F. Wilson - Secret Histories

“Are you trying to hoax me?”

The question took Jack by surprise. “Hoax? No way! We real y dug that up

and—”

“If that is true, then someone is hoaxing you.”

“Impossible!” Weezy said. She looked majorly upset. “Nobody knew where we’d

be digging, not even us!”

The professor raised a hand and smiled. “No-no. Not you purposely. Anyone.

Hoaxers like to find a mound—burial or otherwise—and plant phony

artifacts in them, then wait until they’re found.”

“But—”

“A tablet with Phoenician writing ‘discovered’ in Grave Creek mound in West

Virginia in eighteen hundreds— fake. Piltdown man— fake. Ica stones from Peru— fake.”

“I don’t know about that stuff,” Jack said. “But I can tel you, if someone buried

that cube and hoped someone else would find it, he must have been

ready to wait a long, long time. Because it was buried in an area of the Barrens

where hardly anyone goes.”

Professor Nakamura frowned. “But you said it was a mound. Someone must

have told you about it.”

“Uh-uh.” Jack jerked his thumb at Weezy. “She found it.”

The professor stared at her. “This is true?”

She nodded.

He picked up the pyramid again, tracing his pinkie finger along the symbols. “These symbols look pre-Sumerian, which would make them six or seven

thousand years old. But on this pyramid … notice how cleanly they have been etched into its surface? Back then, scratching quil s on wet clay tablets was state

of the art. So it is obviously a hoax.”

“It’s not a hoax,” Weezy said. “Can’t you feel it? It feels old.”

The professor offered half a smile. “Archaeology and anthropology cannot

operate on feelings, young miss.”

Weezy looked ready to explode, so Jack jumped in. “Isn’t there some

carbon-dating test you can do to see how old it is?”

His smile broadened. “Carbon-fourteen dating is not a test one does in one’s

basement. And besides, carbon-fourteen can date only organic material, like wood or bone.” He tapped the pyramid. “This is not organic.” “There must be some way,” Jack said.

The professor sat silent, as if thinking. Final y he said, “I suppose we can try

potassium argon dating. It can date nonorganic material—”

“Great! Let’s do it.”

“I must take this to the university then—”

“No!” Weezy cried. “You can’t take it away!”

He spread his hands. “Then I cannot help you.”

Jack touched her arm. “Come on, Weez. Otherwise we’l never know.” “I’l never see it again. I just know it.”

She looked at him with glistening eyes—were those tears? He hoped she wasn’t

going to cry. He’d never seen Weezy cry and didn’t want to now.

“Look—”

“I final y found one, Jack,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I final y

got my hands on one of the secrets. I can’t just let it go.”

He had a sudden idea.

“Hey, why don’t we compromise? Keep the box and let the professor take the

pyramid.”

She opened her mouth as if to say no without even thinking, but stopped. After a

moment’s thought she said, “Look, if we’ve got to give him something, let him take the box. I want the pyramid.”

“The pyramid wil work out better,” the professor said. “Its engravings might be

the easiest to date most accurately.”

Weezy chewed her lip, her gaze locked on the pyramid. Final y she said, “Okay.

But you promise I’l get it back? You promise?”

“I promise,” the professor said. “My department handles artifacts and specimens

al the time. We are experts. You have nothing to fear.”

“I hope not. But there’s something I’ve got to do before you take it.” She looked

around. “Can I have a pencil and a piece of paper?”

“Of course.”

The professor produced them immediately from the top drawer of his desk.

Weezy grabbed the pyramid and laid the paper over one of its sides. Then she began rubbing the pencil over it. The engraved symbol appeared. She did

this with al six sides.

“Don’t forget the bottom,” Jack said.

Weezy nodded and finished up with that. She put down the pyramid and held up

the paper to look over her work.

“Got it.”

Jack peered over her shoulder at the strange symbols. What could they mean?

He gathered up the flattened panels and snapped them back into a cube while the professor lifted a hard-sided briefcase from the floor. He laid it on

the desk, opened it, and placed the pyramid inside.

As he snapped it closed, Jack glanced at Weezy. She looked like some of those mothers he’d see at the bus stop every fal when they sent their child

off to school for the first time.

3

Moments later they were standing outside, blinking in the bright summer sunshine. Weezy looked downhearted.

“It’l be al right, Weez,” he said as they got back on their bikes.

She looked at him. “Wil it? What if they lose it?”

“Come on. He’s an archaeologist. He does this sort of thing al the time.”

She sighed. “I know, but …” She let the word hang.

“At least we’l know how old it is. That’s important, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “I guess so. But on the other hand, I don’t care how old they say it is, I know it’s old and I know it’s important.”

Jack felt a growing impatience. “But that’s just it, Weez—you don’t know. You feel, you wish, you believe, you hope, but that’s not knowing. To know

you’ve got to have some facts.”

She looked at him and shook her head. “You just don’t get it, Jack. I don’t think you’l ever get it.”

He was about to ask her just what she meant by that when he heard a car horn toot-toot. He looked around to see a new, light blue Mustang GLX

convertible with the top down. They were stil in the professor’s driveway and the car had pul ed to the curb a few feet away. He instantly recognized the

driver.

Carson Toliver.

Everybody knew Carson Toliver. Son of Edward Toliver, the rich, big-shot real estate developer who lived in the biggest house in town at the far end of

the cul-de-sac. Local boy hero who’d enter his senior year as captain and quarterback of the Burlington Badgers, the high school footbal team. Probably

wind up captain of the basketbal team too. He had the tanned skin, long blond hair, and good looks of a California surfer dude.

And he was looking at Weezy.

“You’re Weezy Connel , aren’t you.”

Weezy nodded but said nothing. She looked like a deer in headlights.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around. Heard you found a body in the Pines.”

She may have found a body but she hadn’t found her voice yet.

“We both did,” Jack said.

He looked at Jack for the first time. “And you are?”

“Just Jack,” Weezy said, her voice sounding thick. “He’s a friend. Just a friend. He’s going to be starting as a freshman next month.”

Carson had already lost interest in Jack and was refocused on Weezy.

“So … this body. Was finding it gross or cool?”

“A little bit of both, I guess.”

“I’l bet it was. I’d offer you a ride but I see you’ve got your bike. Maybe we can get together sometime and talk about it.”

“W-with me?” Weezy said.

“Sure. I’d love to hear al about it.” He put the car in gear and waved. “Later, Weezy.”