“Sorry.” He swallowed. Much as his mother annoyed him, he didn’t know what he’d do if she weren’t around anymore. “I didn’t mean to—”
She shrugged again. “It was a couple of years ago.” She sighed. “She was pretty cool. I mean, she pissed me off now and then, but overall, she was cool. We used to do stuff together, you know? Just me and her. She was into all kinds of stuff—like birds and the sea and stuff. She wrote poetry. She liked to play the guitar and sing—and she had the best laugh.” She stared at a man walking his dog for a moment, and then turned back to him. “Do your parents know? About this road show thing?”
“No. They’d think it was stupid. Especially my mom. She’d think it was a waste of my time.”
“Why do you want to do it, then? To piss her off?”
“I just think it would be cool.” He stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. “Pissing my mom off would just be an added bonus.” He grinned at her. “What about you? What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Jessie didn’t answer right away. She tossed her cigarette down to the sidewalk and ground it out with her black boot. “Alive,” she said finally. “I want to be alive.”
He searched her face to see if she was teasing him, but he couldn’t read her. She was idly pulling on her lower lip.
She withdrew another cigarette and lit it, blowing out a stream of smoke through her nose. “Do you have dreams?” she asked, turning her brown eyes back to him. “I mean, everyone dreams, but do you remember yours?”
“Sometimes.” Most of them were erotic, about beautiful naked women who kissed him and stroked his chest and let him—but he didn’t want to tell her that.
“What do you dream about?”
“I don’t know.” He folded his arms. “Sometimes they’re really weird, you know, like riding an elephant on the beach or something like that, but usually I don’t remember them.”
“Do you ever have nightmares?” she asked.
“Um, I guess, sometimes.”
“Do you remember them? What are they about?”
Okay, she’s getting weird on me. Maybe she was trying to shock him. Girls like her did that a lot. Tried to come off all weird and alternative and shit, just to be in control.
“Well,” Chris said, not willing to let that happen, “the only one I ever really remember is one where I’m bouncing on a trampoline.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“But I keep bouncing and I get higher and higher, until I get so high that the trampoline is only about the size of a postage stamp and I know that I’m too high up, and then I’m falling, and I know the trampoline isn’t going to be able to hold me and bounce me back up, and it’s just coming toward me faster and faster and just as I’m about to hit it I wake up.”
He shivered. He couldn’t believe he told her about that. He hated that dream. He always woke up sweating and trembling when he had it. He didn’t understand the dream; he wasn’t afraid of heights or anything, but it always scared him, made his heart race, and it took a long time for him to get back to sleep.
“Nightmares occur for a reason,” Jessie said. “I’ve pretty much determined that.”
“What, are you an expert?”
“You could say that.” She shook her head. “I wish—I wish I could forget my nightmares, but they won’t go away. I try everything—my psychiatrist gave me pills once, but they didn’t help.” She shuddered. “I mean, they were supposed to make me sleep without dreaming, but it only made things worse.”
“You were seeing a psychiatrist?” He was starting to think he might be learning too much, too fast, about this strange girl in black.
“Isn’t everyone?” Jessie’s tone was bitter. “My dad thought I needed one when my mother died. Everybody thought I was crazy.” She gave a bitter bark of a laugh. “They still do. That’s why they call me ‘Spook.’ That’s why I’m homeschooled. That’s why I don’t have any friends.”
“Wow.” He felt stupid. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“Thanks.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “I’ll give you this. You might not be quick, but you’re kind of sweet.”
He grinned widely. “I try.”
“And now I have this stepmother.” She lit another cigarette, her third. “She’s not even ten years older than me. How gross is that? But I’m the crazy one. Dad goes out and marries some total stranger young enough to be his daughter, for Christ’s sake—and doesn’t even tell me about her until they’re married—but I’m crazy.” Her fingers twitched. “Doesn’t he know—” She broke off and looked away.
“Know what?”
“Nothing.” She stood up. “Nice meeting you, Chris.”
“Can I walk you home?”
“You don’t mind being seen with the town whack-job?” She raised her eyebrows. “Think of your reputation, Chris. Everyone thinks I’m crazy—and everyone can’t be wrong, can they?”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“Not even your mom?”
He stopped and stared at her. A weak smile twitched at the corner of her lips. He grinned back at her. “Especially not my mom.”
They started walking in silence up Commercial Street. “You wanna go see a movie or something sometime?” he blurted out, his face reddening again. Smooth move, stud man, he cursed himself.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. You’re a nice guy, and there’s a lot about me…” Jessie paused and didn’t continue.
“A lot about you what?”
“Never mind.” She started walking again.
“You never said what books you checked out.” He changed the subject, figuring he’d ask her again later.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Why wouldn’t I? They’re just books.”
“Books are very powerful, Chris. The pen is mightier than the sword, after all.” She stopped and opened her bag, pulling the three books out and handing them over to him. He looked at the spines. Demonic Possession. The Golden Bough. By Bell, Book and Candle: Exorcism Rituals. He handed them back to her.
She stared into his face. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
He just stared at her, not sure what to say. Who was this girl?
A taunting half smile crept across her face. “Do you want to know why I checked these out? Do you really want to know?”
He stood firm. “Yes,” he said.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Chris. I’ll tell you why, and then, after that, if you still want to take me to a movie, I’ll go with you.”
“Deal,” he said.
She leaned close to him. “I think I’m possessed,” she whispered.
She pulled back to look up at him. Her crooked little half smile came back. “So, do you still want to take me to a movie?”
He stared down at her. Who was this girl? he asked himself again.
His face betrayed his thoughts—his feelings of confusion, weirdness, revulsion. What kind of a girl would say such a thing? What kind of a girl would want to check such books out of the local library?
“That’s