A Soul's Kiss (4 page)

*  *  *

Sometimes I pretended to act drowsy after my infusion so my mom would let me stay home the rest of the day, but I had swim practice right after school and Ms. Harris followed the rules: if I was too sick for school then I was too sick for practice. Also, Jessica had asked me not to skip. She had some new music for our synchronized duet. We may never get to the Olympics, but our water ballet show next spring will make a splash for sure.

Mom dropped me off near the attendance office door and I checked in. The bell had already rung so the secretary gave me a tardy pass, too, and I figured that as long as I was going to be late I might as well use the bathroom. All that fluid they pump into me . . . well, you know. The girls’ restroom was on the way to Jamison’s class anyway.

I smelled smoke as soon as I opened the door and I gave a warning, “Teacher coming,” so whoever it was would snuff it out or that stink would stick to my hair something fierce. I used the first stall, farthest from the dissipating blue puffs, and watched the smoker’s black booted feet clump by. I recognized the red paint splatters on the left toe. Those boots were Amy Harper’s. She sat next to me in math, the class I was headed to.

“Hi, Amy,” I said. She was on the honor roll last year, but she did a one-eighty this fall and changed her look, her attitude, and her brains. I even caught her cheating off me in math. Stupid.

“Who is it?”

“Me, Rashanda.”

“So where’s the teacher?”

“Um, I guess he went on by.”

“He?” She cursed. “Thanks a lot, Rashanda. You’re a friend.”

Oops. Well, at least Amy understood sarcasm. Maybe I wouldn’t cover all of my answers on the next quiz to make it up to her. She left the restroom and I finished my business.

When I entered the classroom everyone looked up from their papers, watched me give Mr. Jamison the tardy slip, and then lost interest in me. Mr. Jamison told me we were working out the two problems on the board. Amy stared me down as I walked to my seat.

As it turned out, only Rishi and Dan got the right answers, so for the next half hour Mr. Jamison reviewed what he taught us the day before. Then we worked in pairs on two new problems. Unfortunately my partner was Amy.

“Can I ask you something personal? Did something happen to you last summer? Your parents get a divorce?” I whispered as we both copied the equation.

“No.”

“Accident, maybe? Illness?”

“I mean no, you can’t ask me something personal.”

“Oh . . . sorry.”

I did most of the work on the first problem. Heck, I did all of the work on both problems. I suppose I was feeling guilty, but really, why should I? She was the rude one. She was the one breaking all the rules. But there was a sadness that surrounded her like an aura. I could feel there was still that nice girl from last year hiding behind the thick eyeliner.

My Grandma Althea had a saying she used every time she saw someone less fortunate:
There but for the grace of God, go I.
It was the same motto, really, that I’ve heard kids say:
Glad I’m not that geek.
Of course, Grandma’s attitude was less self-centered and more giving. She tried to help. I could see that Amy wasn’t ready to accept my help, but maybe Jessica was. I promised myself that after swim practice I would tell Jessica the truth about Michael.

*  *  *

“You’re here!” Jessica exclaimed as we passed in the hall before last period. “Here, look this over during class and we’ll talk about it after school.” She shoved a paper at me. “Off to my favorite class.” She gave such a cute smile and a sing-song melody to
favorite class
that I couldn’t help but smile back.

I glanced at the paper. “Is this all of it?” I shouted over the tops of a sea of heads. She didn’t hear me. I looked at how she’d marked out about twenty bars of music. She had assigned
marching ballet legs
to the first four bars followed by three tricks: a
kip
, a
back Dolphin,
and a
Gaviota.
No way. She knew I couldn’t do a
Gaviota
yet. I didn’t have the strength, the skill, or the breath. I thought we were supposed to work on paired tricks, increase our vertical height, and do more lifts and splits. Oh yeah, we were going to talk about this before practice—she got that part right.

*  *  *

Nearly an hour later, after the final bell of the school day, I waited at Jessica’s locker, but she didn’t come. She must have gone straight to the pool. I walked down the stairs in the excited flow of kids rushing to leave school and saw Tyler, fists clenched, standing stock still.

“Hey, Tyler, what’s up?”

I followed his gaze and saw Jessica in a clump of kids just exiting the building at the far end of the senior hallway.

“Jessica!” I probably screamed her name more in panic than anything else. “Oh, my gosh!” I started forward, but Tyler took my wrist.

“Let her go with him. It’s all right.”

“But . . .” I knew that Hannah and Michael were not
all right
. I sped down the hallway and reached the doors. I could see them, three of them, helping Jessica along.
Did they drug her?

“He’s my stepbrother,” Tyler said, indicating the other guy with Hannah and Michael. I wondered why he’d followed me outside. “If she wants a lift home from him, oh well . . .”

“We have practice. She doesn’t need a lift.” I looked over toward the tennis courts where Jessica always parked. It was the closest area to the swimming pool. “There’s her car.” I pointed right across Tyler’s face. “They’re kidnapping her.” I didn’t have time to explain everything to Tyler. The doors on the blue car were slamming shut, Jessica in the back with Hannah, the boys in the front, with Keith driving.

My mind raced. Jessica had a spare key hidden in a magnetic box under the back bumper. Maybe I could take her car, exit through the entrance, and get behind them.

I don’t know what Tyler thought, but I stole my best friend’s car. To save her.

*  *  *

I didn’t see the accident. I was having trouble driving straight. The car’s wheels kept pulling to the right like maybe I had a flat tire. I hit a pothole and it jarred me just as I saw their car turn in front of a truck.

I wasn’t the one to call 911. I don’t know who did, but help arrived quickly. Two ambulances.

Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.
The car was totaled, but I could see heads moving on the passenger sides. Hannah. Michael.

I tried to pray. I repeated to myself,
everything always works out.
I wanted to get out of the car and run over to the accident, but I was too scared.

I pulled the music sheet out of my pocket and stared at Jessica’s notes. If I practiced hard, I could get better at my sculling. I could master a
gaviota
and . . . and . . . we could have the best duet ever.

I guess I was in shock. Tears made things fuzzy, but I was positive that I saw Jessica outside of the car, though how that buckled door could have opened I didn’t know. I blinked and she was gone. An apparition? No, a sign. An angel, maybe. A good sign. The first sign. The second sign came the next morning.

*  *  *

I followed the ambulance in Jessica’s little car, limping along like a champ. I stayed in the ER waiting room until my mom came and got me.

I heard that Tyler’s stepbrother, Keith, was pretty bad off. I caught a glimpse of Tyler as the nurses let him and Keith’s parents through right after the accident. He seemed incredibly upset.

My mom called in another excused absence for me on Friday morning and I spent the day bedside with Jessica’s parents.

I’d never seen someone in a coma. Jessica was badly bruised, but there was a soft, relaxed look to her face that whispered of sweet serenity. I felt bad that I was mad at her for expecting us to do hard water ballet tricks. I’d give anything to see her make a face at me again. I looked away from her and stared at the white curtain where it was rippling for no apparent reason.

Why couldn’t Jessica just be standing there instead of lying on the gurney?

And then I swear I saw her exactly as I imagined earlier. I gasped and that made her parents look up from the floor and search Jessica’s face for a sign. “Sorry,” I said “I thought I saw . . . I thought . . . sorry.”

They kept staring at her face and the monitors, but I looked back at the curtain where Jessica had been standing a moment before.

Tyler

A Year Ago, Thursday, and Friday

Three words describe Jessica: perfect, perfect, and perfect. Crap, I can do better.
Jessica is pretty, funny, and smart.

Words . . . crap. Deep breath, try again.

Jessica . . . oh, man, please don’t die.

I blew my best chance with her a year ago. I was working up the nerve to try again this year, before homecoming. I’ve liked her as long as I can remember.

The stupidest thing I’ve ever done happened last year. But it was worth it.

Summer football practice was a bear. Double sessions. The heat. The sun. The guys called me
Tomato
. I worked extra hard. Lifted weights. For a sophomore I was big. I made Varsity. Pretty cool, though I was never that into football.

The second day of school—it was the day before the first game—I stayed after in my last class, Spanish class, to hang some posters for Señora Vargas. I’m pretty tall. Practice didn’t start for fifteen minutes so I had time.

It took eight minutes to help
la profesora
.

Afterward it was faster for me to cut across the bus pick-up lane and use the sports entrance to get to the locker room. The buses were gone. They didn’t wait for stragglers. Five minutes after school let out and it was
adiós
.

“Oh no!” I heard Jessica lament. She said it two more times, louder and with more drama. She stomped her foot, too. Cute.

“Hey, Jessica.”

“Oh, hi, Tyler. Man, your face is red.”

My mind raced through a dozen thoughts. I walked closer. “Did you miss your bus?”

She gave the biggest sigh, “Yessss. Stupid me. I thought I had time to use the restroom.” She groaned then. “I’m
never
going to the bathroom again.” I thought it was funny the way she said that. We both glanced around the parking lot. There were still a few juniors and seniors getting into cars. Maybe she could catch a ride with someone.

She looked up at me. “How are you getting home? You don’t drive yet, do you?”

I stumbled over an answer. I wished I could drive, but I didn’t have driver’s ed until after football season. Crap. I couldn’t stand out here and be late for practice. Coach would make me do laps and push-ups. “I don’t have my license yet. I usually walk home.” I only lived a street away.

“Well . . .” she looked around again, “I guess that’s what I’ll have to do. My parents are at work so, um, I guess this’ll teach me not to miss the bus.” Her smile was amazing. She brushed a strand of long brown hair away from her eyes. Big eyes. Green.

“Do you live far away?” I asked, though I knew exactly how far away she lived. My older stepbrother had his license. We’d bombed around a few times. I dared him to drive us by her house.

She smiled again. Shrugged her shoulders.

“A few miles, I guess. Should I take the main roads, do you think? Or cut through subdivisions? I don’t want to take forever.”

Her left eyebrow sank down. Irresistible.

Oh shoot, I was going to give in to my impulse.

“I’ll walk you home,” I heard myself say.

“Okay.”

And that was it. So easy. Just say you’re going to do something. Do it. Forget practice. Forget coach. Forget consequences. Walk with Jessica. Perfect Jessica. Pretty Jessica. Funny. Smart.

Talkative.

When we reached the sidewalk along the main road I switched to the outside. I remembered hearing somewhere that it was good manners for the man to walk nearer to the traffic. Protect the woman. Maybe she would notice. I’d been drilled in the usual good manners. Pull out chairs. Hold doors. What else could I do? Carry her books? She only had one and she used it as a prop, waved it around to emphasize her stories.

It was easy to walk next to her, to listen to her. I managed to work in a few questions. A comment. A joke I’d heard. I pointed out a friend’s house when we cut through Meadow Run. She smiled. A lot. There was a connection between us. I know there was.

“Wow, that didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” she exclaimed when we reached her street. Darn. In my excitement to be with her maybe I had kept us walking too fast. There was no way to make this afternoon stretch out now unless she invited me in.

“Yeah.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Thanks for walking with me, Tyler. That was fun. Do you have much farther to go?”

“Uh, no. No problem.” My tongue went numb. “Uh, see ya tomorrow.” I kept walking on down her street. Took another turn and ran all the way back to school.

I was inexcusably late to practice. For a second I thought coach was going to cut me on the spot, but instead he demoted me to the junior varsity squad. He made an example of me, I guess. My temper wasn’t as quick to flare as other redheaded goons, but sometimes my impulses got the better of me. It wasn’t anger that made me walk away from football; it was pride.

But it was worth it. I didn’t tell my mom about the demotion, only that I’d quit. Told her I wanted to play basketball and baseball, that I needed the fall for driver’s ed class. All that was a year ago.

*  *  *

Yesterday after school, I spotted Jessica turning down the senior hallway instead of going to her locker. She seemed in a hurry. Didn’t want to miss the bus, I supposed. I waited all last fall for that to happen again. It never did. We’ve hardly spoken this past year.

When I got to the intersection in the hallway I saw a knot of kids, but it wasn’t the chanting huddle of spectators like when there’s a fist fight. Something had happened and I could see that Jessica was the center of attention. My stepbrother, Keith, was right next to her.

Crap. They walked away. Together.

“Hey, Tyler, what’s up?” I heard Rashanda’s voice, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Jessica walking with Keith.

Then Rashanda screamed at Jessica to stop. She practically blew out my eardrums. I grabbed for her hand.

“Let her go with him. It’s all right,” I said. Rashanda jerked away. She knew about my secret crush.

“But . . .”

“He’s my stepbrother,” I said. I followed Rashanda through the doors. I watched as Keith opened the back door of the new car his dad, my stepdad, bought him. “If she wants a lift home from him, oh well.”

“We have practice. She doesn’t need a lift.” Rashanda sounded odd. She looked toward the tennis courts and pointed. “There’s her car.” She was more agitated than seemed necessary and I tried to figure out why. I watched the little group at the Ford, Hannah helping Jessica into the car. Why would she need help? Rashanda saw the same thing. “They’re kidnapping her,” she said.

That was stupid. If they were kidnapping her she would have struggled. It was interesting, though, that both girls were in the back seat. That gave me a spark of hope. Maybe my stepbrother wasn’t after Jessica. I was still up for giving him an arm-pounding, though. He had some explaining to do.

Rashanda scrambled off to “rescue” her best friend. Somebody bumped into me and I moved like a zombie. Looking back, I should have run after Rashanda, got in the car with her, and then maybe we could have done something that would have changed the course of events.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Keith. It went to voicemail.

Cars honked at me as I crossed the lot. I climbed over the fence and cut through somebody’s backyard. I was home in minutes.

I did about fifty chin-ups on the bar in the garage. Shot some baskets. Todd from next door came over and we played a little one-on-one. Sirens screamed by once and then a second ambulance shrieked by. We hardly noticed.

My mom pulled into the driveway half an hour later. As she got out of the car she answered her cell. Her face went white and she ordered me into the car. We beat my stepdad and Keith’s mom to the emergency room, but we had to wait before they let us through. I couldn’t take my eyes off Rashanda. She sat in the corner, head down, sobbing. I was afraid to find out what that meant.

Keith’s injuries didn’t sound life threatening, but he was in and out of consciousness. It was awkward when Keith’s mom told us we could leave.

I asked about Jessica on the way out and was told by a busy nurse that she was “holding her own.” I hoped somebody told that to Rashanda so she could stop bawling.

*  *  *

My stepdad finally called home with a thorough update. Keith was out of immediate danger though he kept losing consciousness. Low blood pressure. One of the girls was critical; the other boy and girl would be released within twenty-four hours.

Friday morning was a nightmare. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I swear that Keith came to me in a dream last night. Before I even walked into the building I thought I saw him. Must have been my imagination.

First hour was going to be the worst part of the day. Both Rashanda and Jessica were in my English class. Their empty seats were like a hole in the room. I’d already received sixteen texts about the accident. Most people didn’t know how I was related to Keith. Now they did.

I saw Mrs. Brown read a note and then show it to her student teacher. Details about the accident, probably. She nodded my way and whispered in Ms. Gardner’s ear. A bunch of kids started to ask me about the accident. I didn’t have the patience to answer all their questions. Thank goodness the bell rang.

I figured out what Mrs. Brown must have whispered when Ms. Gardner asked Jason and me to get the grammar books from the storage closet. That was Jessica and Rashanda’s job. Those teachers had no idea how much it would get to me. I almost thought I heard Jessica’s voice in there. My hair and skin prickled with a creepy sensation and I dropped some of the books. I couldn’t get the weird feeling out of my head. It was like Jessica was there.

When I picked up the books at the end of class there was one on Jessica’s desk. I know I didn’t put it there and Jason had covered the other side of the class.

Strange thing, too. After class I was telling somebody that Keith was my stepbrother, and at the same time I was thinking that Jessica didn’t even know that. I swear I heard her voice then. I got out of the room as fast as I could and started down the hallway only to be ambushed by more kids at the drinking fountain.

And then I saw her. Jessica was calling out to Kayla. I blinked, turned my back, got a drink. I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest. I didn’t talk to anybody else and headed to psych class. How appropriate. I was losing my mind. Seeing ghosts.

Please don’t be a ghost, Jessica.