Scott Westerfeld: The Secret Hour

“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.