A Soul's Kiss (5 page)

Jessica

Friday

The look in Rashanda’s eyes flashes through surprise, fear, and disbelief in a nano-second. Those are my emotions, too. Those are
my
parents beside the hospital bed. That’s
me
lying all still and soft. Brutally white.

Rashanda looks away, talks to my parents, looks back and doesn’t see me. But she
did
see me! I know she did.

“Mom, Dad, I’m okay.” I take a step closer, lean between them and hug at their backs. I can feel them, warm and tense. My mom’s back softens a little.

They talk to me. The other me. The me that’s so still. Bruised and purple.

“Listen, guys,” I say, rushing the words out of my invisible mouth, “it’s all right. I can hear you. See you. I’m still me. I’m right here with you.”

“Oh, Jessica,” my mom cries out. She squeezes my hand, my
other
hand, and I can feel it. “Come back to us, baby.”

Rashanda excuses herself with a mumbled word. She draws the curtain tighter as she leaves. I’m torn between following her, someone who saw me for a second, or staying here to see what else I might feel. I look at the life support machine. Tubes. Wires. It all looks so complicated. The sheet is pulled up above my chest, but my arms are out. Bare. I suddenly feel chilled. Embarrassed. There are little pads with wires that are taped to my chest, sneaking out from under the sheet. A blood pressure cuff is on my left arm; some kind of finger pinching thing is on my hand. It’s snapped on like a clothespin. A clear plastic brace supports my neck with a rolled towel stuffed behind it.

I am not breathing on my own.

I suck in as much air as I can. My whole body tingles. As certain as I am that the sky is blue, I’m just as certain that I’m experiencing a reality equal to every memory that shapes my life. I’m
not
a ghost. I am
not
in some parallel universe. I’m
not
dreaming.

I am, however, scared. And I’m confused.

What was it that Keith had told me?
Now you see me, now you don’t. Fun. Go with the flow. They’re taking care of you.
How could he be so cool about this?

Maybe because he isn’t so bad off.

I move around the bed and stand opposite my parents. I look hard at the battered face of the girl they worry over, push my nose down close to
her
forehead, and sniff. Antiseptic. Blood. Metal. Plastic.

I run my nose down along the cheekbone. My breath—
her
breath—reeks. I put my hand in my pocket, an automatic response, and find a couple of breath mints stuck together. I pry them apart with a fingernail and push one between her, I mean
my
, teeth. A little laugh escapes my lips as I hope I don’t choke on it.

My parents’ heads are still bowed.

I put my forehead back down against the darkest bruise, close my eyes, feel the blackness, know there are no thoughts in
that
head. Is it hopeless? Am I going to die?

“Are you trying to get back into your body?” Keith stands behind my dad and laughs. “You can’t force it.”

“How do you know so much?” I straighten up and fling my hands around. I don’t know what to do with them other than to try to move the sheet up higher on my
other
neck. I fuss at the hem, manage to smooth a curled white edge up and over the wires. Is my body naked underneath? I flush at the thought and glance at Keith. “How do I get back?”

“Do you really want to get back in your body? Why not enjoy this experience? You can listen in on people’s conversations, get in their heads, make them think stuff. It’s like being invisible and . . . it’s like you’re God.”

That makes me shiver. Isn’t there something evil about trying to be God?

“Watch,” Keith says. He shakes out his hands, cracks his neck, and his whole body shudders. It reminds me of an Olympic swimmer warming up on the starting block. Then he places both hands on my dad’s head and presses his own cheek against Dad’s bald spot.

A second passes. Then two. Then five. My father lifts his head, pats my mom’s knee, and says, “I’m going to go check on the Mullins boy. Be right back.” He stands and pushes his chair rearward.

Keith steps back and lets my father’s chair pin him in the corner. “I did that,” he brags. “I made him think of me.” His face shines with pride then falls in pain. “Oh, my leg!” And he’s gone. Just like that.

I stand frozen. Uncertain what to do next.

Uncertain.

My phone rings then. It plays the most amazing ringtone—the one I’d assigned to Michael Hoffman’s number, should he ever in a million years happen to call me. I stick my hands in both my pockets. Nothing. No phone. But the ringing persists and my mother opens her left hand and looks at the display on the phone she’s guarding. I lean across the bed and read the message upside down. A text from Michael.

An apology.

What could he be sorry for? I wonder if he is still in the hospital. I duck around the curtain and check every cubicle. I race out into the waiting room, the lobby, and swish through the revolving doors as someone enters.

Three people are heading toward a car. Michael is unmistakable. Tall and blonde and handsome and strong.

“Michael!” I run. I reach the car as his dad opens the back passenger door for Michael and I slip in without hesitation. Keith’s words swirl in my mind. I am tempted to play God.

The ride to Michael’s house is oddly quiet.

*  *  *

I follow Michael through his house. I try to take it all in, at every step, but there is too much. The mantel in the living room has framed graduation pictures of his older brothers. Family group shots. A picture of Michael in his band uniform. Another in his football jersey.

We climb the stairs. Awards and certificates zigzag a pattern up the wall. I learn his brothers’ names: Thomas and Richard. Thomas is a musician. Richard is the athlete. I smile to think of Michael excelling in both areas. Competing with his older brothers. Outshining them. Surpassing them. The final plaque proves it.

I stare at the award, read it through, and smile with satisfaction. The Principal’s Merit Award for Excellence in Music, Drama, Sports, and Scholarship.

The first bedroom door clicks. Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman’s voices rise then hush as they discuss Michael. He pauses to listen, swears softly, and tramps down the hall. The last room is his. The angry slamming of the door stuns me, but only for a moment. I’m pretty certain I can open the door. I dig the last breath mint out of my pocket and tremble with excitement.

Michael

Last Month

I got the idea from my brother Rick. He pledged a fraternity last fall and went through hell-week and told me all about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the initiation pranks.

I was afraid Hannah was going to break up with me and I needed something to keep her interested. It wasn’t enough that I was breaking my neck doing everything she wanted. Who was she going to find who was as involved as I was? But being in the play, on the football team, and in the band wasn’t enough for her. I had to get the lead in the play. Be the quarterback. Be the drum major.

When she suggested that I run for senior class president I balked and she threatened to go out with Keith Mullins. The dweeb.

“Let’s form our own secret society instead,” I said. I started thinking up a plan on the fly and she seemed to be thinking it over. She combed lemon juice through my hair and I let her. We sat on the same beach towel. Close. I watched a girl twenty yards away rub oil on her legs.

“What do you mean ‘secret’?”

“Like we initiate people and unless they do really crazy stuff that we think up they don’t get in.”

“Hmm,” she said. I had her attention. I looked from the girl in the bikini to Hannah and wondered if her expression meant she was considering it.

“Like a fraternity,” I added. “Or a sorority. Just the coolest kids.” Her eyes narrowed, a frown was threatening to form on her very pretty face. I really liked kissing that face. I was close to wearing down her resistance. “Or maybe instead of hazing our friends, we go after the dweebs.” I pictured Keith. I’d love to make him eat dirt.

Her head was nodding. I could sense the birth of enthusiasm. I mimicked her. This was good stuff. I could use this in drama class. Every new emotion I learned would fool another dozen people. Or hundreds.

We started our experiment that same week of summer. We let a few friends in on the fun. We hazed victim number one. It was no big deal. She was cool with it and joined us when we bullied victim number two. She fought back, but not enough. The challenges escalated. The thrill was addictive.

Rashanda was victim number five or maybe she was number six. There was something different about her. Like she had an invisible force field around her. Like nothing bad could happen to her.

As part of the plan I tried to approach her in school, but she wasn’t buying it. Maybe she didn’t go for white boys. Maybe she didn’t go for boys at all.

Hannah brought Andrew and Brittany along when she picked me up in my car after the first away game. I was too tired for the prank they had planned, but it was a Friday night and I could sleep in on Saturday. We parked among the employees’ cars at the far end of the mall. Hannah and Brittany walked up to the entrances, Andrew went down one row, and I took another. We checked for school parking stickers on the windshields and let the air out of the tires of those cars. There were only three.

It was just past closing time and employees were coming out at intervals. I’d slipped into the driver’s seat and Andrew stood outside my window on the phone with Brittany. Neither of us could see Brittany. Andrew asked her if she had seen anybody from our school yet. He’s such a dork.

I saw Hannah give me the sign—a hand on her hip—and watched her approach us walking with that dark-skinned beauty, Rashanda.

I wasn’t tired anymore.

“She’s got somebody. Go, Andrew,” I said. The idiot hesitated a moment then ducked down, whispered instructions to Brittany, and worked his way around the outer edge of cars. He popped up behind the girls then crouched back down and hid.

I started the car and eased out.

It was a pretty good plan—coax a girl into riding with us after she found her car had a flat tire, drive her home . . . almost. Detour into Stony Park to party. Do the deed. Take the pictures. Easy plan.

Rashanda wasn’t easy.

*  *  *

That was a month ago. Two weeks ago Hannah said, “I’m tired of picking girls.”

“Well, I’m tired of picking juniors,” I countered. I had my eye on a senior girl who needed to be taken down a peg or two. Our secret society had grown to twelve. Mostly girls. Our initiates never joined, not after we got so extreme. Not after victim number four. Amy Harper. Maybe the ones who joined us did it so they wouldn’t have to be a victim.

“Are you listening to me, Michael?”

“What?” I wasn’t worried anymore about Hannah breaking up with me. I got all I wanted out of this relationship last weekend. Time to move on. There was a cute girl in my drama class who might be interested in me. I saw her a lot in the halls. She might be fun. More fun than that black chick. With the right plan, maybe I could switch Hannah for that girl and keep them both in my tribe. “You want to pick a guy. And I want to pick a senior. I’m listening.”

“Well, what do you think of Keith Mullins?”

Him again. Maybe Hannah was thinking of switching me out. “How about one more junior girl first? What do you think of Jessica Mitchell?” I asked.

“Don’t know her.” Hannah chewed at her fingernails. I copied her and pretended to mull over the proposition.

Finally I said, “I’ve got an idea. How about we tell the others we’re going to get Jessica and then you work Keith into the deal and he won’t even know what’s going on. Can you fake like you like him?”

She rolled her eyes, chewed on another nail, and said, “You mean we’re going to prank two kids at once?”

“Yeah, but Keith’s prank is that we’ll make him look like the perpetrator.”

“Might work.”

“But you can’t tell anyone about Keith. Tell the others that I’ve picked Jessica as our next victim.”

*  *  *

I studied Jessica on the sly for a couple of weeks and discovered that she was close friends with Rashanda. Based on how friendly Jessica was to me I’d bet that Rashanda had kept quiet about her experience with me. Not that she could prove anything. Her word against ours.

Abducting two people at once was challenging, but Hannah left the details up to me and I worked something out for Thursday, when football practice didn’t start until six p.m. We would have a couple of hours after school for the thrill ride I planned. The drugs were in my pocket—a safer place than my locker. Hannah had Keith on a leash, she said. The others would meet us at the back exit to the park. When we walked in from that side, there was no chance that the park rangers would report our cars or, this time of year, even check on the old Quonset huts.

The only good thing about having band practice on the field next to the school parking lot so early in the morning was that I could watch for Jessica to arrive and see what kind of car she drove and memorize where she parked.

And go out during lunch and let some air out of her front tire. Gee, I wonder what gallant, chivalrous senior boy would offer her a ride home . . . and who would follow us in Keith’s car?

Of course it didn’t work out that way.

Jessica played into my hands during drama class, though. I wanted to laugh at her silly question: what am I afraid of? Isn’t everybody afraid of robbers? And the dark? I threw in ‘balloons on the floor’ for a laugh and it worked. She wanted me to explain and I said I’d tell her later. For sure she would swing by my locker after class and I could walk out to her car with her, discover the flat tire, and offer to drive her to the store for some of that Fix-A-Flat stuff that comes in a can. Timing was everything and I’d have to watch for Hannah and Keith—that was a huge part of the plan.

A plan that turned into an epic fail.

After school Hannah gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, spotted Jessica trailing me, and whispered, “Don’t look back, she’s coming. I’ll get Keith.” She waved me off with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

I didn’t feel much emotion for what we were about to do. I wasn’t excited at all. I knew something could go wrong or at least not according to plan. Every other victim we pranked surprised us in some way. We had learned to ‘go with the flow’, an expression that Hannah’s pursuer, Keith, was fond of saying. He pretended to be a stoner, but I doubted he had the guts to try the bad stuff.

I went with the flow down the senior hallway.

“Hey, Jake,” I said, fist-bumping a kid from band. I greeted a couple other kids then saw a cute girl from first hour. “Hi, Emma.” I didn’t usually talk to her, but I had her number. She gave me a wave and a smile, so that was cool. I filed her face and name away as a future victim or maybe as a replacement for Hannah. I reached my locker, but didn’t open it. The locker next to mine was swung out wide and the locker mirror gave me a good view of the crowded hallway I had just pushed through. A glimpse of Jessica’s face gave me that sudden thrill I was waiting for, and I turned with the impulsive thought to intercept her now.

I saw her go down. Jake was clowning around as usual and he unintentionally knocked Jessica in the face and sent her sprawling on the floor. Hannah and Keith were already back in the senior hallway and I waved a frantic hand at her, excused myself past Emma, and reached for Jessica. I yanked her up, maybe a little too hard and fast, but I didn’t want anyone else to cut in on our scheme and mess things up. Jake apologized and grabbed the book that Jessica had dropped.

“Hey, are you all right?” It was the same line I used in last year’s play and I’d perfected it to the point of faultless sincerity.

“Yeah. All right. I’m fine,” Jessica said. She might have been seeing stars judging from the look on her face. Or maybe not.

Jake hovered and I glared at him. “Hey, I didn’t see her,” he said. I don’t know why he thought he had to explain it to me, but I mouthed
you moron
to him. Hannah saved me from getting into a fight by stepping in front of him and giving Jessica a supportive hug.

I tried for a more controlled tone in my explanation to her and Keith. “Jake was clowning around in the hall and Jessica was in the wrong place at the wrong time. His elbow nailed her in the eye. She lost her balance and fell backwards. Probably bumped her head pretty badly, too.”

“We should take her home,” Hannah said. She signaled me the tiniest twitch of an eyebrow. For once I understood.

Poor Jessica couldn’t look any of us in the eye. I’d bet a hundred bucks that she wanted nothing more than to be invisible. I scanned the faces of the seniors that were still nearby. No one seemed interested anymore. Half were texting. Maybe somebody got a photo of Jessica on the floor. For a split second I thought that we should abandon the plan since there were so many witnesses to our helping her. But that just got my blood pumping faster. Risk. I wanted the bigger risk.

We were in luck because we easily swept her out of the building and toward Keith’s car. I sat in the front with Keith, and the girls sat in the back. Hannah kept a monologue going until finally Jessica started giving some one-word answers. We were maybe a mile from school when I got a text from Emma. Unbelievable. She sent two pictures. The first one was of me helping up Jessica. The second was . . . well, I assumed it was Emma. The picture was just chin to knee. It was almost as if she were asking to be the next victim. It must have been a picture she saved on her phone because there was not enough time for her to get naked and take such a seductive shot.

Unreal. I turned around in my seat to look at the girls. I gave Jessica a smile and winked at Hannah. I turned back and held my phone out with Emma’s picture for Keith to see, wiggling it for his attention. The next thing I knew there were horns blaring. I whipped my head back around against the opposite spin of the car. The tires squealed. There was an odd sensation of weightlessness. I heard the crunch of the impact after I saw it. Very weird. It was like the driver’s side of the car imploded. Side airbags were already deflating just as I figured out what they were.

The car was still. Crushed and still.

My head hurt and the seatbelt chafed my collarbone. Sounds came to my ears as music. Low notes. It took a moment to realize they were groans. Keith’s and Hannah’s. Jessica wasn’t moving.

The phone rang in my hand. Emma again. Another text:
what do u think?

What did I think? I thought I’d save Emma for later. I called 911 and worried about the drugs in my pocket.

*  *  *

Before I went to the hospital in the second ambulance, I thought I saw Jessica’s car sitting parked on the other side of the road. Mocking me. Of course, it couldn’t have been hers. There are probably hundreds just like it. Still, it was odd. Like the universe was laughing at me.