The Secret Hour

“Dess?”

The girl looked up at her without expression. Not impatient or a

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 masthead 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 fu

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

“Remember in trig? I told you the water here would give you fu

“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.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Dess looked up at the library clock and smiled. “In 43,207 seconds, to be exact.”

Seven seconds later the bell rang for lunch.

6

12:01 P.M.

JONATHAN

Jessica headed to lunch, a fist of nerves clenched in her stomach.

Dess had given her the creeps again, just like that first day in trig. Jessica could see why Dess didn’t have many friends. Every time Jess felt like they were starting to co

Jessica sighed as she made her way toward the cafeteria. Now that she thought about it, Dess wasn’t really all that mysterious. Just sad. She was pushing Jessica away on purpose. The befuddling twists and turns of her conversations were probably meant to shut people out. Messing with people’s heads was easier than getting to know and trust them. Maybe she was afraid.

But Dess never seemed afraid, only calm and confident. However off the wall her lines were, she always delivered them in such a knowing way. Dess talked as if she lived in an alien world with completely different rules, all of which made perfect sense to her.

Which was another way of saying she was crazy.

On the other hand, something inside Jess felt as if Dess was actually trying to communicate with her. Was trying to help her understand her new town or maybe even warn her about something. Dess had been totally right about the weird dream. Of course, that didn’t necessarily make Dess a mind reader and didn’t mean the Bixby water supply had caused it. A lot of people had fu

It had worked.

As Jess reached the lunchroom, the slightly rancid smell of frying swept out of the open double doors, along with the roar of hundreds of voices. Jessica’s step slowed as she crossed the threshold. As the new girl, she still experienced a few seconds of minor panic while figuring out where to sit, not wanting to offend new friends or get stuck with people she wasn’t sure about.

For a moment Jessica almost wished that Dad hadn’t decided to start packing lunches for her. Waiting in line for official Bixby High School slop would have given her more time to scope out where to sit. Maybe that was why high school lunches had been invented. It certainly hadn’t been for their nutritional value. Or their flavor.

As her eyes sca