“I forgive you?”
Sandra moaned, then shook her hands at the wrists. “Yeah! Say it again!”
“No.” It was too weird. She didn’t know what was happening to Sandra’s body, but she didn’t like being the cause of it.
“Do it!”
“No!”
“Sandra,” Mrs. Thomas interrupted. “Go back to class. Now.”
Sandra’s eyes glazed over with fear and she turned heel and scurried out of the office.
“That was very big of you to forgive her, Jess. Would you like me to pull Miranda from class to join you for the rest of the day?”
Jess nodded enthusiastically.
Mrs. Thomas looked down at her watch and worried her lip. “Hm.” She looked up at Jess. “How do you feel about pizza rolls?”
“Um. I love them?”
“Because I bet if I ordered some now, they’d be here for us to eat by lunch.” She beamed before concern overshadowed the glow. “Or, wait. Did your mother already pack you something for lunch?”
Jess’s mind traveled to the ham sandwich, tiny Ziploc of plain potato chips, and sliced apple packed into a brown paper bag currently residing in her backpack on the floor next to the chair.
She shook her head. “No, I was just going to grab something from the cafeteria.”
Mrs. Thomas’s smile returned. “Excellent. An impromptu pizza party it is, then!” She went back over to the phone and called Mr. Harrison to have Miranda sent up front, and when she was done, she paused before dialing the pizza place, held the receiver to her bosom and said, “Don’t worry. Eighth grade is difficult for everyone, not just you. It gets easier as you get older, though. Really it does. The trick is to find what makes you happy and focus all your energy on that.”
“Does that help?”
“Are you kidding? It makes all the difference in the world.”
If she’d heard those words from anyone else, Jess would have dismissed them immediately. But when they came from Mrs. Thomas, Jess dared to hope.
She tried the thought on for size. Life can be good. It felt all right. She said it to herself a few more times as Mrs. Thomas dialed the pizza place, and each repetition felt more convincing.
Now all she had to do was focus on what made her happy.
Oh crap. What makes me happy?
Nature shows, obviously, but that wasn’t normal teenager stuff. Perhaps the matter required more thought … once she had some pizza in her.
What she did know, however, was a long list of things that made her unhappy—no scratch that, miserable.
She made up her mind to avoid those things as much as possible, especially that one omnipotent thing atop the list that had put a target on her back since the day she was born.
Maybe if she found a way to distance herself from Him, life would stop feeling like one disaster after another.
I will find a way to be happy. I have to.
Even just thinking the words caused an expanding hope to fill her chest and buoy her spirit.
The first thirteen years of her life had been confusing and scary and chaotic, no question. But even if she only made it to thirty-three before being publicly killed, she still had twenty more years that she could do with as she pleased. She wasn’t even halfway there.
Things will be different. I can be happy. I can be normal.
And in the cozy space of Mrs. Thomas’s office, the scent of lavender like a soft blanket around her, Jessica actually started to believe it.
“Pepperoni okay?” Mrs. Thomas asked.
“Pepperoni is wonderful.”
It was as if Mrs. Thomas knew what Jessica really meant. She grinned widely and nodded. “That’s the spirit.”
End of Book 1
* * *
Read on for a sneak peek of Jessica’s first year of high school in And It Was Good (Jessica Christ, Book 2)
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And It Was Good
15 A.G.C.
Jess could remember hearing the German language spoken only two times before she found herself in Berlin. The first was in eighth grade world history when Ms. Salinas showed them videos from old Nazi Germany. The second was one night, a year later, when she’d heard her mother crying and shouting at the television while she was trying to finish up homework. Jessica had peeked her head in to see what the matter was only to find her mother sobbing, eyes red and swollen, as she implored Jess to never trust men because they were all evil and corrupt. Since that obviously didn’t explain anything, Jess was forced to investigate further, and when she looked at what was playing, she saw more Nazis—better looking ones overall than those in history class—and a little girl in a red coat. Destinee had shooed Jess away after that.
But now she was nestled in a small nook toward the back of a sunlit cafe, and the German being chattered around her seemed much less threatening and death-related. In fact, it seemed happy, but of course she couldn’t be sure, since she didn’t actually understand any of it.
Even if she understood it, though, she wouldn’t have listened to what those around her were saying, because all her attention was focused squarely on the gorgeous bad boy seated opposite her, his hazel eyes staring intensely back at her from underneath his dirty-blond hair as he spun her a tale of the last time he’d visited Berlin for work and how he’d hardly gotten a moment’s respite from the onslaught of his eager fans and how much he appreciated her ability to keep a low profile around him. That was cool of her, he said. Really cool of her.
“I don’t know,” he continued, as a beam of sunlight caught his eye, “it’s just nice to finally talk with someone who understands me.”
“For sure,” she replied. She braced her chin on her fist as she leaned forward over the small table. He was already leaning forward, and their lips were only half a foot apart as they stared into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation taking place that Jess could simply feel in her chest.
She’d known the instant he looked at her back at the … train station?—right, they’d run into each other at the train station—that he was seeing her, not God’s daughter, but her.
It was almost too unbelievable, sitting here having a chat with Jameson. Her friends would never believe it when she told them. She should take a picture of the two of them as evidence. She leaned to the side to check her pockets for her phone, but it wasn’t there. Maybe she’d left it back at … the hotel. Right. She had a hotel. The phone was probably there.
“Hey,” he said, his deep husky voice drawing her attention back to him, “have you ever thought about acting?”
“Acting? Not really, why?” Her eyes darted around the cafe for someone who might have a phone and be willing to take a picture. Her need for it was becoming increasingly frantic. If Sandra saw a picture of Jess and Jameson together, it might actually kill the snobby girl.
She needed to find a camera. No excuses.
Jameson seemed oblivious to Jess’s search as he crooned on. “I have this new movie coming out, and they’re casting for my love interest. I think you’d be gre
at for it. If I put a good word in for you, the part would be yours.”
Which person to ask for a phone? And then once she got the picture, would she just email it to herself, or … ?
She felt Jameson’s warm hand on her chin as he gently tilted her face back toward his. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”
Wait, what was he talking about? She rewound the past few seconds in her mind and remembered. “Oh, definitely. I’d love to star with you.”
A hunger surfaced in his expression as he narrowed his eyes slightly and inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. He closed the rest of the distance between them and his lips pressed against hers, briefly but enough to make her forget all about getting a photo. What she was interested in pursuing now was something she wanted no one else to see.
He pulled away only an inch. “You want to get out of here?”
“Hell yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
She glanced up over Jameson’s shoulder toward the entrance of the cafe, and that’s when she saw the strange man enter. His dark skin and black hair made him stand out against all the blond, light-skinned Germans. Jameson was tan, but this stranger was tan. A large nose jutted out above the circle of thick, coarse facial hair on his chin, jaw, and upper lip, and even his clothes were different from the other patrons’. An off-white linen robe covered him from shoulders to ankles, below which small leather sandals peeked out with each step he took toward Jess and Jameson. He seemed to recognize her and made a beeline. And then it clicked.
A terrorist. She was sure of it.
She’d only ever seen men like him on the news when they were blowing up buses and buildings. Or both at the same time.
“What is it?” Jameson asked, turning in his seat to follow her line of sight over his shoulder.
“Watch out, Jameson!”
But the terrorist was cutting across the room too quickly. Jess scooted out of the booth as fast as she could and urged Jameson to do the same so they could escape the nook before anything exploded, but before she could adequately convince Jameson their lives were in danger, the terrorist grabbed her by the back of the arm and spun her around to face him.
“Let me go!” She struggled, trying to free her arm from his grasp. Why was no one helping her? She didn’t know how to call for help in German. Maybe they didn’t have a word for it. That would explain a lot of the ’30s and ’40s. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. What the heck?
“Jess,” the terrorist said in perfect English.
Her eyes snapped to his face and she gave up trying to struggle, which wasn’t working so well anyway. “How do you know my name?”
“You … don’t recognize me?” he asked.
She looked him up and down and shook her head. “Should I?”
“I assumed … huh.”
“Are you not a terrorist?”
“A terr—no! I’m Jesus, you idiot.” He let go of her arm and she stumbled back a step.
“Jesus?”
Jameson stood from his seat. “Maybe I should just …”
“No!” she snapped. “You sit your ass down till we figure this out!” There was no way she was letting him go anywhere until she got either photographic evidence or sex, unexpected Jesus appearance or no expected Jesus appearance.
Jameson sat.
She turned back to her half-brother. “Why are you here?” Then, “How are you here?”
Jesus gestured toward a chair at the table next to the booth. “May I?”
She shrugged resignedly. “I guess.”
He pulled the chair up to the end of the table, shifted his robes, and straddled it backward, leaning forward, his arms resting on the chair back.
“This is a dream, Jess.”
Ugh. Of course it was. Every time she met Jameson Fractal it turned out to be a dream. This had just been the first time anything physical had happened.
And now everything made a little more sense—why she didn’t remember what events transpired to get her to this cafe, let alone Berlin, how she and Jameson came to be sitting together, the fact that she couldn’t find her phone, and, oh yeah, Jesus Christ.
“Okay, so this is a dream. Perfect.” She scooted into the booth next to Jameson before climbing on top of him so she straddled his lap. Since it was a dream, she could engage in any amount of embarrassing behavior and it wouldn’t matter; she’d eventually wake up and the slate would be wiped clean. She might as well enjoy herself in the meantime.
She looked down into those sparkling hazel eyes and saw a lusty fire equal to her own staring back at her. She lowered her lips to his, and while her brain didn’t quite fill in all the blanks, since she lacked experience in this particular skill, she knew on an intellectual level that she was making out with Jameson, and that would have to do. It didn’t even bother her that her half-brother was watching. It was totally worth it to be able to knock this off her dream bucket list.
Please don’t wake up yet, please don’t wake up yet …
Jameson wove his fingers through her hair, pressing her lips more firmly to his.
Jesus cleared his throat. “Um. Listen. I’m not here to be a voyeur; I actually have important information for you.”
Groaning, Jess pulled her mouth from Jameson’s. “But you’re not even real. This is my dream.”
“No, actually, I am real.”
Jess plopped herself down onto her butt in the booth. “First of all, that doesn’t make any sense. Second of all, if there’s something I need to know, God can just tell me.”
“Wait,” said Jameson. “Aren’t Jesus and God basically the same thing? Or two parts to the same whole?”
“No,” said Jess and Jesus.
Then Jesus added, “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
Jameson shut his mouth.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this yet,” Jesus said, “but our Father who art in Heaven hates the detail work.” He paused then quickly added, “And He thought I needed a job, so He promoted me to miracle management.”
Jess squinted at him, trying to absorb his words. “Promoted you to miracle … ?”
“Miracle management,” he finished quickly for her. “Yes. When a miracle needs to happen, I show up and tell the person they need to make it happen.”
“This is stupid,” Jess said, shaking her head.
Jesus shrugged. “What can I say? Nobody likes their job. Doesn’t matter. I’m here for a purpose.”
“Miracle management,” Jess said tiredly.
“Exactly. I’m here to tell you that the time has come for you to stop screwing around.”
“That’s not very nice.”
Jesus held up his palms and nodded his head softly. “I understand. I didn’t want to hear it either.”
“Wait. Were you told in a dream, too? Who was head of miracle management before you? I don’t suppose we have any other siblings I don’t know about.”
“Not yet. But it was actually Moses who told me. And let me tell you, he didn’t put it as nicely as I have. That guy … phew! Meany.”
“Meany?” Jess echoed vaguely. “Wait, but if you work his job, what’s he doing?”
“Retired.”
That made sense in a nonsensical sort of way.
“Anyway, you need to start exploring your special abilities,” Jesus said. “There are miracles you can perform, and it’s time for you to discover them.”
“Miracles? Like how?”
Jesus thought for a moment. “Well, mine were things like turning water into wine, attracting a bunch of fish for a fisherman, bringing people back from the dead …”
Jess nodded along as she began to understand. “Superpowers.”
“What? No.” Jesus narrowed his eyes at her, annoyed. “Not superpowers. Miracles.”
“What you described sounds an awful lot like superpowers.”
“Well, they’re not. Superpowers aren’t real. Miracles are.”
“Sounds like semantics,�
�� said Jameson.
Jess mouthed I love you to him, and he returned the favor with a sexy head nod.
“So will one of my superpowers be that I can have sex with Jameson?”
Jesus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miracles, and no. Having sex with that man is not one.”
Typical. Never the good stuff. “So why can’t you just tell me what my miracles will be, so I can get on with this dream?”
“Because,” he said, increasingly impatient, “there’s such thing as self-discovery, and it makes for a much better story.”
Jess rolled her eyes. “Ugh. You too? Dad’s obsessed with ‘telling a good story’ and all that. Why does it even matter?”
“Your story is everything! Do you want to be a messiah or not?”
Jess looked at Jameson and chuckled while jabbing her thumb in Jesus’s direction. “This guy.” She turned back toward her half-brother, responding with, “I think I’ve been pretty clear that I don’t want to be a messiah. I want to be a normal girl who has sex with Jameson Fractal. That’s all I want.”
“Well too bad. I–I’m done here. Just figure out your miracles, all right?”
“Whatever.” She jumped back onto Jameson and pulled his mouth to hers. Their lips met and his hand began moving up her torso, toward her breasts that had finally decided to exist, as of the beginning of the dream, and she felt herself grow dizzy with the sexuality radiating off of him. His hand cupped the underside of her breast and she woke up.
Her bedroom was dark, she was alone. No Jameson, no Arab Jesus, just herself and the darkness.
“God. Dammit.”
* * *
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The Beginning (Jessica Christ Book 1) Page 20