Jazmine

by Clay, Verna

  Ryan counted half the amount needed from the wrinkled money and pulled out his debit card for the rest. Handing the remainder back to Jazmine, he was shocked when she said, "Oh, you keep it. I have lots more."

  "No, I won't keep your money."

  "But I want you to."

  "No!" He grabbed her hand and jammed the bills against her palm, closing her fingers over the wad.

  "I was just trying to be nice. You don't have to be so mean."

  While the clerk watched their strange behavior, a customer in line wisecracked, "If you two love birds have finished arguing about who gets to keep the money, I'd sure like to check out while I'm still young enough to do so!"

  Jazmine said cheerily, "Oh, we're not love birds. Birds are of the class called Aves. Humans cannot be Aves. Humans can only be humans. Not that I wouldn't want to be a bird if I could. They're very beautiful. In fact, one of my dear friends is a dove."

  Ryan and everyone around him gaped. The woman was addled. Quickly scanning his debit card and completing the purchase, he urged Jazmine toward the exit. She seemed oblivious to the incredulous stares and whispers. They crossed the parking lot with Ryan pushing the cart full of roses. At the car, he opened the hatchback and loaded them.

  "Ryan, I said something wrong, didn't I?"

  When his neighbor turned her gorgeous eyes on him and a lone tear slid down her cheek, he was tongue-tied.

  "I'm trying so hard to fit in, Ryan. I'm sorry about whatever I said wrong."

  He cleared his throat. "Hey, just ignore those people. They don't have any sense of humor." He almost reached to touch the tear.

  "Sometimes you're nice, Ryan. Thank you. Although I must tell you, you were mean the first time we met. You know, when you almost ran me over on the highway."

  Every time she said his name, Ryan felt it in his gut. He needed to get away from her. Slamming the hatchback, he opened the passenger door and ushered her inside. Driving faster than normal, he pulled in front of Mrs. Bickers' house and rushed to unload the roses. Mrs. Bickers pushed her screen door open and walked to the edge of her porch.

  "Where would you like the roses, Mrs. Bickers?"

  "Where do you think? In the garden, of course…the backyard garden."

  Ryan bit his tongue to keep from cursing. "Sure, Mrs. Bitters…I mean, Mrs. Bickers."

  When he saw Jazmine start to speak, he said quickly, "Jazmine, let's line the roses up by the gate." He pointed and breathed a sigh of relief when she closed her mouth. They placed the plants parade style in front of the gate. Mrs. Bickers was now standing a few feet away from them.

  "Where in the backyard do you want the roses?" he questioned.

  "Next to the fence…the back fence," she said with a sour lemon look.

  "Of course you do. Jazmine, grab a rose and follow me."

  "Okay, Ryan."

  By the time they had transported the last plant across the backyard and set it next to the fence, he was fuming. He wasn't sure with whom he was angrier, old lady Bickers for being such a biddy, or Jazmine for getting him into this mess in the first place.

  "C'mon Jazmine, we're finished. You can go home now." He stalked toward the front yard.

  "But I have to explain."

  Ryan ignored her remark. He didn't want to know what she meant. He had been a Good Samaritan. She was on her own now. When he'd almost reached the gate, Mrs. Bickers stepped through, blocking his exit.

  "Mrs. Bickers, the roses are…"

  Jazmine pushed past him and stopped directly in front of the old woman.

  "Mrs. Bickers, I think if you knew the reason I picked your flowers, and a lot of other peoples' flowers, you wouldn't be so angry."

  Ryan groaned. "Jazmine, now is not the time–"

  "I picked the flowers so a sick little boy can heal. People always give flowers to sick people to make them better. I thought the prettier the bouquet, the faster Jake would recover. And I figured that by picking flowers from lots of people, everyone could contribute to making him well."

  Ryan watched Mrs. Bickers' expression waver, and felt his own anger dissipate. The girl actually believed what she was saying.

  Mrs. Bickers' didn't reply. She simply stepped aside to allow them passage. Ryan grabbed Jazmine's hand and pulled her across the street.

  "I have to give Jake his flowers," she reiterated, and followed him to his porch. She walked to the now wilted bouquet still on the porch swing and gently gathered it with both hands. Facing Ryan, she said, "Can I give the flowers to Jake so he'll get well?"

  Ryan looked from her hopeful expression to the limp bouquet and back. "Sure."

  The smile that lit her face and eyes made his toes curl. Ryan didn't like the feeling and hurried to open the front door.

  Jake pulled on his T-shirt. He was ready to get out of his room. Maybe if his dad thought he was feeling better, they'd do something together. Maybe he'd get his courage up and show him the fixed airplane.

  There was a tap on his door and his dad opened it.

  "Hey, you're looking better. Are you feeling better?"

  "Yeah, Dad. I was thinkin' maybe we–"

  "There's someone–" They both spoke at the same time.

  "Yeah, Dad?"

  "Our new neighbor is downstairs and she has something for you. I have to warn you though, she's a little strange. She has this notion that if she gives you a bouquet of flowers, you'll get well."

  "Huh?"

  "She's really…different. Anyway, just be nice and accept the flowers. Oh, and a little warning…they're really wilted, but don't say anything about that. It might hurt her feelings. I'll bring her up now."

  Jake watched his dad shut the door. He was bringing the witch to his bedroom! Sheesh! A couple of minutes later, there was a knock. "Yeah?" Jake called. The witch opened the door. The bouquet she was carrying was so large it covered her face. From what his dad had said Jake had expected a small bunch of wilted flowers. This bouquet wasn't small, and it wasn't wilted. It looked like something from a flower shop.

  A face with up-tilted eyes peeked around the bouquet. Jake was sitting on the side of his bed with one shoe on and one shoe off.

  "Hi Jake," the witch said.

  She didn't look threatening.

  "Hello," Jake choked.

  His dad followed her into the room staring at the flowers with a stunned expression. "How did those flowers–"

  The witch interrupted her dad. "These are for you, Jake; so you'll feel better. I think they're already working. Do you feel better?"

  Jake gulped and nodded.

  "That's wonderful. I just knew the flowers would do their job."

  There was a long silence. Jake looked at his dad who was still staring at the flowers with a puzzled expression. His dad said, "Those flowers were wilted. How…"

  The witch shrugged, "Oh…well, I guess they perked up because they wanted Jake to be well, too."

  "What?"

  "I better go now. I'll just lay the flowers on your desk, Jake. I sure hope we can be friends. I'll see you later." The witch backed out the door. Jake heard her running down the stairs and then the front door opened and closed.

  Jake looked at his dad who was still staring at the flowers. He was tempted to tell his father about what he'd seen the witch do, but he didn't want to ruin the possibility of doing something fun with his dad today.

  His dad gathered the flowers. "I'll put these in a vase of water." Shaking his head, he left Jake's room.

  Ten

  Jake pulled the binoculars out of their case. He'd sneaked them from his dad's bedroom the day before. He got kind of mad when he thought about yesterday. After the witch had given him the flowers that his dad had acted all weird about, he'd thought he and his dad might do something together.

  Yeah, they'd done something all right—gone to the grocery store. His dad had been real nice when he'd thought Jake was sick. After Jake had seemed better though, he'd gone back to being his old self; ignoring Jake, and working on his
computer.

  Pulling aside the fabric over the entrance to his tree house just a little bit, Jake positioned his body to one side and peeked at the witch's house. Aiming the binoculars at her dining room window, he adjusted the focus. She wasn't in the dining room or the kitchen. Moving the lenses to the other window, he peered into the living room. Unpacked boxes were scattered throughout the room, some on the carpet and some on the furniture.

  Jakes' heart quickened. The witch had just walked into the room. Adjusting the focus some more, he got a better view. He watched her open boxes and start pulling out stuff. He wondered again if she was a good witch. She'd been especially nice when she'd given him the flowers. She'd acted like she really wanted him to get well, even though he wasn't really sick. But no one knew that but him.

  Watching her unpack boxes was boring. It was a good thing summer vacation was almost over; he was ready to go back to school. The summer had turned out to be a dud.

  She had all the stuff out of one box—boring. Jake only half watched. He was thinking about sneaking off to the park. He'd make a sandwich and act like he was going to stay in his tree house the rest of the day. Then he'd watch Jenny with the binoculars. When she got wrapped up in a movie or started talking on the phone, he'd sneak his bike out of the garage. She'd never know he was gone.

  Jake returned his attention to his neighbor. She'd unpacked a couple more boxes and set the stuff on the floor. He watched her plop into a recliner and tilt it back. She started pointing her finger around the room. That was kind of weird. She was wiggling her finger now and…yikes! The stuff she'd unpacked levitated off the floor. Whatever she pointed at jumped into the air and hovered.

  The hair on the back of Jake's neck stood up. Lots of stuff was hovering in the air! Suddenly she clapped her hands and the stuff darted in all directions. A vase went to a table, pillows went to the couch, lamps went to end tables, pictures hung themselves on the walls, and books jumped into the bookshelves.

  When everything was in place, the witch closed her eyes, stretched and yawned. Oh boy, he sure hoped she was a good witch.

  Jake decided not to sneak off to the park. He wanted to keep an eye on the witch. As it turned out, his friend Gary came over at noon. His friend yelled from the bottom of the tree. "Hey Jake, can I come up?"

  Jake stuffed the binoculars behind a box and yelled that it was okay. After that, Gary climbed the rope ladder.

  "Watcha doin', Jake?"

  "Aw nothin' much. What're you doin'?"

  "Nothin' much, either. My mom made me ride my bike to my sister's and help her do stuff. She just had a baby. Mom makes me ride over all the time to help her. I'm on my way home. You wanna ride with me?"

  Jake didn't know how to say no without hurting Gary's feelings. "Yeah, sure."

  He stayed at Gary's house until he got bored.

  He was anxious to get back and see what the witch would do next. He turned the corner on his bike and his heart raced. Someone was outside the witch's house. He slowed his pedaling. When he saw it was her, he couldn't decide whether to turn around or keep going.

  What was she doing? He couldn't believe it. She was trying to ride a bike. She toppled over. He bet that hurt.

  When he got close, he immediately saw her problem. The kickstand was still down. Whenever she started forward, the kickstand would catch the ground and topple her over. Was she a dumb witch?

  She looked up and saw him. A beaming smile lit her face. It made her eyes look really pretty. He braked his bike.

  "You gotta put the kickstand up," he mumbled.

  "What? How do I do that?"

  "You kick it up with your foot." Wow, she really was a dumb witch.

  "What's a kickstand?"

  "The thing that holds the bike up when you're not riding it."

  Jake climbed off his bike and demonstrated. He kicked his kickstand up and down. The witch's eyes brightened.

  "Oh, thank you, Jake. I was wondering how riding a bicycle could be as easy as riding a pinwheel flower."

  "Huh?"

  "I mean…I mean…"

  The witch was looking kind of confused. Jake changed the subject. "Now climb on the bike and put your foot on one pedal and push. When the bike goes forward, put your other foot on the other pedal and push again. Keep pushing with one foot and then the other."

  The witch followed his instructions. She laughed when the bike went down the sidewalk and she didn't topple.

  "How do I stop it, Jake?" She yelled over her shoulder.

  "Push your right foot backwards." Her bike was so old it didn't even have handle brakes.

  The bike skidded when she jammed backwards on the pedal. She went over the top of the handle bars and landed on the grass in his yard. She didn't move.

  Jake shoved his bike to the curb and dropped it. He ran and bent over her. "You okay?"

  She groaned. "I…I think so. Pinwheel flowers are not like bikes at all."

  Jake felt sorry for her. He remembered learning to ride his bike when he was little. It hadn't been easy, but his dad had kept him from falling and getting hurt. Jake had an idea.

  "Look, I'll help you like my dad helped me."

  "You will?" She sat up. There were grass stains all over her pretty pink blouse and pink jeans. Jake had never seen pink jeans before.

  When Jake explained that he would hold the back of the bike while she rode it, her eyes lit again. Jake had never seen eyes her color: sort of blue, sort of not. After a couple more tries, she rode the bike past his house and braked without falling. Laughing, she waved and called a greeting to old lady Bickers. Jake glanced at the mean woman and she sneered at him. He'd decided a long time ago that she hated kids. Maybe the witch would put a spell on her.

  Within the hour, the witch was riding her bike like a pro. Jake decided to take her around the block. He explained about which side of the street to ride on, and he showed her hand signals. He told her she would probably want to get a helmet, and took his off so she could wear it. She refused and made him put it back on. After that, he led her around the block.

  Ryan was tired. He'd left work earlier than usual because he'd had a tedious day redesigning minor details for the Sunriver home. He turned onto his street, still mentally focused on the plans. A bicyclist swerved into his path. Jerking the wheel, he barely missed her. Her—his neighbor! The one he had almost run over on Highway 97! The one who had caused all the problems with old lady Bickers!

  Ryan pulled into his drive and slammed on the brakes. He stormed to the curb where his son and Jazmine had just rolled up to.

  "What the hell is the matter with you? Do you have some kind of death wish? First, I almost run you over on the highway, and now I almost run you over on my own street!"

  "Dad, she just learned to ride a bike. It's not her fault."

  "Oh, yeah? Then whose fault is it? Yours? Go in the house, Jake."

  "But Dad…"

  "Now—Jake."

  Jake gave Ryan a hurt look and then jerked his bike over the curb and into the garage. He slammed the door into the house.

  Jazmine looked hurt, too. She said, "I'm so sorry. It's not his fault. I'm to blame for everything."

  Ryan saw Mrs. Bickers watering her flowers and eyeing them with a smirk. He turned his back on the old lady and took a deep breath.

  Jenny opened the front door. "I'm going home now, Mr. Lucas. Jake just stormed in the house. I asked him what's wrong, but he wouldn't tell me. I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Thanks, Jenny. I'll take care of him."

  He returned his attention to his neighbor.

  "Look, Jazmine, for some reason we seem to always be at odds. I'm sorry for coming down so hard on you. It's just that you scared the sh- I mean, the dickens out of me. You're like an accident waiting to happen."

  "Ryan, you should be apologizing to Jake, not me. It's not his fault you almost ran me over again."

  Ryan didn't know how to reply to her astute observation and excused himself. Entering his house
, he looked for Jake in his bedroom, but he wasn't there. Sighing, he went to the tree house and climbed the ladder. When he opened the curtain, Jake was pushing the lid down on his bench seat.

  "What do you have in there?" Ryan tried to make conversation.

  "Nothin' important."

  "Look Jake, I'm sorry about coming down so hard on you. It's just that our new neighbor gets under my skin. She always seems to be in the middle of some sort of trouble. I just don't want to get mixed up in someone else's mess. Okay?"

  "Yeah, I guess… She's really nice, Dad. And she's a wi… Oh, never mind."

  "I've had a long day, Jake. Do you mind if we just have TV dinners? You can watch a video while I finish up some work. Okay?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  Eleven

  Jake decided that Jazzy, as she liked to be called, was really cool. She seemed to be outside whenever he rode his bike. The first time she'd asked if she could ride with him, he'd been kind of irritated. He didn't want a girl, much less a witch—even if she was a good one—hanging around with him. She must have guessed what he was thinking because she'd looked really hurt. He'd felt bad, so he'd told her she could ride to Pilot Butte with him. She'd gotten all excited about a dumb bicycle ride. Since Pilot Butte wasn't far, he figured they'd ride there and back. Then he could take off again for his friend's house.

  At Pilot Butte they'd parked their bikes and walked the steep climb to the top. It had been fun watching Jazzy get all excited about regular stuff like flowers and grass and rocks. She'd even told him great stories about how grass protects the wee ones, and how flowers smell nice because flower-mysters are always at work.

  A few days after visiting Pilot Butte, Jenny's mom called and said Jenny couldn't babysit because she'd tripped over their dog and her ankle was swollen and she needed to go to the doctor. Jake didn't mind that Jenny couldn't come over, but his dad did. His dad had some important meeting he couldn't miss. When Jake said he'd be fine by himself, his dad had shaken his head no. That's when Jake had gotten the brilliant idea of asking Jazzy to come over. His dad hadn't liked the idea at first, but Jake finally convinced him that Jazzy would take real good care of him. When he and his dad walked next door to ask, she looked so happy it made him feel special; something he hadn't felt in a long time.