Secret Histories

Jack looked down and saw Eddie’s sneakers sunk ankle deep in the softer sand within.

“Jeez, man! What’d you do?”

He heard Weezy hurry up behind him and gasp. “Oh, Eddie! How couldyou?”

Eddie’s face reddened—whether with anger or embarrassment, Jack couldn’t tel .

“Hey, I didn’t—”

“You are the most unbelievable klutz! This mound’s sat here undisturbed for hundreds, maybe thousands of years, and you’re here, what, ten minutes,

and already you’ve desecrated it!”

“It was a soft spot! How could I know?”

Lightning flashed, fol owed quickly by a roar of thunder that rattled Jack’s fil ings. He looked up at a sky completely lidded with dark clouds looking

ready to burst. Jeez, this storm was coming fast.

“Time to take cover, guys,” he said.

He grabbed Weezy’s arm and started pul ing her back toward the bikes. He knew if he didn’t she’d probably stay in the open, storm or no storm,

drawing her diagram. She didn’t fight him. Eddie fol owed.

Just as they reached the bikes, the sky opened like a bursting dam. They huddled in the center of a thick copse of young pines.

“Under a tree,” Weezy said. “The worst place to be in a storm.”

Jack knew that, but didn’t see as they had much choice. Even under the trees they were getting soaked.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Weez,” Jack said, “we’re in the middle of the Pine Barrens. If you know of a place without trees, I’m al ears.”

Weezy said nothing more, just crouched on her haunches, her eyes closed and her fingers in her ears. Eddie too. They both jumped with every

thunderclap.

Jack didn’t get that. He lovedthunderstorms—their fury, their unpredictability, their deafening light shows fascinated him. Same with his father. Many a

summer night they’d sit together on the front porch and watch a storm approach, peak, and move on. Sometimes Dad would drive him over to Old Town

where they’d park within sight of the Lightning Tree. For some reason no one could figure, the long-dead tree took a hit from every storm that passed

overhead.

The thunder grew louder, the lightning flashed brighter, the rain fel harder. The world funneled down to the copse and little else. Nothing was visible

beyond their clump of trees. Water cascaded through the branches and swirled around their feet. Might as wel have been in the shower—except Jack

wished he could have cranked up the hot water handle.

He felt his Converse Al -Stars fil ing with water.

Swel .

3

After a couple of forevers, the storm tapered off. When the rain final y stopped they stepped out of the copse and shook themselves off.

Jack took off his T-shirt and wrung the water out of it. Eddie fol owed suit. Weezy didn’t have that luxury. Her Bauhaus shirt was plastered to her; she

pul ed it free of her skin as best she could. Her soaked hair looked almost black, her bangs were plastered to her forehead, and her ponytail had become

a rattail.

“Look at us,” she said. “Three drowned mice.”

“At least we didn’t get hit by lightning,” Eddie said. “Let’s get home. I need to dry off.”

“But I haven’t mapped the mound yet.”

Eddie rol ed his eyes. “You’ve gotta be kidding! You can come back any time—”

“Just give me a few minutes.”

“Come on, Eddie,” Jack said, nudging him with an elbow. “What difference is a few more minutes going to make?”

“Okay, okay. I’l stay with the bikes.”

She pul ed out her notepad and regarded it with dismay. “Soaked!”

But that didn’t stop her. She hurried ahead, hopped on the mound, and began retracing her steps. The sun