The Secret Hour
Midnighters
Scott Westerfeld
To my mother
Contents
1
Rex
2
Dess
3
The Silent Storm
4
Melissa
5
Rural Legends
6
Jonathan
7
Dark Moon
8
Search Party
9
Rumble
10
Midnighters
11
Marks of Midnight
12
Arrowheads
13
Acrobat
14
Beasts of Prey
15
Curfew
16
Grounded
17
Revelations
18
Notorious
19
Mindcaster
20
A Change of Mind
21
Pegasus
22
Dressed to Kill
23
Coordinates
24
Rustle’s Bottom
25
The Snake Pit
26
Gauntlet
27
Purposelessly HyperInflated Individuality
28
Ceremony
29
Flame-Bringer
30
Talent
31
Night Watch
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
8:11 A.M.
REX
The halls of Bixby High School were always hideously bright on the first day of school. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their white honeycombed plastic shields newly cleaned of dead insect shapes. The freshly shined floors dazzled, glinting in the hard September sunlight that streamed in through the school’s open front doors.
Rex Greene walked slowly, wondering how the students jostling past him could run into this place. His every step was a struggle, a fight against the grating radiance of Bixby High, against being trapped here for another year. For Rex summer vacation was a place to hide, and every year this day gave him the sinking feeling of having just been discovered, caught, pinned like an escaping prisoner in a searchlight.
Rex squinted in the brightness and pushed up his glasses with one finger, wishing he could wear dark shades over their thick frames. One more layer between him and Bixby High School.
The same faces were all here. Timmy Hudson, who had beaten him up just about every day in fifth grade, passed by, not giving Rex a second glance. The surging crowd was full of old tormentors and classmates and childhood friends, but no one seemed to recognize him anymore. Rex pulled his long black coat around himself and clung to the row of lockers along the wall, waiting for the crowd to clear, wondering exactly when he had become invisible. And why. Maybe it was because the daylight world meant so little to him now.
He put his head down and edged toward class.
Then he saw the new girl.
She was his age, maybe a year younger. Her hair was deep red, and she was carrying a green book bag over one shoulder. Rex had never seen her before, and in a school as small as Bixby High, that was unusual enough. But novelty wasn’t the strangest thing about her.
She was out of focus.
A faint blur clung to her face and hands, as if she were standing behind thick glass. The other faces in the crowded hall were clear in the bright sunlight, but hers wouldn’t resolve no matter how hard he stared. She seemed to exist just out of the reach of focus, like music played from a copy of a copy of an old cassette tape.
Rex blinked, trying to clear his eyes, but the blurriness stayed with the girl, tracking her as she slipped further into the crowd. He abandoned his place by the wall and pushed his way after her.
That was a mistake. Now sixteen, he was a lot bigger, his dyed-black hair more obvious than ever, and his invisibility left him as he pushed purposefully through the crowd.
A shove came from behind, and Rex’s balance twisted under him. More hands kept him reeling, four or five boys working together until he came to a crashing stop, his shoulder slamming into the row of lockers lining the wall.
“Out of the way, dork!” Rex felt a slap against the side of his face. He blinked as the world went blurry, the hall dissolving into a swirl of colors and moving blobs. The sickening sound of his glasses skittering along the floor reached his ears.
“Rex lost his spex!” came a voice. So Timmy Hudson did remember his name. Laughter trailed away down the hall.
Rex realized that his hands were out in front of him, feeling the air like a blind man’s. He might as well be blind. Without his glasses, the world was a blender full of meaningless color.
The bell rang.
Rex slumped against the lockers, waiting for the hall to clear. He’d never catch up with the new girl now. Maybe he’d imagined her.
“Here,” came a voice.
As he raised his eyes, Rex’s mouth dropped open.
Without glasses Rex’s weak eyes could see her perfectly. Behind her the hall was still a mess of blurred shapes, but her face stood out, clear and detailed. He noticed her green eyes now, flecked with gold in the sunlight.
“Your glasses,” she said, holding them out. Even this close, the thick frames were still fuzzy, but he could see the girl’s outstretched hand with crystal clarity. The Focus clung to her.
Finally willing himself to move, Rex closed his mouth and took the glasses. When he put them on, the rest of the world jumped into focus, and the girl blurred again. Just like the others always did.
“Thanks,” he managed.
“That’s okay.” She smiled, shrugged, and looked around at the almost empty hall. “I guess we’re late now. I don’t even know where I’m going.”
Her accent sounded midwestern, crisper than Rex’s Oklahoma drawl.
“No, that was the eight-fifteen bell,” he explained. “The late bell’s at eight-twenty. Where’re you headed?”
“Room T-29.” She held a schedule card tightly in one hand.
He pointed back at the doorway. “That’s in the temps. Outside on the right. Those trailers you saw on the way in.”
She looked outside with a frown. “Okay,” she said hesitantly, like she’d never had class in a trailer before. “Well, I better get going.”
He nodded. As she walked away, Rex pulled off his glasses again, and again she jumped into clarity as the rest of the world became a blur.
Rex finally allowed himself to believe it and smiled. Another one, and from somewhere beyond Bixby, Oklahoma.
Maybe this year was going to be different.
Rex saw the new girl a few more times before lunch.
She was already making friends. In a small school like Bixby, there was something exciting about a new student—people wanted to find out about her. Already the popular kids were staking a claim to her, gossiping about what they’d learned about her, trading on her friendship.
Rex knew that the rules of popularity wouldn’t allow him near her again, but he hovered nearby, listening, using his invisibility. Not really invisible, of course, but just as good. In his black shirt and jeans, with his dyed-black hair, he could disappear into shadows and corners. There weren’t that many students like Timmy Hudson at Bixby High. Most people were happy to ignore Rex and his friends.
It didn’t take Rex long to find out a few things about Jessica Day.
In the lunchroom he found Melissa and Dess in the usual place.
He sat across from Melissa, giving her space. As always, her sleeves were pulled down, almost covering her hands against any accidental touch, and she wore headphones, the hiss of metal power chords audible from them like an insistent whisper. Melissa didn’t like crowds; any sizable number of regular people drove her crazy. Even a full classroom tested her limits. Without headphones she found the bickering, striving chaos of the lunchroom unbearable.
Dess ate nothing, didn’t even push her food around, just folded her hands and peered at the ceiling through dark sunglasses.
“Here again for another year,” Dess said. “How much does this suck?”
Rex reflexively started to agree but paused. All summer he had dreaded another year of awful lunches, hiding from the blazing skylights here in the dimmest corner. But for once he was actually excited to be in the Bixby High lunchroom.
The new girl was only a few tables away, surrounded by new friends.
“Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “See that girl?”
“Mmm,” Dess answered, her face still raised to the ceiling, probably counting the tiles up there.
“She’s new. Her name is Jessica Day,” Rex said. “She’s from Chicago.”
“And I’m interested in this why?” Dess asked.
“She just moved here a few days ago. Sophomore.”
“Still bored.”
“She’s not boring.”
Dess sighed and lowered her head to peer through her sunglasses at the new girl. She snorted. “First day at Bixby and she’s already right in the middle of the daylight crowd. Nothing interesting about that. She’s exactly the same as the other hundred and eighty-seven people in here.”
Rex shook his head, starting to disagree, but stopped. If he was going to say it out loud, he had to be right. As he had a dozen times that day, he lifted his thick glasses an inch, looking at Jessica Day with just his eyes. The cafeteria dissolved into a bright, churning blur, but even from this distance she stood out sharp and clear.
It was after noon, and her Focus hadn’t faded. It was permanent. There was only one explanation.
He took a deep breath. “She’s one of us.”
Dess looked at him, finally allowing an expression of interest to cross her face. Melissa felt the change between her friends and looked up blankly. Listening, but not with her ears.
“Her? One of us?” Dess said. “No way. She could run for mayor of Normal, Oklahoma.”
“Listen to me, Dess,” Rex insisted. “She’s got the Focus.”
Dess squinted, as if trying to see what only Rex could. “Maybe she got touched last night or something like that.”
“No. It’s too strong. She’s one of us.”
Dess looked back up at the ceiling, her expression sliding again into totally bored with the ease of long practice. But Rex knew he’d gotten her attention.
“All right,” she relented. “If she’s a sophomore, maybe she’s in one of my classes. I’ll check her out.”
Melissa nodded too, bobbing her head to the whispered music.
2
2:38 P.M.
DESS
When Jessica finally collapsed behind a desk for her last class of the day, she was completely exhausted. She crammed the wrinkled schedule into her pocket, hardly caring if she was in the right room anymore, and gratefully dropped her book bag onto the floor. All day it had been gaining weight like a new employee at Baskin-Robbins.
No first day of school was ever easy. But at least back in Chicago, Jessica had had the same old faces and familiar halls of Public School 141 to look forward to. Here in Bixby everything was a challenge. This school might be smaller than PS 141, but it was all spread out on ground level, a maze of add-ons and trailers. Every five-minute change of classes had been traumatic.
Jessica hated being late. She always wore a watch, which she set at least ten minutes fast. Today, when she already stood out as the new girl, she’d dreaded having to creep into a class late, everyone’s eyes on her, looking sheepish and too dumb to find her way around. But she’d made it again. The bell hadn’t rung yet. Jessica had managed to be on time the whole day.
The class filled slowly, everyone looking end-of-the-first-day frazzled. But even in their weariness a few noticed Jessica. They all knew about the new girl from the big city, it seemed. At her old school Jess had been just one student out of two thousand. But here she was practically a celebrity. Everyone was friendly about it, at least. The whole day she’d been shepherded around, smiled at, asked to stand up and introduce herself. She had the speech down pat now.
“I’m Jessica Day, and I just moved here from Chicago. We came because my mom got a job at Aerospace Oklahoma, where she designs planes. Not the whole plane, just the shape of the wing. But that’s the part that makes it a plane, Mom always says. Everyone in Oklahoma seems very nice, and it’s a lot warmer than Chicago. My thirteen-year-old sister cried for about two weeks before we moved, and my dad’s going nuts because he hasn’t found a job in Bixby yet, and the water tastes funny here. Thank you.”
Of course, she’d never said that last part out loud. Maybe for this class she would, just to wake herself up.
The late bell rang.
The teacher introduced himself as Mr. Sanchez and called the roll. He paused a little when he got to Jessica’s name, glancing at her for a second. But he must have seen her weary expression. He didn’t ask for the speech.
Then it was time to pass out books. Jessica sighed. The textbooks Mr. Sanchez was piling onto his desk looked dauntingly thick. Beginning trigonometry. More weight for the book bag. Mom had talked the guidance counselor into starting Jessica in all advanced classes here, dropping back to a normal level later if she needed to. The suggestion had been flattering, but after seeing the giant physics textbook, the stack of paperback classics for English, and now this doorstop, Jessica realized she’d been suckered. Mom had always been trying to get her into advanced classes back in Chicago, and now here Jessica was, trapped in trig.
As the books were being passed back, a tardy student entered the room. She looked younger than the others in the class. She was dressed all in black, wearing dark glasses and a lot of shiny metal necklaces. Mr. Sanchez looked up at her and smiled, genuinely pleased.
“Glad to see you, Desdemona.”
“Hey, Sanchez.” The girl sounded as tired as Jess felt, but with much more practice. She regarded the classroom with bored disgust. Mr. Sanchez was practically beaming at her, as if she were some famous mathematician he’d invited here to talk about how trigonometry could change your life.
He went back to passing out books, and the girl scanned the classroom for a place to sit. Then something strange happened. She pulled off the dark glasses, squinted at Jessica, and made her way purposefully to the empty desk next to her.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hi, I’m Jessica.”
“Yeah,” the girl said, as if that were terribly obvious. Jessica wondered if she’d already met her in some other class. “I’m Dess.”
“Hi.” Okay, that was hi twice. But what was she supposed to say?
Dess was looking at her closely, trying to figure something out. She squinted, as if the room were too bright for her. Her pale fingers played with the translucent, yellowish beads on one of the necklaces, sliding them one way and then the other. They clicked softly as she arranged them into unreadable patterns.
A book arrived on Jessica’s desk, breaking the spell that Dess’s fingers had cast.
“When you get your book,” Mr. Sanchez announced, “carefully fill out the form attached to the inside cover. That’s carefully, people. Any damage you don’t record is your responsibility.”
Jessica had been through this drill all day. Apparently textbooks were an endangered species here in Bixby, Oklahoma. The teachers made everyone go through them page by page, noting every mark or tear. Supposedly there would be a terrible reckoning at the end of the year for anyone criminal enough to damage their books. Je
ssica had helped her dad do the same thing for their rental house, recording every nail hole in the walls, checking every electrical socket, and going into detail about how the automatic garage door didn’t go up the last foot and a half. Moving had been annoying in all kinds of unexpected ways.
She began going through the textbook, dutifully checking every page. Jess sighed. She’d gotten a bad one. Underlined words, page 7. Scribbles on graph, page 19…
“So, how do you like Bixby so far, Jess?”
Jessica looked up. Dess was leafing through her book distractedly, apparently finding nothing. Half her attention was still on Jess.
The speech was all ready. Everyone in Oklahoma seems very nice, and it’s much warmer than Chicago. But somehow she knew that Dess didn’t want the speech.
Jess shrugged. “The water tastes funny here.”
Dess almost managed to smile. “No kidding.”
“Yeah, to me anyway. I guess I’ll get used to it.”
“Nope. I was born here, and it still tastes funny.”
“Great.”
“And that’s not all that’s funny.”
Jess looked up, expecting more, but Dess was hard at work now. She’d skipped to the answers at the back of the trig book. Her pen leapt from one to another in no apparent order while her other hand fiddled madly with the amber beads. Occasionally she would make a change. She noted each one on the form.
“Several moronic answers corrected by nonmoron, page 326,” she muttered. “Who checks these things? I mean, if you’re going to be all new-mathy and put the answers in the back, they might as well be the right ones.”
Jessica swallowed. Dess was checking the answers for chapter eleven, and they hadn’t even started the book yet. “Uh, yeah, I guess. We found a mistake in my algebra textbook last year.”
“A mistake?” Dess looked up at her with a frown.
“A couple, I guess.”
Dess looked down at the book and shook her head. Somehow Jessica felt like she’d said something wrong. She wondered if this wasn’t Dess’s way of hassling the new girl. Or some weird way of showing off for her benefit.
Jessica went back to her own book. Whoever had owned it last year had dropped the class or had just lost interest. The pages were pristine now. Maybe the whole class had only gotten halfway through the book. Jessica hoped so—just leafing through the final pages of dense formulas and graphs was starting to scare her.
Scott Westerfeld Page 1
