The Sacrificial Daughter (21 page)

He was so out of touch with his own daughter. "Why do you think that I would possibly want to go to a dance with these insects?"

James gave her an odd look. "You don't want to go to the dance? You know it's a masquerade ball don't you?"

Jesse's mouth fell open. "I didn't..." There was
nothing
that she liked more than a masquerade ball. Halloween was fun, but it couldn't compare to the magic of dressing up in fancy gowns and feathered masks. She never went cute. For her it was all about elegance and romance...or at least the possibility of romance.

As an actual Cinderella, she knew there couldn't be a real romance, but there could be a kiss. A first kiss.

She'd been close once. As a sophomore, at her second masquerade ball, she'd found a boy and the night had been perfect. Almost that is. There had been dancing and soft music and talking and laughing. All the while she had refused to answer any question about herself and what's more she hadn't delved into anything personal about the boy. She didn't want to know. Because for that boy and the rest of them the masks were all about hiding who they were, while for Jesse it was all about being herself. The girl in the mask and the angelic white dress was really who she was.

Unfortunately the boy slipped up. He hadn't meant to, but his identity had just come out. Right before they were about to kiss, too. She had never kissed anyone before, but she knew, in her gut...and lower, she knew they were about to. But then he ruined it.

She knew who he was. The year before he had pegged her in the back of the head with an egg as she was walking home from the movies. It had hurt bad. She had a half mile left to get home and she had cried the whole way. Standing there under the glittering ball she'd felt like crying again. That was the thing. Had she been in her black outfit, she might have exacted some sort revenge, but in her white dress there was no hate in her. There was deep sadness, however.

And also hope.

"I want to go to the ball, please." There was a begging quality to her voice and she didn't care.

"Then you have to go to school tomorrow and you have to stay out of trouble."

In a second, Jesse calculated the pain to hope ratio. How much pain would she endure in order to get this one thing? This one thing that she loved more than anything. The answer: quite a bit.

"I will."

Jesse demanded and received one very important condition to going to school the next day: a guaranteed ride to and from. She didn't explain why to her parents, nor did she mention her harrowing adventures travelling alone the last couple of days. It wouldn't have helped her case in the least; she just stuck to her guns and refused her mom's poor attempts at bargaining.

It was easy since Cynthia Clarke's only form of currency was guilt. Jesse was all guilted out, having reached her saturation limit a long time ago.

"I can drop you off, but I can't pick you up," her mother explained. "You know I volunteered to start up a winter coat drive. We have the first logistics meeting tomorrow at four."

There was no denying that there was a need for coats in Ashton. Winter was long in Michigan and Jesse had seen a number of kids in the halls with tired looking coats sporting homemade patchwork.

"First off, if you pick me up at three you'll have plenty of time to get to your meeting." Jesse explained. "Second, an entire meeting for logistics? For coats? Please, you could do this by phone."

"You certainly are dismissive about what I think is very important matter to the community," Cynthia Clarke shot back. "These people are hurting. They're not like us. They don't have our money."

"I know they're poor. I have eyes, you know. But there were poor people in Denton and Copper Ridge and everywhere else we've been. And there'll be poor people in the next town you move to. You will always have the poor, Mom, but you won't always have me." In a huff, Jesse turned to leave—a bath sounded good before bed. Only her mom wasn't done pontificating.

"I think you need to learn a little about self-sacrifice and helping others. All these poor people you rail against, when have you ever done anything for them? You see everything I do for the poor, but you never once volunteer to lend a hand."

Jesse's teeth came together with a click and she forced them to stay shut tight. To say any of the nasty things that had come springing into her mind would just cause a fight. "I don't rail against the poor. I never have. I rail against stupid people...rich or poor. And I give. You know I give. I just do it my way."

Her way was the quiet unobtrusive way. When hurricane Katrina swamped New Orleans, Jesse had dug into her savings bonds. When an earthquake leveled Haiti, she went back again for more and mailed away the last of her hopes of buying a Camry. She gave, but she gave quietly, the opposite of her mother's method. If there wasn't a chance at an engraved plaque or a page two photo spread Cynthia Clarke wasn't interested.

"Are you going to give me the ride or not?" Jesse asked from the doorway. "No ride...no school." She then went completely still; she said nothing and did nothing. A negotiating trick of her father's. Cynthia had seen it before and knew better that to beat around the bushes anymore, since Jesse wouldn't respond until she got a firm answer.

"Alright."

It wasn't alright with Cynthia or Jesse, since neither was in any way happy, but it would do.

Jesse left her mom stewing over the fact that she had been forced to comply with what she thought was an unreasonable request, and went to take her bath. Lying in the near-to scalding water turned out to be the best part of her day. Dreamily she thought of Ky. She couldn't stop picturing that moment in the woods when he first realized it was she who was standing in the shade of the tree.

His guard was all but down and she could swear that she saw his true feelings in his eyes. Once she got past the fear that is. There was no question the boy had been afraid and for good reason...but there had also been wonder in his eyes. Like he was seeing a miracle instead of a girl. In a sense she had been a miracle for Ky. He would have been dead without her...and she would have been dead without him.

If he hadn't been there, she would've blundered up that path right into the arms of the Shadow-man. The water went chill at the thought and she climbed out. It was getting very late and Jesse decided it was time for bed, but not before she took one more look, one more peek at the extremes dominating her life just then.

Ky and the Shadow-man.

The Mendel's house was dark, not a light visible. This was the opposite of Harold's home. His lights were ablaze and his shadow could be seen pacing...pacing. By the movement, Jesse would have sworn he seemed nervous.

"What did he have to be nervous about?" she asked, her breath fogging up her window, blearing the image. Nothing. A shark only fears a bigger shark and there was no one bigger than Harold.

***

The morning came in what felt like a blink of an eye, literally. Jesse laid her head down and it seemed in the next second her alarm was raging at her.

Her first impulse was to look out the window again. She didn't realize how excited she was to see Ky until she saw that his curtains were drawn tight. It sent a knife of disappointment into her chest.

"Is he going to act like yesterday never happened?" Jesse said to herself.

Yes of course.

A big sigh escaped her at the truth of that. Ky wasn't going to change overnight, not after years living next to a freak like Harold.

What she was sure to be a terrible day was waiting for Jesse and she moved listlessly through her morning routine. The fact that she wasn't going to be walking great distances opened up her wardrobe choices; however, this was counter-balanced by the very real possibility that she would be fighting that day, despite her promise to be good.

The fight had to happen eventually. Jesse wasn't a turn-the-other-cheek kind of girl. Sure she could forgive, and she had readily so, in those very few instances when she'd been truly apologized to. However, from past experience Jesse knew that if
she
turned the other cheek, she'd just be hit again...and again. It would never stop.

Her philosophy revolved around the
Do unto others
rule. If someone wanted to fight, she'd fight. If they'd want to be her friend, then great she'd be their friend. If they wanted to be left alone, she'd leave them alone.

Except for Ky.

"Yes, except Ky. He's different. He needs me to help him out of his shell. And what's more, we are like two peas in a pod."

Yes you are. You're both crazy. He's a loner and you talk to yourself.

"What am I going to wear," Jesse said, looking into her closet. Purposely she didn't think about what her
voice of reason
had just brought up. She was a lonely girl and had slipped into the habit of mumbling to herself under her breath. Whether she could stop it or not, she didn't know; she'd never tried.

With a possible fight in the offing, Jesse chose her loosest pair of black jeans. This wasn't saying much since she liked them tight; she had a good body and she knew it. She then went to pick out a top and at first she almost went with another black tank top, but she decided to throw her mother a bone. Since it was so close to the Christmas break, she went with a deep red, satin top. It looked great on top of the black jeans.

Finally, she put on her long black trench coat. Her very favorite. It hung to mid-calf, was tight at the waist, and flared out just above the knee. When she wore the coat and everyone stared, it made her feel almost like a movie star.

To Jesse, her clothes helped to mold her outlook. If she looked good she felt good. If she looked tough it helped her to feel tough. She had fought a girl once while she was wearing four-inch heels and a mini skirt. The outfit, a onetime attempt at feeling sexy, made her feel weak and...she hated to admit it, girlish. Her black outfit didn't. Though she was only seventeen, it made her feel like a woman: tough when she needed to be, sexy without being slutty, and above all confident.

Flaring her wide lapel, Jesse strutted down the stairs, feeling good. Even her ankle, once again snugged in its ace bandage, barely even sang the blues.

"Ready when you are, Mom," she said, coming into the kitchen. Cynthia Clarke, as per her usual routine, narrowed her eyes at Jesse's choice of attire. Yet the red satin shirt must have mollified her somewhat.

"Oh, the black coat!" Cynthia gushed. "I love that coat. I'm so jealous, I swear to God, I might just steal it one of these days."

"I'm pretty sure that stealing violates one of dad's rules," Jesse replied, happily. For the second time in three days her mom hadn't started in on her clothing...it was some sort of record. "And you know what? You also took God's name in vain, not to mention that you clearly coveted. Any jury in the world would convict you for that. How many sins do you plan on committing before lunch?"

Cynthia looked thoughtful, "Since this isn't Sunday...only nine out of ten, I guess. You know what would look better with that shirt and that coat..."

"Uhg!"

"Hush. You're just like your father, you think you know everything," Cynthia said without rancor. "Your black skirt, the one that goes right to your knee. That would look good. We have time for you to change."

Her mom was right; Jesse would look good in the outfit. Unfortunately there was the fight to consider. She hoped it would be Amanda; a good win over a girl bigger than herself would definitely make life a little easier.

"I promise to wear it...when things settle down a bit, ok?"

Her mom rose to her feet, threw back the last of her coffee, and said, "I'll hold you to that. Now, let's get you to school."

The words were barely out of Cynthia's mouth before Jesse felt the first pang of anxiety run through her. It grew as they climbed in the car and when she saw the building nestled in the trees the anxiety turned her stomach sour. But it took another sight to elicit a groan from her.

"You'll never find happiness if you're always groaning and moping around," her mom said, not seeing the hunk of twisted metal that had once been Jesse's bike hanging from a tree near the parking lot of the school. "Your high-school life is supposed to be about fun and laughing and learning. You'll never enjoy it if you have the wrong attitude. Do you think dad has it easy? No, but his attitude is...if life gives you lemons..."

"You make lemonade." Jesse finished the cliché while watching the school. She hated that school and all its lowbred, know-nothing students. "That's not so easy, Mom when all you have is lemons and piss."

"Don't be vulgar," Cynthia said, shaking her head. "You know your dad has these same complaints, but he finds a way. He wants you to find a way too. Adapt and over come, that's his motto. So try it, please. Go in there and find a way to make those teachers, not necessarily like you, but respect you. Once they do, I bet the other kids will come around."

"Unless I catch all the teachers in the middle of a huge orgy in the gym, and secretly tape it, that's not going to happen." The image was repulsive, but the idea of putting the video on the internet brought a smile to Jesse's face. It was sort of an evil smile.

"You're impossible you know that?" her mom asked with a shake of her head. But then she gave Jesse a little wink. "If you do go by the gym, make sure you have your cell phone just in case."

Did Cynthia Clarke just make a joke? Judging by her sly little smile, Jesse would have to conclude that she just had. Weird. She couldn't remember the last time that happened.

"See you at three?" Jesse asked with the car door sitting open. She wasn't going to get out until she got a firm yes.

Cynthia Clarke acted the martyr. "Yes, even though it's going..."

"That's all I needed to hear. Thanks Mom." Jesse gave the door a quick slam and strode away with only a single look back to offer her mom a last wave. Cynthia first gave her glare and then a wave of her own before driving away.

Jesse promptly forgot about her. With so many students going in every direction, she couldn't be distracted with thoughts of her mom. Early morning before the first bell rang could be a dangerous time for her. The teachers were almost all inside, preparing for their classes, while the few parents that were hanging around seemed in a hurry to be off to work.

All of which meant, she was an easy target. Or rather an easier target. Jesse was never easy. She walked with quick steps to the school and despite a few hard stares and a number of whispers, the girl in black made it to the supposed safety of the school. Though her eyes washed over the students in the crowding hall the first thing that she really noticed was one of the posters for the up-coming ball. It was tacked over old notices onto a bulletin board.

The picture accompanying the garish Vegas style headline was that of a girl in white. Her dress was flowing and on her back were arched wings of feathers; she was either a swan princess or an angel. While the poster itself was poorly done, the picture was beautiful. It reached out and set itself deep in Jesse's imagination, where it went to work, building fantasies.

For half a minute she stared at the poster, unaware of the usual chaos of the school hallway around her. In a town other than Ashton, she likely would have paid a price for being so oblivious, yet no harm came to her. The students had other priorities:

"Have you seen Jill?—No—She wasn't on the bus! And I, like texted her thirty times already.—we should call her house...wait, there she is."

"Dude pick up your phone. Come on, man, this isn't funny!...Damn it, he's not answering.—He's probably just in the back smoking. I bet you're freaking for nothing."