Scott Westerfeld

by The Secret Hour

  Last night there hadn’t been any lightning, not that she could see. Just one frozen flicker behind the motionless clouds. So Melissa had cleared her high perch of water splashes and sat down.

  She had calmed her mind—so simple to do at midnight—and reached out across Bixby. The others were easy enough to feel. Melissa knew their signatures, the way they each met the secret hour, with relief, excitement, or calm. All of them were in their usual places, and the other things that lived in the blue time were in hiding, cowed by the energies of the storm.

  A perfect night for casting.

  Last night it hadn’t taken long. The new girl lived close to her or was very strong. Melissa could feel her clearly, her new shape bright against the empty night. Melissa tasted a flicker of surprise at first, then long moments of wariness, then a slowly building torrent of joy that had lasted deep into the hour. Finally the girl had gone back to sleep, unworried by disbelief.

  Some people had it so easy.

  Melissa didn’t know exactly what to think of the new girl. Below her shifting emotions was an unexpected flavor, a sharp metal taste, like a coin pressed against the tip of Melissa’s tongue. The scent of unbridled energy was everywhere, but maybe that had just been the storm. And of course someone new was always full of unfamiliar flavors, unexpected faculties. Each of Melissa’s friends felt different to her, after all.

  But Jessica Day felt…more than different.

  Melissa remembered to pull her headphones from her bag. She would need them to get through the halls to homeroom. As they crossed the street, Rex put a hand on her forearm, careful not to touch bare skin, steadying her as he always did this close to the distractions of school.

  He pulled her to a stop as a car shot past.

  “Careful.”

  “She’s freaky, Rex.”

  “The new girl?”

  “Yeah. Weird, even for one of us. Or maybe she’s worse.”

  “Worse how?”

  “Normal.”

  Melissa switched on her disc player as they continued, edging the volume up to push away the massive, approaching roar of school, pulling her sleeves down to cover her hands.

  Rex turned to her as they reached the front door. He squeezed her shoulder and waited until she was looking at him. Rex alone knew that Melissa could read lips.

  “Can you find her?”

  She answered with deliberate softness—she hated people who yelled over the music in their headphones. “No problem.”

  “Soon,” his lips formed. Was that a question or a command? she wondered. Something about his expression, and the worry in his mind, disturbed her.

  “What’s the big rush?”

  “I think there’s danger. More than usual. There are signs.”

  Melissa frowned, then shrugged.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll track her down.”

  She turned away from Rex, missing his reply, unable to concentrate as the school—with its noisy squall of anxiety, boredom, desire, misdirected energy, worry, competition, cheerleader pep, stifled anger, a little joy, and too much outright fear—swallowed her.

  5

  11:34 A.M.

  RURAL LEGENDS

  “Okay, ten weird things about Bixby…”

  Constanza Grayfoot folded back her notebook to a blank page and placed it primly on her knees. The other girls at the library table waited in silence as she wrote the numbers one to ten in a column down the left side.

  “I’ve got one,” Jen said. “Back two winters ago, when they found Sheriff Michaels’s car out in the badlands.” She turned to Jessica with eyebrows raised. “But no Sheriff Michaels.”

  “Number one: Disappearance of Sheriff Michaels,” Constanza pronounced carefully as she wrote.

  “I heard he was killed by drug dealers,” Liz said. “They’ve got a secret airstrip in the badlands for when they fly stuff in from Mexico. He must have found out where it was.”

  “Or they were paying him off and they double-crossed him,” Constanza said.

  “No way,” Jen said. “They found his uniform, badge, and gun, I heard.”

  “So what?”

  “And also his teeth and hair. And his fingernails. Whatever’s in the badlands is a lot worse than drug dealers.”

  “That’s what the drug dealers want you to think.”

  “Oh, like you know.”

  Liz and Jen looked at Jessica, as if she was supposed to resolve the issue.

  “Well,” Jessica offered, “the badlands sound…bad.”

  “Totally.”

  “Girls,” a voice called from the front desk of the library. “This is supposed to be a study period, not a chatting period.”

  “I’m just working on my article for the paper, Ms. Thomas,” Constanza explained. “I’m editor this year.”

  “Does everyone in the library have to work on it with you?”

  “Yes, they do. I’m writing about the ten things that make Bixby…special. Mr. Honorio said I need a wide variety of input. That’s how I’m supposed to write it, so I’m working, not chatting.”

  Ms. Thomas raised one eyebrow. “Maybe the others have work of their own to do?”

  “It’s the first week of school, Ms. Thomas,” Jen pointed out. “Nobody has any serious studying to do yet.”

  The librarian scanned her eyes across the five of them, then turned back to her computer screen. “Okay. Just don’t get into any bad habits,” she relented. “And try to keep it to a dull roar.”

  Jessica’s eyes fell to her trig book. She actually did have some serious studying to do. Mr. Sanchez’s class had moved through the first chapter with lightning speed, as if they’d started the book last year. Jessica was pretty sure she understood what Mr. Sanchez had covered in chapter two, but a few concepts kept popping up that were just incomprehensible. Mr. Sanchez seemed convinced that Jessica had been in advanced classes back in Chicago and that she only stayed quiet because she was way ahead of the rest of them. Not exactly.

  Jessica knew she should be studying, but she felt too restless, too full of energy. Her dream the night before had done something to her. She wasn’t sure what. She wasn’t even positive it had been a dream. Had she actually gone sleepwalking? Jessica’s sweatshirt had gotten wet somehow. But could you really walk around in driving rain without waking up? Maybe was she just going mildly nuts.

  But whatever had happened last night, it felt wonderful. Her sister, Beth, had thrown her usual breakfast tantrum this morning, screaming that she could never start over in Bixby after spending the first thirteen years of her life in Chicago. Dad, with no work to go to, hadn’t gotten up at all. And Mom had been in a huge rush to get to her new job, leaving Jessica the thankless task of getting her little sister out the door. But somehow this morning’s dramas hadn’t bothered her. The world seemed to be in focus today. Jess finally knew the way to all her classes, and her locker combination had spun from her fingers without a thought. Everything felt suddenly familiar, as if she had lived here in Bixby for years.

  In any case, Jessica was way too restless to be reading a math book.

  And listening to her new friends talk about the weird history of Bixby was much more interesting than trigonometry. Constanza Grayfoot was beautiful, with dark, straight hair and olive skin and just a trace of an accent. She and her friends were all juniors, a year older than her, but Jessica didn’t feel younger around them. It was like being the new girl from the big city had mysteriously added a year to her age.

  “I’ve got another one,” Maria said. “How come there’s a curfew here?”

  “Number two: Annoying curfew,” spelled out Constanza.

  “Curfew?” Jessica asked.

  “Yeah.” Jen rolled her eyes. “Up in Tulsa, or even over in Broken Arrow County, you can stay out as late as you want. But in Bixby, if it’s after eleven, you’re busted. Until you’re over eighteen. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

  “That’s not weird, that’s just lame,” said Liz.


  “Everything about Bixby is weird.”

  “Everything about Bixby is lame.”

  “Don’t you think Bixby’s weird, Jessica?” Jen asked.

  “Well, not really. I like it here.”

  “You’re kidding,” Liz said. “After living in Chicago?”

  “Yeah, it’s nice here.” Jessica felt strange saying the words, but they were true. She’d been happy this morning, at least. But the other four girls were looking at her like they didn’t believe her. “I guess there is some weird stuff about Bixby. Like the water. It tastes funny. But you guys know that already.”

  The others stared at her with blank expressions.

  “But you know, I guess once I get used to it—” Jessica started.

  “What about the snake pit?” interrupted Maria.

  A momentary hush fell across the table. Jessica saw Ms. Thomas glance up, her interest piqued for a moment by the sudden silence, then turn back to her screen.

  Constanza nodded. “Number three: Snake pit.” Her voice was just above a whisper.

  “Okay,” Jessica said. “I’m going to guess that this snake pit is more on the weird side than the lame?”

  “Yeah,” Liz said. “If you believe in all that stuff.”

  “What stuff?” Jessica asked.

  “Stupid legends,” Liz said. “Like, supposedly a panther lives there.”

  “It escaped from a circus that came through a long time ago,” Jen said. “There are articles about it in the library, from the Bixby Register in the 1930s or something.”

  “Articles you’ve actually read?” Liz asked.

  Jen rolled her eyes. “Maybe I haven’t, but everyone—”

  “And this panther’s, like, eighty years old?” Liz interrupted.

  “Well, maybe not the 1930s…”

  “Anyway, Jessica,” Liz said. “The snake pit’s just this lame place where you find old arrowheads. From the Indians. Big deal.”

  “We’re called Native Americans,” Constanza corrected.

  “But this is from the really old days,” Maria said, “before the Anglos moved all the other tribes here from the east. It was a village where the original natives of Oklahoma used to live—Stone Age cave people, not the Native Americans who live here now.”

  “You’re right, that’s not lame,” Jessica said. “But it’s hard to imagine a Stone Age Bixby.”

  “It’s not only arrowheads,” Jen explained seriously. “There’s this big stone that sticks up out of the ground, right in the middle of the snake pit. People go there at midnight. And if you build this certain symbol out of rocks, it’ll change right in front of your eyes exactly at the stroke of twelve.”

  “Change into what?”

  “Well…the rocks don’t change into anything,” Jen said. “They’re still rocks. But they move around.”

  “Lame,” Liz declared.

  “My older brother did it a year ago,” Maria said. “It scared him to death. He won’t even talk about it now.”

  Jen leaned forward, still talking in a quiet, ghost-story voice. “And even though archaeologists have been working there for a long time, you can still find arrowheads if you look. They’re, like, a thousand years old.”

  “Ten thousand, you mean.”

  Jessica and the others turned to look across the library. It was Dess, the girl from Jessica’s math class, sitting alone in a corner.

  “Okay…,” Liz said slowly, her eyes rolling a little for the other girls at the table. Then she whispered, “Speaking of lame.”

  Jessica glanced back at Dess, who didn’t seem to have heard. She had dropped her head back into her book, reading through dark glasses, as if no longer interested in their conversation. Jessica hadn’t even noticed Dess, but she must have been there the whole period, camped in her corner of the library, books and paper splayed around her.

  “Number four…,” Constanza began, her green pen poised above the paper. Jen giggled, and Maria made a silent hushing gesture.

  Jessica looked down at her books, especially the heavy trig tome. Her energy was beginning its usual prelunch fade. She liked Constanza and her crew, but the way they’d teased Dess left a bad taste in her mouth. She remembered how things had been for her in Chicago, before she’d moved here and become Miss Popular.

  Jessica looked over at Dess again. One of the books on the table was Beginning Trigonometry. If Dess was half as smart as she pretended to be, it might be worth asking her for help.

  “I really should get some work done,” Jessica said. “My mom went insane and put me in all these advanced classes. Trig is killing me already.”

  “Okay,” Constanza said. “But if you think of anything else weird about Bixby, make sure you tell me. I want to get the new girl’s perspective.”

  “I’ll keep you posted.”

  Jessica gathered her books and moved over to the corner. She sat down in the other big chair across the low table from Dess. The girl’s feet were propped on the table, shiny metal rings decorating her ankles over black stockings.

  Jess thought she heard a whisper from back at the table but ignored it.

  “Dess?”

  The girl looked up at her without expression. Not impatient or annoyed, just strangely neutral behind the glasses.

  Jessica’s fingers started to tug her trig book from the stack.

  “Do you think that…” Her question faltered. Dess’s stare was so cool and unblinking. “I just wanted to ask you,” Jess started again, “uh…do you always wear sunglasses when you read?”

  “Not always. They make me take them off in class.”

  “Oh. But why—?”

  “I’m photophobic. Sunlight hurts my eyes. A lot.”

  “Ow. They should let you wear dark glasses in class, then.”

  “They don’t. There’s no rule. But they don’t.”

  “Maybe if you got a note from your doctor.”

  “What about you?” Dess asked.

  “What about me, what?”

  “Don’t your eyes hurt from the light?”

  “No,” Jessica said.

  “That’s weird.”

  Jessica blinked. She was starting to wish she had stayed at the other table. Dess had been interesting to talk to in trig class but not interesting in a fun way. The girls back at Constanza’s table must be wondering what she was doing over here, talking to this girl. Jessica certainly was.

  But she had to ask: “How is that weird?”

  Dess pulled her glasses down half an inch and peered into Jessica’s eyes, an intent expression on her face. “It’s just that some people, certain people, who move to Bixby find that the sunlight here is hideously bright. They suddenly need to get sunglasses and wear them all the time. But not you?”

  “Not me. Does that really happen to a lot of people?”

  “A select few.” Dess pushed her glasses back up. “It’s one of the ten weird things about Bixby.”

  Jess leaned back in the chair and muttered, “Ten thousand, you mean.”

  Dess smiled back at her, nodding agreement. Seeing the pleased expression made Jessica feel better. In a way she felt sorry for Dess. The other girls had been rude, and Dess wasn’t that bad.

  “So, Jessica, do you want to know a really weird thing about Bixby?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Check this out.” Dess pulled a library book at random from the shelf behind her and handed it to Jessica.

  “Hmm. Vanity Fair, except it’s not a magazine, it’s a five-hundred-page book. Scary.”

  “No, on the spine. The Bixby seal.”

  Jessica looked at the small white sticker that marked the book Property of Bixby High School Library. Under the bar code was a logo: a radiant sun.

  “What, that little sun?”

  “It’s not a sun, it’s a star.”

  “The sun is a star, I heard somewhere.”

  “In space, same thing. In symbology, they’re different. See the little points coming out of it? Count
them.”

  Jessica sighed and squinted at the sticker. “Thirteen?”

  “That’s right, Jess. It’s a thirteen-pointed star. Look familiar?”

  Jessica pursed her lips. It did look familiar. “Yeah, actually there’s a plaque like it on our house. An antique. The real estate agent said that in the old days it showed you had insurance. The fire department wouldn’t put out a fire at your house unless you had one.”

  “That’s what everyone always says. But there’s a plaque like it on every house in Bixby.”

  “So people didn’t want their houses to burn down. What’s weird about that?”

  Dess smiled again, narrowing her eyes. “And there’s a big star on the entrance to city hall. And one on the mast-head of the Bixby Register and painted on the floor just inside every entrance to this school. All of those stars have thirteen points too.” She leaned forward, speaking quickly and quietly. “The city council has thirteen members, almost every flight of stairs in town has thirteen steps, and Bixby, Oklahoma has thirteen letters.”

  Jessica shook her head. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that Bixby is the only city I’ve heard of where thirteen is considered a lucky number. And not just lucky, but necessary.”

  Jessica took a deep breath. She looked up at the bookshelves behind Dess’s head. Now that Dess had pointed them out, she could see the little white stickers clearly, row upon row looming over the two of them. Hundreds of thirteen-pointed stars.

  She shrugged. “I guess that is pretty weird, Dess.”

  “Are you having funny dreams yet?” the girl asked.

  A chill traveled slowly up Jessica’s spine. “What?”

  “Remember in trig? I told you the water here would give you funny dreams. Have they started yet?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Jessica’s mind started to race. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell Dess about her dream. It had felt so perfect, so welcoming. And she was certain that Dess would say something to ruin the feeling that the dream had left her with. But the girl was staring at her so intently, her eyes demanding an answer.

  “Maybe,” Jess said slowly. “I kind of had one weird dream. But maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. I’m not sure.”