. I knew better than to believe that. Sharon's so disorganized. I peeked into the box, and sure enough, instead of sheets and towels, I found Dawn's old stuffed animals inside.