The Sacrificial Daughter (10 page)

Jesse then made a face of wild-eyed naiveté. "Oh, that's a toughy, Rick. I
do
think killers are bad, but without a cookie, someone might get woozy. We can't have that. But on the other hand if the killer breaks in here, he might stain one of my knives with Jesse's blood...oh this is such a tough decision!"

The big voice: "You are almost out of time! What's it going to be Cynthia? The cookie or your daughter's worthless life? Tick-tock Cynthia, tick-tock."

"Ooooh...I have to go with the cookie, Rick. I do ‘love' my daughter, but cookies bring joy and people really-really like me when I give them one."

"Good choice, Cynthia," Jesse said as herself. She sat staring at her bowl of oatmeal.

The bike ride was beyond painful. With the temperature at a brisk twenty-nine degrees and a biting crosswind that stung the right side of her face, it was closer to a form of self-induced torture.

At least there wasn't fresh snow on the road. The previous day's clouds had been all show and no snow. Therefore she made good time and was at her locker with a good five minutes to kill. Since she wasn't in the least hurry, she decided to wait there getting warm until the first bell rang.

She fiddled with her lock and monkeyed about in the useless locker—from long experience she knew that her locker would be a magnet for trouble and pranks; as long as it was assigned to Jesse Clarke, it would never be used.

In those five minutes, students meandered by in the lazy way that all teens seemed to walk, and as they passed her they stared unabashedly at her new appearance. By the look in their eyes she could tell that most of them thought that there was
another
new student in school, but then Jesse heard someone whisper her name. Just like that the word 'Jesse' seemed to catch on everyone's lips and she heard it whispering up and down the hall like a cold fire blown on a chill wind.

The bell did nothing to silence the whispers; they followed her into her first period class: English—Creative Writing—Mrs. Jerryman.

Perched on the side of her desk, Mrs. Jerryman, who might have been a beautiful woman at one time, but was now sagging and drooping in all the wrong spots, greeted her students with a smile. One after another they filed in and were presented with this pleasantry. Even Jesse received one. Or at least part of one. The woman's lip rose and her eyes narrowed in equal measure. If it was a smile, it was a disagreeable one.

"Miss Clarke?" she asked. Jesse nodded in answer. "
Interesting
look," the teacher commented.

On the subject of clothing, Jesse had only impolite things to say in return so she kept quiet. Mrs. Jerryman's clothes had been designed for a much younger and smaller woman and the best that could be said about her outfit was that it was keeping her from spilling or sliding out at the edges.

"I saw you yesterday morning in the hall," Mrs. Jerryman continued. "What a complete transformation—you're like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. No offense."

No offense? How could that not be considered offensive? The students tittering and elbowing each other all around her sure were enjoying the "inoffensive" remark. Jesse gripped her bag.

No tears
,
be hard!

"I like the fact that I can change my appearance as it suits my mood," Jesse replied. "It's liberating...you should try it Mrs. Jerryman. You don't want to be stuck as Mr. Hyde all the time do you?"

Silence greeted this little comment, a long silence. At least half a minute, which in a situation like the one Jesse found herself in was very long indeed. As the silence went on she felt a thrum of nervousness at her own temerity.

Mrs. Jerryman only stared at Jesse with hard eyes that clearly indicated that trouble waters lay ahead. Yet, the girl didn't mind the stare so much. She had been stared at in baseless hate, many, many times before.

In fact the stare burning into her face helped. Rather than cowering before it and backing down, Jesse grew angrier with each passing second and she had a right to be angry. She had a right to rip this lady a new one.

When the last of her nervousness left her, Jesse asked with a tone of mock innocence, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Mr. Hyde was the monster that Dr. Jekyll turned into...it wasn't the other way around," Mrs. Jerryman retorted. This was followed by a significant, purposeful pause and then the lady added, "As you well know."

Mrs. Jerryman's lips then formed a hard pink line on her face. Just then they were the only thing on her not sagging and Jesse had to wonder what they would look like if she was really mad.

"You're right. I knew that Mr. Hyde was the hideous monster, but I don't understand why you look so angry," Jesse replied still innocent. Then her eyes came open as if a she now realized her mistake. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I suggested that you looked like a hideous monster and I plum forgot to say
no offence
. My bad."

At this Mrs. Jerryman's face reached zero-lip surface. From the nose down, save for her middle-aged woman's moustache, her face was flat and smooth. Jesse considered it interesting, and it made her want to find out what was the next stage in Mrs. Jerryman's anger transformation would be.

"
No offence
is like magic isn't it," Jesse went on conversationally. "With,
no offence,
you can say whatever you want and not have to worry in the least about consequences. I think that it's wonderful that you taught me something so valuable, Mrs. Jerryman."

Pointing at the door, the teacher seethed, "Get out."

Jesse feigned shock. "Why? What did I do? I meant that as a compliment.
No offence
is great. Really it is. I have to be honest, I didn't think I was going to learn a thing this year; the teachers around here are all so stupid after all..." Jesse paused and held up a finger as if to forestall an avalanche of anger. "…I almost forgot...
No offence
. So when you teach me this right off the bat, when we barely even know each other...it's just great."

"Oh, you
are
rude! Ms Weldon warned me, but I wanted to see it for myself."

"If I'm rude, then I learned from the best," Jesse gave the teacher a half curtsy, holding out an imaginary dress with delicate fingers.

"Get out!" Mrs. Jerryman hollered.

"And where would you like me to go?" Jesse asked in a strikingly calm manner.

She felt great. The normal apprehension that churned her guts when talking to some hateful adult had slipped away, leaving a sense of invincibility behind. She didn't care a whit if she got detention—in fact she rather hoped for a suspension. The idea of a three-day break appealed to her. It would be a nice little run up to the winter break. She could even sleep in. The idea brought a smile to her face.

"I could go down to see Principal Peterson and discuss this wonderful, magical phrase with him." Jesse said, brazenly—putting her own head right on a silver platter, so to speak. The idea only made her smile broader than before.

There was a pause as Mrs. Jerryman looked to be having trouble forming words due to her anger, and Jesse took the moment to glance around. The other students looked on in wonder. They couldn't believe that anyone would ever talk to Mrs. Jerryman in this way. Though most of their eyes held gradients of hate, a few held grudging respect, and one set of eyes held all of her attention.

From the back of the room, the Ghost, Ky, was looking Jesse right smack in her baby-blues. His eyes were wide and intense. The look made her mouth come open; a little sip of air drifted into her lungs and filled her completely. Right at that moment, the Ghost was completely gone and Ky sat in his place. He was just a boy and she was just a girl and there was most definitely a connection between them. She felt it in her chest where that sip of air turned hot.

And then he looked down at the book on his desk and pretended to read. Ky was gone and she only stood staring at the Ghost once again.

Finally, Mrs. Jerryman found her voice. "You would like that wouldn't you?" Jesse blinked at this, trying to play catch up to what the woman was saying. Ky's hazel eyes had pulled her right out of the moment. "I have a better idea," her teacher went on. "Since you are so fond of my teaching methods, I'll give you some extra instruction on the side."

Inside, Jesse glowered, but wasn't much surprised. She could've taken Mrs. Jerryman's insults without saying anything
and
still be forced to do extra work…or she could do exactly what she had: take a stand
and
be forced to do extra work.

She decided to make one more attempt at an early vacation: "Extra instruction? I hope you can teach me how to spit when I talk. I've never met anyone who could do that so well as you. I'm practically drenched."

Mrs. Jerryman's throat began to work up and down; so much so that Jesse worried she was choking on her tongue. At first her eyes bulged and then she squeezed them tight. "In your seats...everyone. It's time to call the roll," she eventually rasped out.

Jesse remained standing until she saw the only chair that was left to her was the one nearest Ky. The sight of it sent a spike through her chest. She began heading that way with dueling emotions: fear and hope. On one hand she dreaded the idea that Mrs. Jerryman would call her away from that one chair and stick her somewhere else. Likely up in the front where she could be insulted at the teacher's whim. On the other hand, she hoped, with more fervor than she had expected, for Ky to look up at her again. All she wanted was one more moment for their eyes to lock once again.

Neither came to fruition.

Ky kept his eyes doggedly down and Mrs. Jerryman seemed perversely pleased with Jesse's seating arrangement. She even gave Jesse a smile accompanied by a little laugh—what this meant was lost on Jesse. Though it did spring to mind a recollection of her brief fear that Ky was diseased...yet he looked so fine.

"As I promised yesterday," Mrs. Jerryman announced. "Since winter break is so close, we will have a little fun this week. I want you to breakup into teams of three. We will be creating limericks....the randier the better...but only to a point. And I will be the judge of that point, so don't go too overboard. I want them ready for tomorrow's class when we will be reciting them out loud."

As she spoke, Jesse cast secret looks at Ky out of the corner of her eye. Again, in the looks department there was definitely nothing wrong with the boy. If he was sick, it was an unseen malady.

"Jesse."

Jesse jumped. Her secret look had turned into a not so secret stare. "Yes...Mrs. Jerryman." For a moment Jesse had been so flustered she forgot her teacher's name.

"Sorry, but you're out of luck in the partner category," Mrs. Jerryman said, not looking sorry in the least. "Everyone is all matched up."

It was a struggle for Jesse not to glance at Ky, who was very much without a partner. Could she dare to hope...

"Instead, I have another assignment for you." Now it was a struggle for Jesse to keep from looking too crestfallen, yet some of the look slipped out anyway. The teacher saw and gave Jesse another one of those unnerving cryptic smiles that seemed to occur so frequently when Jesse was around Ky.

Mrs. Jerryman drummed her fingers on Jesse's desk wearing a considering look. "Let's see... I think that I want you to do a five-thousand word essay instead."

A smirking snide laugh escaped Jesse. "A five thousand word essay?" She glanced at the clock. "In fifty minutes? That's one thousand words every ten minutes. Wouldn't it be easier just to give me a zero instead?"

"It might be, but then what would you learn?"

"I would learn hopelessness." Jesse answered matter-of-factly. "It was something that I was taught in psychology last year. You see when a child is ill treated and given tasks that are beyond her ability to accomplish, she learns to be hopeless...you know without hope. She then stops trying altogether. When we discussed it at school the teacher said that it was...what's the word I'm looking for? Not mean but...?"

Jesse wanted Mrs. Jerryman to say the word, but her lips had pressed together tightly once again and had disappeared. Jesse filled in her own missing blank: "Abusive! That's the word that I wanted. I think he said it could even be criminal...I think. I'll have to check my journal. I keep notes about what happens to me in school in this journal. Names, dates...assignments...everything."

As she had gone on the woman's face grew grim and the flesh of her jowls began to quiver. "Are you done yet?" Mrs. Jerryman asked sourly. Jesse only raised her shoulders slightly and the teacher continued, "I never said the essay has to be done by the end of class. Did I? No, I didn't. You will have until tomorrow. And yes, spelling counts."

Jesse had no plans on doing the ridiculous assignment. She knew it would take every moment of her evening and no matter how good it was she would still fail. "On what topic?" Jesse asked just out of curiosity. She expected the teacher to name some obscure author or some off the wall topic such as: the spirituality of peach-pits, or some such non-sense. Yet she didn't.

Mrs. Jerryman looked thoughtful and then said, "Surprise me, just be sure that there's a bibliography as part of it. I will not tolerate plagiarism. Intellectual theft is still theft."

What an odd thing to say
, her voice of reason said.

Yes it was. It almost seemed as if Mrs. Jerryman was looking to trap her into doing some sort of criminal act. Did she actually think anyone would care if she plagiarized? The police wouldn't. Not even the homegrown
Barney Fifes
of Ashton, whom she was certain, like everyone else, would just hate her on sight.

Still, even if they did want to prosecute her, she had a feeling that they would bungle it. After all they've had a killer right in their back yard—right in her back yard actually—for years and couldn't seem to catch the guy even though all he seemed to do is roam the forest looking for his next victim.