Jackson Jones

by Jenn Kelly

  “What did you see in the mirrors?”

  “Well, I was captain of the baseball team. I was a professor at the University. I won the Thompson Award.”

  “Did you like what you saw?”

  “Well, of course I did! That’s who I want to be! Those are…” Jackson gulped. “Those are my dreams,” he whispered.

  “Jackson, who’s to say that’s not who you are now?”

  “But…”

  Who indeed was to say that wasn’t who he was? Just because the kids at school called him names didn’t mean they were true. He was a terrible ball player, but he loved to play. And the mirror showed him as captain of the team! Those mirrors…

  The teachers called him a daydreamer, but in the picture he was a professor. He won a prize for his writing! How much of a daydreamer could he be if he accomplished those things? Maybe that was just for now. And if that was just for now, then it didn’t matter what anyone else said. What he saw was true. Wasn’t it?

  “So, what I saw in the mirrors, that was true?” he asked.

  “Unless you see yourself differently from the truth,” she said softly. “Unless you forget.”

  Jackson hugged his satchel tightly and thought of the Book inside. He’d never forget. The Book would remind him if he forgot.

  A beep sounded, and Eleissa flicked a button on her watch.

  “Time’s up. Good-bye.”

  Meeka stood up. “We have to go now, Jackson,” she said tugging at his hand.

  “But I have more questions!” he said, not moving.

  “I’m very busy; please don’t bother me,” Eleissa sighed impatiently at them.

  Jackson got up reluctantly and walked toward the open tent flap that Meeka was holding for him.

  “Eleissa?”

  “What?”

  “Could you please stop reading my story?”

  Eleissa nodded and then smiled at him.

  Jackson slipped out of the tent, Meeka quietly following.

  Chapter 38

  A Chapter that Is Not Nearly as Long as the Last One

  In the back of your mind is a little nag nagging you. I’m not talking about an old horse nag, I’m talking about a worry, a torment, an “irk,” if you will. You are probably wondering what that nag (worry, torment, irk) is. You are wondering about the doorknob on the floor in the middle of the hall. I know your mind has been going back to that doorknob and that you probably have some questions. Such as:

  Why was it on the floor? Why was it not on a door? Is there a door in the floor? What is behind the door if it is indeed a door in the floor? Why on earth did Jackson forget about it? I surely didn’t forget about it. Is the writer of this book having fun with me? Or is it just a pointless thing in a pointless story that is quite pointless? And when-oh-when is this book going to end? Am I going to be able to stay awake in school tomorrow with all of this reading I’m doing? Are my parents going to catch me reading in bed? Will my

  mother make me go outside and play instead of finishing this book? What is with that doorknob? What is the cosine of 7.88? What is Spanish for “couch?” Why is the writer still asking all these questions? When will the writer go on?

  Well, dear reader, I have some answers for you:

  Because. Because. Yes. I’m getting to that. He didn’t. A little. No. Soon. Doubtful. I hope not. She might. I’m getting to that. I don’t know. Look it up in a Spanish-English dictionary. Because I can. Now.

  Chapter 39

  I Bet You Thought I Forgot

  Jackson and Meeka walked out the back door of the house (because the gargantuan, hairy-backed spiders were still lurking on the front porch), walked out the lovely doors painted a vivacious red, and continued with the tour.

  Their walk back wasn’t worth mentioning as it was rather boring in comparison to the rest of their adventure. Except when Meeka tripped on the path and the pretty weeds that smell like fishy dog breath rubbed their fishy dog breath smell on her hands. Then she

  had to dig around her big bulging tour-guide bag for antibacterial wipes. (“They have those in here?” Jackson asked, to which Meeka replied, “Of course! Don’t you think we care about hygiene?”)

  They rounded the corner of the hallway. A shiny something-or-other caught Jackson’s eye, and as they approached he realized that it was the doorknob.

  The doorknob.

  The doorknob in the middle of the floor.

  Jackson had been wondering about the doorknob but because of his adventures, he figured they would get to it eventually. As I may share with you, dear readers, that when he wanted to, Jackson could be a very patient young man. Rather unlike impatient readers.

  And indeed, there the doorknob was.

  Chapter 40

  In Which There Is a Secret

  Jackson looked resolutely at the doorknob. (Resolutely means with determination. Like when your dog sits begging at the table and is pretty sure you’ll give him a bite.) Time for a new adventure. Jackson felt unexpectedly brave. Almost like a hero would. But he had questions, of course.

  “Meeka? What’s up with this doorknob? Where does it go? Is there a door on the ground? What’s behind the door?” Jackson asked. (I told you he had been thinking of it.)

  “I really don’t know,” she mumbled at the floor.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “Um, I just don’t know.” She looked up at the ceiling.

  Jackson stepped closer to her. “Are you not telling me something?”

  Meeka jammed a fistful of hair into her mouth.

  Jackson placed a hand on her shoulder. Her big brown eyes looked up at Jackson fretfully. (Fretful means worried. Like when your begging dog begins to whine because he’s worried you won’t give him a bite. Actually, that’s just bad manners.)

  “Meeka, do you know where this door goes?” Jackson asked.

  She shook her head no, some hair falling out of her mouth.

  “If you know where this door goes, why won’t you tell me?”

  Meeka looked up at Jackson and opened her mouth. The rest of her gacky-wet hair fell onto her shoulders. She snapped her mouth shut.

  “Listen, I’m not moving anywhere until you tell me where this door goes.”

  Meeka looked over her shoulder, then up at the ceiling. She looked over Jackson’s shoulder, then bent over and looked upside down through her legs. Then she stood up and stepped toward Jackson, putting her little mouth near his ear.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it. You’re supposed to discover it for yourself,” she whispered. She jerked back into position and stared at her fingernails.

  This was getting altogether too complicated.

  “So if I discover this doorknob by myself and open it, will you come in with me?”

  Meeka looked upside down through her legs again. Jackson bent upside down and looked through his. He saw an upside-down hallway. He straightened up.

  “Only because you’re my friend,” she whispered.

  Jackson nodded at her. He pointed at the doorknob.

  “Oh my!” he said in a very loud voice. “I’ve found a DOORKNOB! On the FLOOR, no less! I wonder where it GOES? Meeka, can I open this door?”

  “SURE YOU CAN!”

  Jackson kneeled down. He turned the doorknob and…

  Chapter 41

  In Which the Writer Prepares You

  I want to prepare you for this part. You aren’t going to like it. You aren’t going to like it at all. And it’s going to frustrate you. But then you’ll like it again. That’s all I can really tell you right now. So you’d better keep reading.

  …and…

  Chapter 42

  A Chapter that Requires a Key Again

  …it was locked.

  “Oh, for crying out loud!!!” Jackson yelled.

  Meeka squeaked and jumped back.

  “Why won’t this door open?” He turned to her.

  Meeka squeaked again. She trembled and muttered something.

 
“What?”

  “It’s locked.”

  “I can see that it’s locked, Meeka,” Jackson said superciliously. (Supercilious means arrogant and grouchy. I’ve already explained it back on page 133. Don’t you remember?)

  Meeka’s head hung lower.

  “I’m sorry, Meeka. Yes, it is locked. Would you happen to have the key?”

  Meeka trembled. “I’m going to get fired.”

  “Why are you going to get fired?”

  “I lost the key. Again.”

  “Where did you lose the key, Meeka?”

  “I don’t know,” she wailed, throwing her little arms into the air. “It’s the same key that opens the gate of the house. And the trapdoor! And this door! And I LOST IT!”

  “What trapdoor?”

  “Er…never mind.” Meeka’s fingers twisted her hair.

  “Well, isn’t there a spare key we can use?”

  “I’ve lost it! And the other, other spare is at the house. BUT I LOST THAT TOO!” Meeka threw herself against the wall and pounded it with her fists. “I’m going to get fired! I always lose things! WHAAAAAA!”

  Jackson was annoyed, but he didn’t want to upset Meeka further. Nothing is worse than a screaming girl. Except maybe a crying girl. And she was doing both. No point exacerbating the situation. (Exacerbating is like when you pick your scab and then it bleeds more,

  and your mother tells you to stop doing that because you’ll just make it worse.)

  Jackson sat down against the wall and contemplated the doorknob. Meeka slid from the wall to the floor and just sat there, her little hands covering her big eyes. Every once in a while she’d sniffle. Then snort. Jackson needed to take charge of the situation.

  “Meeka, you were the one who unlocked the gate. Do you remember what you did with the key?” he asked.

  Meeka shook her head.

  “Okay, let’s backtrack a little. What happened after you unlocked the gate? You followed Rayaa to chase the crubbie right?”

  Meeka nodded, her fingers going into her mouth.

  “Okay, Rayaa shot the crubbie, and then what happened?” he asked.

  “Mmmmphaaamphhhaaaoooomphhhssssssmphhh.”

  “What did you say?”

  Meeka removed her hands from her mouth. “I went to look at the birdcage.”

  “Okay, and then what?”

  “Then I climbed up on the perch. I was thinking about cat food.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Cat food. How gross it is. I was imaging how gross cat food tastes.”

  “You’ve tasted cat food?” Jackson scratched his head.

  “And I remembered it so vividly that I had a yucky taste in my mouth, so I wanted a piece of gum.”

  “So what did you do with the key?”

  Meeka’s eyes popped with delight. She slid her hand into her left pocket and…

  Chapter 43

  In Which the Story Continues

  Well of course the key was there. Why else would there be such a buildup? I mean, did you think Jackson would walk away from the doorknob? That’s just silly. Of course he was going to unlock the door. If he didn’t, the story would no longer be interesting and you would write me many letters to state your disappointment. I might get UN-fan mail. And that just wouldn’t do. I’m all for encouraging letters, but I don’t need letters on how I am a bad writer, how I drink too many chai lattes, or that it’s silly to shriek when one encounters earwigs. Er…never mind.

  By the way, the disappointment is coming.

  Just to warn you.

  Meeka slid her hand in her left pocket and pulled out a key.

  “Good girl, Meeka!” Jackson shouted.

  She beamed a big smile from elf ear to elf ear.

  Jackson took the key from her, slipped it into the lock, and turned it and…

  Chapter 44

  A Chapter that Is Terribly Mean

  …I’m so mean…

  Chapter 45

  A Chapter that Is Even More Mean

  …it turned…

  Chapter 46

  In Which No One Can Find a Light Switch

  Jackson took a big breath and pulled. The floor opened as the door swung open. Jackson looked into the hole. Well, he tried to. It was dark. Very dark. Actually, it was pitch-black. Jackson looked back at Meeka.

  “Meeka, is there a light switch or something?”

  Meeka shook her head and said nothing. She slunk backward to the wall and sat down. Jackson sighed and looked back down the hole.

  “Hello!” he called out. His voice was swallowed by the darkness.

  A light came on, blinding Jackson.

  “Hello.”

  Chapter 47

  A Chapter that Explains a Lot

  Could I be meaner? Actually, yes I could. I could totally change the subject of this chapter and drive you absolutely bananas and make you want to throw this book against the wall in frustration or even write an UN-fan letter. Now it is really making you crazy with wanting to know what is behind that door. Well, I’m done toying with your emotions, and I will let the story continue on. This is a long chapter so make sure you take the time to read it, because when you begin you will not want to stop.

  Jackson rubbed his eyes. A head popped out from the bright light. The head had short, spiky, blond hair and kind eyes. He smiled a big smile, his teeth twinkling because he had braces.

  “They have braces in here?” Jackson wondered aloud.

  This was a rather rude thing to say. Jackson should have said, “Hello, how do you do?” which are the appropriate words to say after someone says hello (unless of course it’s a stranger down a dark alley, in which case you should run the other way). But you must understand that Jackson had seen so many strange things that day, he was a little surprised to see something so normal. Oh sorry, I’m keeping you from the story. My bad.

  The head laughed a deep laugh.

  “Yes, we have braces in here. I wear them because my teeth are crooked.”

  Jackson just stared at him.

  “You coming in?” he asked.

  Jackson looked down.

  “Oh, it’s all right,” the man said, seeming to read his mind. “There are stairs leading down, but they’re steep, so watch your step.”

  He stepped down and Jackson took a step to follow him. He looked back at Meeka who was sitting against the wall.

  “Are you coming?” He was a little nervous, and he wanted her to come with him.

  Meeka paused and then stepped forward. “Just don’t tell anyone I came with you and Josh. I’m really not supposed to.”

  “Oh, his name is Josh?”

  Meeka nodded. “Josh the Page.”

  “Josh the page?”

  “No, not like a page in a book. A page is like, well…” And she trailed off.

  Josh’s voice drifted up from the stairs below. “A page is a messenger and an apprentice.”

  But Jackson hadn’t heard him. Well, he had heard him, but once Jackson saw where the stairs led, he

  stopped listening. And the reason he stopped listening was because…

  The stairs led into a large forest.

  Jackson stepped down the last step onto the forest floor. The ground was springy under his feet. Soft moss grew everywhere. This was the most beautiful forest Jackson had ever seen. And he had seen his fair share of forests, especially for a ten-and-a-half-year-old.

  Gigantic trees filled the sky. Their colossal limbs flared out, reaching for the bright sun. Massive black oaks (Quercus velutina), spreading silver maples (Acer saccharinum), and dominant yellow birches (Betula alleghaniensis). (I’ve included the Latin names in case you are of a scientific mind.)

  The forest also had glittering silver poplars (Populus alba), golden weeping willows (Salix alba var. vitellina), gothic jack pine (Pinus banksiana), and silvery Russian olives (Eleagnus angustifolia). (I’m sure you are asking yourself what Russian olive trees are doing in such a forest, as they are an ornamental tree. I would ask the
same question but it is one of my favorite trees, so I don’t particularly mind.)

  A dried-up mud path led away from the stairs. The kind of dry mud path that makes lovely slap-slap noises when you walk on it barefoot. Meeka confessed that she’d spent last Saturday doing just that and not much else.

  Jackson blinked and turned to look at Josh the Page.

  Josh the Page was younger than Jackson had previously thought. He was about eighteen, and he had curious green eyes and wore a gold hoop in his left ear. His green short-sleeved uniform shirt showed off strong arms. His shirt was tucked into his green hiking shorts. He had solid hiking boots on with very tight laces. He had a brown belted leather satchel slung over one shoulder. And he had a twinkle smile that one can only achieve if they wear twinkly braces.

  Jackson had a million questions.

  “I have a million questions,” Jackson said.

  “Go ahead.”

  But what Jackson asked was unexpected. He didn’t ask why there was a forest below the stairs. He didn’t ask how a forest could possibly exist in a room. He didn’t even ask who had planted the ornamental Russian olive trees, because they clearly did not belong in such a place. What he did ask was:

  “What are you apprenticing for?”

  Josh the Page laughed. Meeka laughed as well. Jackson just looked at the two of them and felt a little unsettled. They just kept laughing. He waited patiently. They kept laughing.

  Josh wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “Oh, that was a good one. You could have asked me what a forest was doing below the stairs, or how it could possibly exist in this room. You didn’t even ask who planted the ornamental Russian olive trees, because they clearly do not belong in such a place as this. Instead you go directly to the most unobvious question to ask. This is why you were chosen for the tour.”