7 THE DOOR IN THE CEILING

THE DOOR IN THE CEILING

There was no reason, Bean told herself, why Nancy should have a good day while she had a bad one. She had been waiting her whole entire life to see the attic. "And besides," she whispered to Ivy as they tiptoed down the hall, "if there's nothing up there, how can it be dangerous?" "Exactly," whispered Ivy. "Where are the stairs?" "There aren't any stairs," said Bean. She opened the hall closet. "We go this way." She closed the door behind them and pointed at the ceiling. "See?" Ivy looked up, up the shelves of sheets and towels to a square wooden door set in the closet ceiling. "My mom says it's not an attic," Bean said. "She calls it a crawl space." "Crawl space," said Ivy. "Sounds like something's crawling around up there. Like a monster with slimy arms that drip down to the floor."

Bean didn't like the sound of that. "My mom says there's nothing up there." "Well of course she'd say that," Ivy said. "Parents never want you to know anything."

"It's my house," Bean said. "I should know what's in it." She looked up to the door in the ceiling. "Maybe there's another kid up there." "Or some old dolls," said Ivy.

Bean wiggled with excitement. "There could be anything! Let's get going!" She put her foot on the first shelf. It wasn't as sturdy as she expected. It bent in the middle. She gripped the shelf above—the one that held a lot of washcloths—and pulled herself up. It was harder to hang on to a shelf than a tree branch. Shelves were too smooth. She climbed one shelf higher. Hello, wrapping paper. She tried not to step on the fancy white tablecloth, but she did, just a little. Another shelf. Ugly green towels she had never seen before. Bean looked up. The wooden square was getting closer. She looked down. The floor was far away. Ivy waved. "You're doing great." "Aren't you coming?" asked Bean. "Oh. Sure." Ivy stepped onto the bottom shelf. "Gosh. It bends." She took a deep breath, caught hold of the washcloth shelf, and pulled herself up. "You guys have a lot of towels." "Uh," Bean grunted. She was concentrating. She climbed past a bowl of fake fruit and bonked her head on the ceiling. "Ow." Holding on to the shelf

as tight as she could, she looked up. The door to the attic wasn't really a door. It was a square of wood in a frame. It didn't have a handle or hinges or anything. Bean leaned out, trying not to look down, and pushed against the wood square with her hand. Nothing happened. "What's going on up there?" said Ivy. "Can't get it open," Bean puffed. "Scooch over." Now Ivy was leaning out, too. "We'll push at the same time. One."