Possessing Jessie

Possessing Jessie

Nancy Springer

Chapter One

Jessie put on her brother's True Athlete T-shirt. He was dead. She put on his blue jeans. He had been dead for a week, and it was her fault.

His belt fit around her hips. He was a year younger, a few inches taller.

She put on his white crew socks and his Nikes. They were only half a size large. She could wear them.

Jessie went to the bathroom mirror—weird, how since the minute she had woken up, she knew just what to do. She found a pair of fingernail scissors and started to cut her long, wavy hair. The nail scissors didn't work very well, but shaggy was okay. She grabbed handfuls of hair, hacked them off, and let them fall into the sink. Around her ears and the back of her head, she cut her hair messy but short. On top she left a longer stubble. When she was sure she hadn't missed any places, she took her brother's gel and spiked the hair she had left.

She checked herself in the mirror. Ever since it happened she had not been able to face herself, but she could now. The look was right and so was the hair color, light brown. And the green-brown eyes and the short, straight nose and the freckles. People always said she and her brother looked alike.

She missed him so much. Her bigmouth bad-boy kid brother. Dead. How could Jason be dead?

She did not put on any makeup or earrings or perfume. She had not worn any of that stuff since the day he died. Not to school. Not anywhere. Not even to the funeral.

Makeup looked bad when a person cried. And Jessie cried a lot.

Not like Mom.

She had not seen her mother cry at all. Not a single tear.

But Mom would not look at her.

And Mom would not eat. Not at all.

Mom would not talk, either.

Mom had not talked to her since it happened.

Not one word.

Jessie scraped hair out of the sink with her hands and buried it deep in the bathroom trash. She wiped up what was left with toilet paper and flushed it down the john. She picked up some fallen hair from the floor. Not exactly hiding the evidence, she told herself. Just trying not to upset her mother by leaving the bathroom in a mess.

Once she'd finished cleaning up, Jessie checked herself in the mirror again, took a deep breath, and thought about what she was doing.

It's the beginning of my senior year. My last chance to have a high-school life. I should be partying, finding some cool friends, maybe even a boyfriend
…

Yeah, that'll be the day
, Jessie thought. She didn't seem to know how to act the way the popular girls did, or maybe she just didn't want to. Everybody wore black, black, black, and Jessie didn't like it. To her, black was for–

Jason's funeral. Two days ago, Saturday. She remembered only blurry parts of it, of the whole week since the accident. She felt as if someone had hit her on the head and her brain wasn't working right. She could look at a slice of bread for minutes before she could think what it was for and whether she wanted peanut butter. But one thing she knew for sure: since Jason died, everything had changed.

Forget senior year
.

Jessie breathed out a long sigh, got moving, went back to her room, and pulled her cell phone and her wallet out of her purse. Her driver's license occupied a plastic pocket on the outside of the wallet, and the picture of herself caught her eye. She studied it for a moment. Smile, pretty hair. Gone now.

When Mom sees me this way, she has to look at me. Then she can kill me if she wants to
.

She stowed the things deep in the pockets of Jason's jeans and headed downstairs fast and heavy-footed in the Nike crosstrainers, thumping the way her brother would have. Walking into the kitchen, she stood tall and made her shoulders wide.

Her mom was sitting at the table. Just sitting there in her bathrobe. Head hanging. Not looking at her.

“Yo, Mudder” Jessie said in a deep voice.

Mom jumped, staring, her mouth open. Then she closed her mouth and gave a soft smile. “Well, hi, Sweetie,” she whispered. A tear slipped from one eye.

A real tear.

Jessie felt like her chest was filling with helium. Huge relief. She went over and hugged her mom. Thank God. This crazy urge, pretending to be her brother, was okay. Mom had not only looked at her, she was talking to her again!

“What would you like for breakfast?” Mom asked.

Jessie shook her head. She usually got her own breakfast cereal. It was nice of Mom to offer to make her something. But these days she had to force herself to eat. Especially in the morning, food felt like smashed metal in her stomach.

“Aren't you hungry?” Mom asked, looking so surprised Jessie didn't know what to say. She just shook her head again.

“Well, don't forget your lunch money,” Mom said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jessie said the way Jason used to. “See ya, Mud.” With a bad-boy strut she walked out the door, headed for school.

Chapter Two

Once she reached the car, she dropped her pose. Shoulders sagging, she got in and fastened her seat belt. She checked the controls to remind herself where they were before she started the car. The rental provided by the insurance company seemed nice, even smelled new. But Jessie didn't care much about cars.

It was no problem that she was taking the car and leaving Mom without one. Mom hardly ever went anywhere since she'd gone on disability. Her bad back forced her to lie down half the time. Most days she didn't even bother to get dressed, just went around in a flowered cotton bathrobe and pink vinyl slippers. Only once in a while she'd put on clothes to make a supply run to Wal-Mart, usually on Saturday so Jessie or Jason could carry the groceries and stuff for her.

Make that just Jessie from now on.

Jason was gone.

The sunny September day went dark. Jessie ached as if she had just this moment learned that Jason was dead. Over and over again this had happened. He kept sneaking up on her.

She had to go to school to keep her grades up so she could get a college scholarship. Jessie wanted to be something–she wasn't sure what yet, but something important, like a scientist to stop global warming or a doctor to find a cure for cancer. She hardly ever missed school. She had even gone to school last week, missing only one day, the day after Jason was killed.

But today, driving even more carefully than usual in the strange loaner car, she thought about actually skipping, because how was she supposed to face school dressed up as Jason? It had been an impulse that had come to her just as she woke up, and she hadn't planned beyond it. Like a miracle it had gotten her mother to talk to her, but now what?

For a person who doesn't like to be stared at
, Jessie thought,
I've fixed myself good
.

She pulled into the high-school parking lot anyway, got out of the car, and tried to make herself small, head and shoulders curled over, as she headed for the main door.

Some girl screamed.

Jessie didn't look to see who.

Other kids screamed, too. Not all of them girls.

Jessie didn't look up. Kept on walking with an awful numbness, that same numbness she'd felt since Jason died.

Walking into a hubbub of voices. “What the hell is that?” “That is so wrong!” “Is that his sister?” “For a minute there, I really thought it was Jason.” “That's sick!” “What's her name? I forget.” “She scared me!” “That's cold, making fun of Jason. That's harsh.” “He was a great guy.” “Jennifer, Julie, something like that.” “I thought I was seeing a ghost.” “What's she think she's doing?” “She's got to be crazy.” “What's she trying to prove?”

Jessie edged her way through the crowd. Head down, she walked on until she met an obstacle she couldn't bypass: business shoes, pressed slacks.

A teacher.

“Jessie Ressler!” the man barked at her. “Jessica!”

She looked up into the eyes of her brother's wrestling coach, who also taught American history.

He softened his tone slightly. “Jessie, I'm sure there is an explanation for this.”

If there was, Jessie didn't know, except–the way it had helped Mom, was that the reason?

“Jessie?”

Feeling very tired, she let her eyes slip away from his.

He turned stern again. “Jessica, I know you loved your brother very much.”

He had no idea how much. Like a lot of other people, she had practically worshipped Jason. The whole school cheering for Jason, handsome Jason grinning after winning yet another wrestling trophy, his glance finding her in the stands so he could give her a wink … Jessie bit her lip to keep from crying. She had adored him.

“But if this is your way of honoring your brother's memory, I must say it's in very bad taste.”

Dully Jessie wondered whether she was in trouble. She'd never been in any kind of trouble in school. But compared to Jason dying, it no longer seemed to matter much.

“May I go?” she asked almost in a whisper. “I have to get to class.”

“I suppose.… I can't think of any rule …” Grim-faced, Coach stood aside and let her pass.

Some kids came up to her in homeroom and asked her “Why?” But she had no answer, no response, because something, maybe the angry voices and shouting, had started the tape, a sort of video in her mind, making her live through the accident again and again. It turned itself on whenever it wanted, and she could not turn it off. Vaguely she was aware of kids calling her crazy to her face, psycho, wacko. A few of them were the same kids who had texted her after the accident:
2 bad sory, i pray 4 U, so sad, hugs hugs hugs.
But now they acted like they hated her.

As if from a distance, like she was watching through binoculars, she saw one exception–Alisha, her best friend. Alisha stepped up to defend her. With her hands on her hips, Alisha growled, “Hey, Jessie, are these jerks bothering you? If you want, I'll throw them out the window.” And Alisha might actually do it. She was a big girl, a tough girl. Nobody messed with Alisha.

Jessie managed to smile and say, “Thanks, Alisha, it's okay. I'm fine.” But she was not fine. She was sweating ice as the tape kept playing and the memories took over.

Chapter Three

“I wish Dad were here” Jessie had muttered as she got into the car with Jason, and that had started the same old argument.

Jason always got testosterone-prone when he was driving anyway. “Dad had a right to walk out. I mean, any man would get tired of Mom and her stupid backache.”

“No, he didn't.” Jessie understood how her mother felt: betrayed. Jessie felt the same way; how could her father do that to her? Just
leave
her? Like she was worth nothing? Like throwing away a paper cup? “If he and Mom had problems, he should have tried to fix them.”

“Maybe he did. How would we know?”

“We know they didn't go for counseling–”

“Like Dad would go to a shrink? Give me a break. Face it, Sis, Mom wasn't giving him what a guy wants.”

Ow. TMI. But Jessie pushed the thought aside and talked right past it, getting to the point she was trying to make. “But he walked out on
her
, supposedly. He didn't walk out on you and me. Why doesn't he call us once in a while?”

“Yeah, well, good question.” Although Jason tried to keep his studly tone, his voice lowered. “I don't know the answer, Sis.”

Silence, except for the rumble of the red car.

I thought Dad loved me
.… Jessie bit her lip. Sitting in the Mustang's passenger seat, watching Jason lean too far back and hold the steering wheel the wrong way, she wished more than ever, although she didn't say it again, that her father were here to teach Jason how to pass his road test. Jason might have paid
some
attention to Dad. Not that anybody had to teach Jason how to drive. He'd been driving illegally since he was, what, thirteen? But at suppertime, Mom had said Jessie had to coach him on the rules and things the examiner would be looking for. Mom insisted they go out now, even though there wasn't much daylight left, since Jason was home for a change.