My Jasper June

by Laurel Snyder

  I shook my head. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t push the pictures out. The crashing storm, tearing away pieces of Jasper’s house, tossing branches onto her roof. The man, with his tooth. His gun. His glance up into the kudzu.

  Deep inside myself, I felt that something was wrong.

  I couldn’t explain it. It didn’t make any logical sense. I just felt it, like someone was crying so far away I couldn’t really hear it, but I knew it was still happening.

  How could I ignore the voice that wasn’t there?

  How could I do that . . . again?

  How could I ignore this feeling? How could I look away? Here I was, in my safe dry room. Back on the raft. Meanwhile, Jasper was out there, floating, alone . . .

  I jumped as the lightning flashed again, and it lit up my room, illuminating the painting on the wall. My portal. The door that wasn’t a real door. Couldn’t be . . .

  Only somehow, in the gleaming flash of the moment, the door looked different. Now the vines looked greener, brighter, more entwined. The brown door looked different too—rougher, as though made from old splintered wood. And the knob. The knob shone, glossy and polished. As though made of actual brass, as though I might actually be able to . . .

  It wasn’t possible.

  I couldn’t be possible.

  And yet . . .

  So I ran. I ran at the door. I bounded, crossed the room in three steps. Breathless, I reached out an open hand, stretched my fingers, wishing, hoping.

  I reached for the knob, and—

  as a huge crash of thunder shook the house and lit up the door floating above me—

  I crumpled my hand against the cold wet wall and fell to the floor, moaning.

  Sticky with fresh paint. Smeared now on my hand and forehead. I shook my hand and winced in pain. Had I broken a finger? I cradled my hand and felt like an idiot. Of course there was no knob to grasp. Of course there was no magic door in the wall. There was never a magic door, anywhere, ever. There was no such thing as magic, not in this world. Not for me and not for Jasper.

  Then I heard a faint mew and turned to see Mr. Face’s paws, scrambling for the slick window ledge across the room. I ran back to the window and reached over, scooped him up in my good left hand, thin and soaking.

  But when I saw the mouse in his teeth, I screamed and dropped him again. He landed on his feet, glanced up at me, and laid the mouse neatly at my feet, next to my slippers on the little rag rug beside my bed. I shuddered. I stared at the little mouse, and Mr. Face stared up at me. Proud of himself.

  I nudged the mouse with my foot. He didn’t move.

  Then I looked out, past the cat and the window and the porch. I stared out into the wind and the rain and the lightning and the trees moaning and bending and cracking in the night. The storm warned me. It cried danger.

  But Jasper was there, trapped in that storm, alone.

  So I climbed out into it.

  Real Magic

  The real magic was that I could run.

  Or the real magic was that I decided to.

  I ran quickly, with the wet pavement shredding my bare feet and the rain beating hard on my head and back. I was soaked immediately, but I didn’t slow down, or stop to rest, or glance around, even though my heart was pounding and the thunder was bursting and rolling and the lightning was splitting the sky above me. I ran.

  Once I’d started, I don’t think I could have slowed down. I couldn’t have stopped, not even for a car, if I could have even heard it over the thunder and the rain. Something inside me, stronger than any logic, knew it needed to run. I dashed down to Hemlock and then up Berne and straight into the creek. I waded across as fast as I could. I couldn’t see anything, and I stumbled over roots and rocks and jagged bits of bottle, but it was like I couldn’t feel it, and my feet knew the way.

  Then I was at the embankment, at the opening in the vines and brush, and I was grabbing for kudzu and pulling myself up the slippy rain-soaked hill, scrambling at the red clay incline, and I was falling, but climbing too, covered in scratches and brambles, plastered with mud.

  At last, I could see the house in the darkness, with the faint glow from its windows. I stumbled and flailed as I dashed around the side of the building, made my way through the tall wet grass, and pushed at the door, which would not give. I banged at it. I pushed harder.

  “Jasper!” I called.

  Something was blocking my way, but I pushed and pushed, and at last, with a grating noise, the cinder blocks gave way, and the splintery old door let me in with a creak of hinges, and I burst into the room, breathless and shouting, “I’m here! I’m here!”

  I looked around the dim room wildly for the man, for the danger, for Jasper. The wind outside shook the old loose panes of glass in the windows, and I could hear a steady drip somewhere in the darkness, even over the thunder all around us, but the room was mostly dry.

  My eyes fell on the bed. There she was. Jasper sprawled on her pile of sheets and blankets. She peered, squinting. She blinked at me, sleepy eyed.

  “Leah? Is it morning?”

  The lights along the floor cast a warm gleam on the blue blanket, and Jasper’s tousled mop of hair was lopsided. She yawned as she smiled at me. She was calm. She was just like always. Jasper.

  “I wasn’t too late,” I said. “You’re okay.”

  “What do you mean?” A drop of rain plunked on her hand from a leak in the ceiling, and the crumbling house groaned with the wind. “What’s wrong? Are you talking about the storm?”

  I dropped to my knees beside her bed, panting, dripping. “Oh, God,” I said. “I’m an idiot. There was nothing wrong. I imagined it.”

  “Leah, what’s going on? Are you okay?” She looked worried.

  Then it all hit me. My scraped feet and tired brain, my panting chest and the mud and rain soaking me. I toppled over onto the edge of her thin mattress. I looked like a freak and felt like a fool.

  “I came . . . to help . . . you,” I said, still trying to catch my breath. “I came . . . to make sure . . . you were safe.”

  Jasper laid a hand on my wet shoulder. She leaned over me and grinned into my face. “You’re nice to worry,” she said. “A total weirdo for sure, and dripping water all over the parts of my bed that weren’t already wet from the storm. But very nice.”

  I rolled off her blankets onto the floor. I tried to breathe like a normal person, whatever that meant.

  Then, in the distance, somewhere near the house, I heard a shout.

  “What was that?” said Jasper. Her eyes shot up to the window.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  We sat in frozen silence for a moment, staring at each other. Waiting. Until we heard it again. A man’s voice. Loud and angry. Bellowing in the rain. And then, at the padlocked front door, the sound of someone knocking. A fist, banging on wood.

  “Oh no,” I said. “It’s him. That man.”

  Jasper’s eyes were wide. “Who?”

  “That guy,” I said. “The one I told you about, with the tooth and the tattoos and the gun. He’s here. I knew he would be. He saw the path to the Vine Realm!”

  Jasper’s eyes went wide. I nodded at her silently. We both waited, staring at each other. I counted the seconds. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . Until the sound came again.

  BANG!

  Only now he was at the back door, just behind my head, here. He was here, and I hadn’t even bothered to replace the cinder blocks when I came in.

  “Oh, God,” said Jasper.

  BANG!

  BANG! BANG!

  The pounding shook the little house, rattled the windows and walls. And we sat frozen. There was nowhere to go. What could we do? Jasper reached for an empty root beer bottle and cocked it behind her head, as if she might throw it if someone tried to come in. We both stared at the door as the knob turned.

  The rickety old door burst open with a crash that shook the room and shattered the cracked pane of glass all over us. Like diamonds, the shards t
winkled everywhere. All across the floor, the bedding. Probably in my hair. I shook my head and looked up. My heart stopped pounding. My heart stopped. Or it felt that way.

  A man stepped into the dimly lit room. He was tall and dripping wet and his eyes were wild.

  “Leah!” he shouted.

  A flashlight beam found me.

  “Dad!” I cried.

  The cold, white light found Jasper next, beside me on her mattress, huddled in her blue blanket.

  “And you must be Jasper,” said my dad. He tossed back the hood of his raincoat and rubbed at his hair until it stood on end. Then he closed his eyes for a minute and just stood there above us. He was wearing his big black rainboots, but I saw that his old plaid pajamas were tucked inside them.

  Jasper nodded. Bits of glass fell to the blanket. “Oh, Leah,” she whispered, trembling. “What did you do?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Then my dad opened his eyes, and I watched him take in everything as the flashlight beam darted around the room. Jasper, under the blanket I’d brought from our house. Mom’s tablecloth. The sad assortment of cans and boxes that lined the counter. The bouquet of dead roses in their pickle jar. I saw it all through my father’s eyes, and everything looked different.

  Everything was different.

  Of course, right about then, the storm died down. But even so, the walk home was unbearable. I almost would have welcomed thunder to drown out the silence. Nobody spoke as we left the house and trudged in the rain, slipping down the hill and then along the creek, following my dad and the sharp white beam of his flashlight. Jasper was behind me, gasping each time she tripped over something. Then we were out on the road, and we moved more quickly, though I was in no hurry to get home. I couldn’t imagine what was about to happen. I couldn’t even begin to guess.

  At last we reached the house, where Mom was waiting for us on the porch, clutching a stack of soft dry towels. Dad went straight in the front door without even a word.

  I looked up at the porch light. “The power’s back on?” I said.

  “Take your clothes off,” Mom snapped in a neat, curt voice. As though she’d been rehearsing. She set the towels on the ground.

  “Here?” I said. “No!”

  “You will do as I say, Leah,” she snapped. “You’re covered in mud and soaked to the bone, and . . . is that glass in your hair?”

  I nodded.

  “Do it,” she said. Then she turned and went inside.

  I looked at Jasper. “I didn’t tell them, I swear. He must have heard me, and followed. . . .”

  But she just shook her head at me and turned away, raised her nightgown over her head. I turned around and did the same. Then I grabbed for one of the towels and wrapped it around myself. Silently, we walked into the living room, where Dad and Mom were waiting for us. Dad stood tall, with his arms crossed in front of him. His wet hair stood straight up, and he had changed into sweats and his threadbare blue robe. Mom was sitting in her old chair, rocking faintly, nervously.

  Jasper glanced at me, as if waiting to see what I’d do, so I went first—across the room. I sat on the sofa. A moment later, she joined me. Then for a while, we all just stared at each other.

  At last, Mom stopped rocking and leaned forward. Her voice was surprisingly calm and kind when she asked, “What’s going on here, girls?”

  Jasper looked to me again. It was her story to tell, but her eyes were narrow slits, and they were my parents. I turned back to my mom. “It’s hard to explain,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Try,” said Mom. “Try the truth.”

  My father cleared his throat. “They were in a vacant house, Rachel. Over near Red’s Farm, back in the brambles. They had it set up like a playhouse. With a bed and everything.”

  My mom looked at me. “What?”

  “It’s nothing bad. We just had a hideout,” I said. “A place of our own.”

  Mom shook her head. “That’s a dangerous game, Leah. Anyone could be wandering around late at night, and nobody would hear you if you needed help. Dangerous people are out there, you know.”

  “I know!” I said. “That’s why I went, to get Jasper. I was scared for her.”

  My mother’s brow wrinkled. She turned to Jasper. “And where does your mom think you are tonight?”

  Jasper only shrugged. At the other end of the couch, with her hair wet and streaming down her back, she seemed smaller, somehow, and miles away.

  “You’ll find this will go much better if you answer her,” said my dad. His voice was wound up tight, like it might explode.

  “My . . .” Jasper stuttered. “My mother doesn’t care where I am.”

  “Maybe it feels like that,” said my mom. “But I’m certain that’s not true.”

  Jasper laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “I wish you were right, but you’re not. My mom isn’t like you. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “It’s true,” I said, turning from my mom to my dad. “It’s different for Jasper. Her mom isn’t . . . around.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said my mom, reaching into a pocket for her cell phone. “What’s her number? It’s time I talked to this woman.”

  “You can’t,” said Jasper simply. She didn’t sound upset. She was just stating a fact. “Please. I won’t bother Leah anymore. I won’t ever come back here. I promise.”

  “No!” I cried.

  “And so then what . . . ?” said my dad. “You’ll go back to that shack? Soaking in your wet nightgown and flip-flops? Do you think we’re going to let you do that?”

  Jasper shrugged.

  “No, seriously,” he said. “What would you do, if you were us?”

  Now all three of us were staring at Jasper. She was gazing at her feet, lost. The silence was unbearable.

  At last, without lifting her head, she said, “I . . . I can’t go back. To where I was living, before.”

  “Why not?” asked my mom. Her voice was soft but curious.

  Jasper finally looked up at her, and her lip was trembling. “I can’t tell you that. I want to . . . but I can’t.”

  When Jasper said that, it was like something shifted inside Mom. But not in a bad way. Her face crumpled, and she rose and came over to the couch. She sat between us and put an arm around Jasper. Not me, but Jasper.

  “Honey,” she said, “whatever it is, I promise it’s not as bad as you think. We can help. You just need to tell us. That’s what we’re here for.”

  Watching my mom hold Jasper, I felt slow soft tears in my eyes. She looked . . . like a mom. My mom. The real one. I had missed her so much. How I had missed her. I wanted to reach out for her myself in that moment, but it wasn’t my turn. Jasper needed her now. I let my tears fall and then wiped their trails away.

  Jasper shook her head. She still wasn’t really crying, but her eyes shone too, and her voice was tight when she said, “People . . . say things like that. But it’s just not true.” She took a deep breath. “You can’t help me. There’s no way. If I thought you could, I would let you. I really would. That’s all I want.”

  Then there was a sob, a wrenching sharp sound, almost a bark, and Jasper was crying.

  Mom was still holding her, but she looked over at me now. I couldn’t tell what she wanted me to say. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Across the room, Dad had uncrossed his arms. His brow was furrowed, and he strode toward us, to perch on the edge of the coffee table. His voice softened, but the words he spoke were terrible.

  “Jasper, let us help you. I don’t want to call the police, but if you don’t tell us what’s going on . . . that’s what I’ll have to do.”

  “No!” cried Jasper, through her tears.

  “Then talk to us,” said Dad. “Help us understand. We can’t responsibly let you walk out into the street. How old are you, anyway?”

  “Fourteen,” said Jasper, sniffling.

  “Yeah, see, you’re just a kid. I would never be able to live
with myself if I let you go. If you don’t want to call your parents, I’ll be forced to call the police.”

  “No,” said Jasper, wiping her tears with her bare arm. “Please? Please don’t do that?”

  Everything was happening too fast, and I felt lost in it all. My parents were trying to help, and I knew it, but they didn’t understand. And it was late at night, and they were tired and lost too, and I could see where this would end. It was a bad ending, but there was nothing I could do. Jasper was crying and Mom was crying, and my dad had his head in his hands now. They hadn’t been able to handle the cat box for the last year or the lint trap. They hadn’t been able to carry on a normal conversation, and now they were trying to handle this? They were broken. We were all broken. But somebody had to do something.

  I opened my mouth, and when I spoke, it wasn’t to my parents. It was to Jasper.

  “That’s it,” I said. “It’s over. You have to tell them. If you don’t, I will.”

  “What?” Jasper looked up through her tears.

  “They can’t understand if you don’t tell them,” I said.

  Mom was nodding, and Dad was nodding too.

  “Leah,” said Jasper. “You swore. You promised. . . .”

  I nodded. “I know. But they’re right. I figured that out tonight. I was so scared, Jasper. That man I saw, and the storm. I was so scared.”

  “I was fine,” said Jasper.

  “No,” I said, “you really weren’t, even if you thought that. This isn’t a game. It isn’t a playhouse, or a story. It’s real. And even if you hate me forever now, I know it’s true. We can’t handle this on our own. And something bad will happen eventually, even if you manage to run back to the Vine Realm, or somewhere else like it. And I’ll have to live with just standing by, letting it happen. You have to tell them, or I will.”

  Jasper shook her head.

  So I took a deep breath, and it felt like something was tearing inside me, but I couldn’t look away from the truth. I couldn’t just sit there on the raft and survive alone while she sank beneath whatever it was that might drown her.

  “Jasper’s mom is gone,” I said. “She’s not around. She’s . . . bad news.”