Mystic Lake sat in a meadow in the small rural town of Potts, Oregon, in Washington County. The lake lay at the edge of a meadow separating Ladybug Glen from the neighboring cattle ranch. Several distinct facets set the lake apart from its contemporaries. One major difference had to do with the large jade-like rock formation nestled against its sandy shore. This massive flat rock jutted out over the water at a slight angle, as if it had thrust itself out of the water like a swimmer gasping for air. It protruded over the glassy lake like a jeweled diving board, broad enough to twenty adults to stand shoulder to shoulder on its surface.

Another difference had to do with the lake's sand. It, too, was as green as jade and as soft as silk. Oddly, the sand, much like its matching outcropping, never seemed warmed by the sun. A visitor to the lake needn't worry about scalding their feet as they made their way to the water's edge for a quick dip, that is if anyone gathered up enough nerve to enter the lake.In addition to the strange geographical features, the lake gave off an eerie aura. The echoes that bounced off the lake's surface carried an alien quality, which unsettled the nerves making people feel like someone had just walked over their graves. Even electronic devices weren't immune to the lake's strange vibe.

When nearby, cell phones, GPS, and even digital watches would cease their programmed tasks. Cell phones would dial distant towns and countries, eavesdrop on stranger's conversations, or refuse to turn on. GPS units placed their users hundreds of miles from their actual positions and, on occasion, invert maps so north was south, and east was west. The numerical faces of digital watches danced in an endless parade of ones and zeros.

But trumping all Mystic Lake's odd qualities was the fact that it had suddenly appeared in the idyllic meadow one evening ten years before this story begins. Ladybug Glen's previous owner, Gerald Tomland, had been out searching for his missing hound dog, Soldier, when he stumbled upon the lake.

Soldier relished rolling in things not newly dead and fragrant with decay. However, on this warm summer evening, Tomland didn't find Soldier rolling in putrefied gopher. He found a lake—a lake with a large green rock glinting in the moonlight. Steam rolled off the water like a pot boiling on the stove. Blue sparks spider-webbed and danced over the shining sand.

The hair on the nape of Tomland's neck rose in terror, and he hightailed back to his farmhouse to call the sheriff.

What followed was a media storm that put Potts, Oregon, on the map for conspiracy theorists, geologists, theoretical physicists, religious fanatics, tabloids, and legitimate news outlets. However, try as they may, no concrete reason for the lake's appearance was ever settled upon. After several months of intense study by numerous scientists of its water, rock formation, and sand, all of which were completely normal, cartographers added the lake to maps of the area. They officially named it Mystic Lake for apparent reasons.

The scientific community continued to study the lake for years. Studies declined after coming up with no new information about its origins, leaving Mystic Lake in relative peace. There was the occasional grad student, who would make a pit stop after hearing about the legendary lake to say they'd been there. From time to time, the casual observer or reporter would check in with locals to see if any new developments had arisen. Much to their dismay, nothing fresh ever happened where Mystic Lake was concerned; it was just a lake after all.

And what of Soldier? Tomland's beloved hound dog was never seen again. However, legend told that Soldier's howled for his owner near the lake on the full moon.

Yet, despite the lake's otherworldly qualities, fifteen-year-old Millie Downing and Astrid Sparrow felt entirely at home there. They loved perching on the tall rock overlooking the lake and enjoyed the cooling effect the water had on the warm summer air around it.The girls had met seven years before when Millie's parents left lucrative careers in finance to take over Gerald Tomland's ranch. Millie hadn't been keen on the idea of leaving her friends in San Francisco for nowhere Oregon, but eight-year-olds have little say in the dealings of adults. So Millie found herself the unlikely adoptive mother of a rejected newborn lamb that fateful summer morning.

As she bottle-fed the lamb, a figure on horseback crested the hill lined with pines, leading to the neighboring ranch, and headed straight for Millie. As the figure drew closer, Millie saw that the rider was no older than she. Millie gaped, astonished that anyone would let a child ride a horse alone. In actuality, the horse was a pony, but Millie had no experience with horses though the beast was a large as an elephant. Millie raised a tentative hand in salutation. In response, the figure waved back vigorously and gave her mount an encouraging tap with her heels, increasing its speed.

"You must be Millie," the girl said brightly, riding up to the paddock. "I'm Astrid. Astrid Sparrow." Midnight-black hair spilled over her turquoise tank top and copper-colored arms. She rode with neither a saddle nor shoes. Images of Pocahontas and Sacajawea popped into Millie's head. Astrid screamed Indian princess. She slid gracefully from the pony's back, her feet hardly kicking up dust as they landed on the loose, dry ground. Astrid looped her reins around a paddock post, folded her arms over the pen's top bar, and leaned forward. Now that they were both on level ground, Millie saw that Astrid had about a foot on her in height. Her bright blue eyes shone like sapphires from her dark face.

Stricken by how ordinary she must look next to this exotic earth child, Millie assessed her features. Her hair and eyes were generic brown. She wasn't too tall or too short. She harbored no dark, brooding secrets, possessed no paranormal abilities like mind reading or telekinesis, and she couldn't foresee the future or talk to dead people. Millie was, well, ordinary, a fact she relished. People didn't spend extra attention on the ordinary. Ordinary didn't attract the notice of teachers, parents, or bullies. Millie found that by being ordinary, she coasted under the radar of school politics like a stealthy ninja, hidden amongst schoolyard shadows and chalk dust. If Millie had given it any thought, she could say she was extraordinary at being ordinary. But today was different. Being ripped from the only home she'd ever known, and her two best friends had tested her mettle. For the first time, loneliness drove her untapped need to be noticed, and Astrid had ridden to do just that.

Astrid smiled broadly at Millie. Her prominent cheekbones forced their way under her almond-shaped eyes, changing them into downward-facing crescent moons. The smile was so genuine Millie found her cheeks wrinkling her eyes in response.

While Millie fretted that Astrid would find her boring, too boring to be friends, Astrid knew that this little girl from California was going to be not only her friend but her best friend, and she was right. Everything about Astrid appealed to Millie, and everything about Millie made Astrid smile. From that morning on, Millie and Astrid were a pair, doing everything together. Millie might have thought herself ordinary, but Astrid knew she was brilliant.

Now, on a seemingly normal summer afternoon before their sophomore year of high school, Millie and Astrid lounged on their favorite rock overlooking their favorite lake. The rock's smooth glass-like surface remained cool under them despite the heat of the midday sun.

"I'm jumping in the water," Astrid said. She set down the battered French college textbook and closed her eyes behind her sunglasses, relishing in the sun's heat. She'd found the text one afternoon at a yard sale and bought it on a whim. Astrid had quickly memorized the text's sizable vocabulary lists and grasped the many rules of the French language. It appeared that on top of Astrid's theatrical talents, she also had a knack for languages, speaking English, Spanish, Chinuk Wawa, and now, passing French.

"Be my guest, but you're on your own," Millie replied, sitting up. She reached for her backpack and removed a bottle of water. "I'll be reading if you need me."

Astrid stood and stripped off her shorts and tank top to reveal the black one-piece Millie referred to as Astrid's "summer uniform." Anytime Astrid traveled where there might be an opportunity to swim, she wore her bathing suit beneath her regular clothes.

Unlike Astrid's fish-like affinity for water, Millie was terrified of the slippery stuff, especially if she couldn't see the bottom. The thought of something lurking beneath the placid surface, ready to spring on her bare, vulnerable legs, kept her clear of large bodies of water. She made an exception for swimming pools, yet even some of those were suspect. And no matter how clean the pool was, night swimming was never an option. Pool lights reminded Millie of the large, glowing eye of some terrible creature.

Creating a makeshift pillow out of her backpack, Millie leaned back and found her bookmark. A fan of mysteries, Millie was momentarily hooked on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes series. Today, she raced her way through The Hound of the Baskervilles. Presently, Sherlock's trusty associate, Watson, pursued the dark figure over the moors. Millie couldn't wait to see what happened next.

Astrid walked over to the edge of the rock and assessed the water some fifteen feet below. Its surface shone like glass and begged for someone to jump in and shatter its cool placidness. With the grace of an Olympic gymnast, Astrid walked back to the far side of the boulder, spun on the ball of her foot, took a deep breath, and ran for the edge at top speed. At the last moment, she sprang forward on her toes, gaining height, brought her knees up, tucked them to her chest, and wrapped her arms tightly around them, shouting, "Cannonball!" as she plummeted towards the cold water.

Millie paused in her reading, listening for Astrid to break the surface. When she didn't hear the expected intake of breath, Millie jumped to her feet and moved to the boulder's edge, looking for her friend. Fear zinged up her spine when there was no sign of Astrid's dark head."Astrid!" Millie yelled at the rippling water. "Astrid!""What are you yelling for?" Astrid's voice echoed from the far side of the lake, about half a football field away.

Millie's head whipped in the direction of her voice. The sight of her friend's head bobbing above the waterline made her dizzy. "I didn't hear you come up," Millie called, shaking with adrenaline. "I was afraid you had hit a rock or something." As her heart rate returned to normal, Millie smiled. "It's OK. I'm just glad I didn't have to jump in after you. You know how I feel about lakes."Astrid broke into her signature wide smile. "You were more worried about having to get in the water than me drowning. At least you have your priorities in the right order."

Relieved, Millie gave a weak wave and retreated from the rock's edge. The reassuring sounds of Astrid's lazy backstroke while singing Oh What A Beautiful Mornin' from Oklahoma! allowed Millie to relax and focus on her book.

After successfully belting out several other songs from her favorite musicals, Astrid climbed back up to Millie. She walked over to her backpack, fished out her old pocket watch, a thrift store find, and checked the time: 11:00 a.m. The watch wasn't only pretty with its ornate etching of curlicues. It was one of the few technological objects that worked at the lake.

"I have to get home. I promised my dad I would start working on cleaning out the attic," she said, sighing.

"I'm going to finish this chapter before heading home. Do you want some help with the attic? I'm sure my parents won't mind if I finish my afternoon chores first," Millie said.

"That'd be great. I'll let my dad know. See if you can stay the night. We can watch a ridiculous rom-com."

Millie smiled. "I'll ask. It should be fine as long as I'm home early to help with the lambs.""Cool!" Astrid exclaimed. She stowed the watch and slung her backpack over her shoulder. "Call me if you can't make it. See you later!"

Millie repositioned her head and shoulders on her backpack and started reading again. A light breeze rustled through the trees along the edge of the meadow, rippling the water's already calming surface.