CHAPTER 7

  The mask—the mask that her father had just brought home, that she had just seen hanging at the top of the stairs—was a foot in front of Jasmine’s face. And it wasn’t just a mask.

  It was attached to a gargantuan snake. The snake was coiled and piled on the bathroom floor like a giant piece of scaly rope. Its body completely filled the room. Everything started moving in slow motion as Jasmine turned around and ran from the bathroom, closing the door behind her and running toward her dad’s study.

  But the creature had left a slimy trail on its way to the bathroom that Jasmine’s feet stuck to like glue. She couldn’t move. Before she even knew it, the snake burst through the bathroom door and speed-slithered right up to her. Part of it was still in the bathroom, but its head—the mask—was right in front of Jasmine’s face again. It was shaking around like a hideous, gruesome, gigantic bobblehead doll.

  Then the mask flew off the snake and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

  And what Jasmine now saw in front of her was more horrifying than the mask itself.

  Because the snake had no head at all.

  Jasmine saw just a bloody stump where its head should have been. Veins hung out like pieces of wet red yarn. Blood pulsed out of them and onto the floor. But somehow the snake still hissed. HISSSSSSSSS. HISSSSSSSSS.

  “Daddy!” Jasmine screamed. But the hissing was so loud that even Jasmine couldn’t hear her desperate screams for help.

  CHAPTER 8

  Daddy! Jasmine’s voice screamed inside her head as she sat straight up. She looked at the clock on her bedside table. The little blue numbers said 4:25. Somewhere in the fog of Jasmine’s mind she remembered waking up from her nightmare at that exact same moment last night. It was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, Jasmine repeated in her head, suddenly aware of not wanting to wake Lisa up. Instead she mentally said what she always said: You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

  She automatically looked around for Momo, who always made her feel better after she had a nightmare. But no Momo. Where was Momo when you needed him?

  And Momo wasn’t the only one who wasn’t there. It was light enough in Jasmine’s room to see that there was no lump in Lisa’s sleeping bag where she should have been.

  She must have gone on that ghost hunt anyway, Jasmine thought. She’s probably creeping around the house “investigating.” Why does she have to play these games at exactly the wrong times? Anyway, there’s nothing fun about a ghost hunt—anywhere, anytime!

  But, truth be told, it felt to Jasmine less and less like a game. She was terrified for Lisa out there in the dark house with who-knows-what lurking. At once she had two thoughts, making her want to bury herself under the covers and never come back out:

  1. The nightmare was some kind of warning that something was lurking in the house.

  2. She had to go look for Lisa and bring her back to safety. It was the only right thing to do.

  Jasmine got out of bed, feeling sick to her stomach. Every cell of her body told her not to leave her bed. But Lisa! What about her best friend out there with some headless masked monster? Jasmine would never forgive herself if something happened to Lisa. It was like the “buddy system” that her teachers used on field trips when they were younger: Everyone had a buddy, and you watched out for your buddy at all times. If your buddy got hurt or you couldn’t see your buddy, you told a teacher right away. Whenever they went on a field trip, Lisa and Jasmine were buddies. If only there were someone to tell, someone who could help, Jasmine thought. But Jasmine didn’t want to have a “talk” with her dad about her fears. She was getting too old to go running to Daddy or Nana every time she was scared.

  Jasmine walked slowly downstairs. So far, Lisa was nowhere in sight, but Jasmine had an idea where her best friend would be. The basement. Lisa was always saying that the cold spots were most noticeable down there.

  Jasmine’s bare feet were cold. Moonlight filled the first floor of the house. She went into the kitchen where empty Chinese food containers had been rinsed and left on the counter. It seemed like so long ago that she had sat and eaten with her dad and Nana. She opened the cabinet under the sink to find the flashlight. There it was. She turned it on to make sure it was working. It was. She kept it on. I need all the light I can get, she thought.

  The basement door was right off the kitchen, and it was open. Jasmine shone the flashlight down the steps. Put one foot in front of the other, she told herself. For Lisa, your best friend. She put her foot down on the first step. There you go. One more step. One more step. She was concentrating on not falling down the stairs, which was a welcome distraction from other, more disturbing thoughts. She shone the flashlight on her foot and the next step. Finally she was at the bottom. The cement floor was cool and dusty under her feet. Her heart beating wildly, she slowly moved the beam around to search the room.

  And in a far corner of the basement she saw it, shining in the beam of light.

  The mask! And it was moving! Silently thrashing around in the dark with its crazy smile and furrowed brow. Even in all its writhing, its eyeholes never lost their focus. They stared right at her. And then Jasmine saw it. One of the eyes in the holes winked.

  The next sound Jasmine heard was not the hissing she had heard in her nightmare. It was her own voice, screaming.

  Screaming. Screaming. Screaming. And everything began happening in slow motion. Her screaming could have been going on for two seconds or two minutes, maybe even two hours. Jasmine had no clue. She only continued to scream, too terrified to turn her back and run upstairs.

  Then—no more mask. Instead there was Lisa’s face in front of Jasmine’s, twisted into a mixture of laughter and guilt. She held the mask in her hand, at her side.

  “It’s only me!” She laughed.

  Jasmine sat down right on the cold cement floor, brought her knees up, buried her head in them, and covered her head with her arms. She concentrated on breathing. She wasn’t even able to look at Lisa, who kept repeating, “It’s only me. It’s only me!”

  A trick. Her best friend in the world had played a trick on her. A dumb, mean, thoughtless trick. Jasmine got up, a little dizzy from standing too fast.

  Jasmine had felt pure fear when she saw the mask moving wildly in the darkness of the basement. And now she felt something else just as strongly—fury. Pure fury. She stared at Lisa. Her anger was so strong, she almost believed that her eyes could bore holes right into Lisa’s head.

  Lisa stared back with a nervous smile. She held up the mask in front of her face again and jiggled it in the air a little. “See, it’s only me!” she said again, laughing. Then she stopped. She seemed to realize she’d gone too far.

  Well, it’s a little late to realize that, Jasmine thought. Jasmine walked quickly up the basement stairs and through the kitchen. She heard Lisa behind her, but she just walked faster.

  “Jazzy!” There was her dad, a panicked look on his face.

  Her screaming must have woken him up. And the night just keeps getting better, Jasmine thought sarcastically.

  “Sorry, Dad,” Jasmine said quickly. Suddenly she was embarrassed. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Really? It didn’t sound fine,” her dad said, putting a hand on Jasmine’s shoulder. “Where’s Lisa?”

  Just then Lisa appeared. She followed Jasmine’s lead. “Sorry, Mr. Porter,” she said. “We were just playing around.”

  “It didn’t sound like play. You scared me half to death.” Jasmine’s dad sighed. The three stood there in awkward silence. “What were you two doing in the basement at this time of night?”

  “We’re sorry,” Lisa said. She was holding the mask behind her back, not wanting Jasmine’s dad to see it.

  Jasmine’s dad sighed again. “Okay, I’m going back to bed, and I strongly suggest that you both do too.”

  Jasmine pushed past her dad and ran upstairs. She couldn’t get into bed fast enough. She was already there and under the covers when Lisa entered and silently crawled back into her sleeping bag. The two lay in silence. There were no words for Jasmine’s anger. And her heart was still beating so fast.

  Jasmine stared at the glowing constellations on the ceiling. When she and her dad had put them up, they had arranged them in the shapes of actual constellations, like the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. And there was Orion, the hunter.

  When she finally spoke to Lisa, Jasmine’s voice was low and even. “We are totally not going to be speaking for a long time.”

  Lisa said nothing in reply. Was she asleep already? Jasmine turned to look at her. Lisa’s eyes were open and she was staring at the ceiling too.

  “Get it?” Jasmine asked Lisa. Her voice was hard around the edges.

  Lisa had an odd grin on her face, like she was about to crack up, laughing. “Why are you talking to me? I thought we weren’t speaking,” she said. She seemed to think that this whole thing was hilarious.

  “You thought right,” Jasmine said, and turned over, putting her back to her best friend. She hugged her extra pillow and closed her eyes tightly. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

  CHAPTER 9

  When Jasmine opened her eyes the next morning, the first thing she saw was Lisa’s face just a few feet away from her. Lisa was sleeping deeply and peacefully, even though the room was already bright with sunlight. Jasmine stared down at Lisa’s face with its light dusting of freckles.

  Then, in a rush, she remembered what had happened last night, both the nightmare with the snake and then the real-life nightmare that her “best friend” had put her through. Jasmine’s heart beat faster as she remembered the way the mask had taunted her in the flashlight’s beam, and the way Lisa had laughed and said, It’s only me. It’s only me! As she remembered all the details, Jasmine didn’t take her eyes off Lisa’s face. She stared at it as if she could send thought waves directly through her friend’s face and right into her brain. And the thoughts were: How could you do that to me? I thought you were my best friend!

  Jasmine suddenly wanted to wake Lisa up in the most unpleasant way possible, like by pouring a glass of ice water over her head. Two wrongs don’t make a right, she reminded herself, one of Nana’s favorite expressions. Jasmine kept looking at Lisa’s face, as if searching for clues that would explain why Lisa had been so cruel with that trick last night. Jasmine was hot and thirsty—usually two good reasons to throw back the covers, go downstairs, pour herself some cranberry juice, and start the day. But she stayed in bed, frozen with resentment as she continued to stare at Lisa’s face.

  As though jostled by Jasmine’s thoughts, Lisa began to stretch and move as she awoke. Jasmine kept staring. She wanted to witness that moment when Lisa first woke up and didn’t know where she was. And then she did. Lisa flinched as she felt Jasmine’s eyes on her. She was disoriented and groggy.

  “Oh, hello,” Jasmine said sarcastically.

  Lisa made some sleepy murmuring noises and closed her eyes again. “Hi,” she said, smiling slightly, completely missing Jasmine’s sarcasm.

  “Have a good sleep?” Jasmine asked Lisa loudly and slowly. “I sure hope so. Because I’m never going to sleep well again.”

  Lisa yawned and fixed her gaze upon Jasmine. “Oh, calm down,” she said, stretching her hands above her head and wiggling her fingers. “Can’t you take a joke? I didn’t think you were such a scaredy-cat.”

  Jasmine gave an indignant chuckle. Then she felt the anger from last night, hot and real. “Leave,” she said simply. Flatly.

  Lisa ignored her. “Hey, do you think your dad got beignets?” She smiled. Beignets were the girls’ Saturday morning treat when Jasmine’s dad was around. He’d go and get the special fritters at the bakery in the early morning, and if they woke up at a reasonable hour, the beignets would still be warm.

  How could Lisa be thinking about beignets? “Beignets?” Jasmine said in disbelief.

  “Yeah, beignets,” Lisa replied innocently.

  Another wave of anger washed over Jasmine, and suddenly she couldn’t bear to have Lisa in her room—or in her house, for that matter—another second.

  “Leave,” she commanded again.

  Lisa sat up and looked at Jasmine as if she were being unreasonable. But Jasmine felt perfectly reasonable.

  “Leave. Just leave,” she repeated.

  Lisa sighed, got up, and began getting dressed, gathering her things, and rolling up her sleeping bag. Suddenly it seemed that Lisa wanted to get out of there as fast as Jasmine wanted her gone.

  Jasmine waited until she heard the front door close, which it did, although slammed was probably a more accurate word. She’s mad at me? Jasmine thought. Talk about ridiculous.

  Finally Jasmine got up and made her way toward the first floor. She stopped at the top of the stairs: there was the mask, crookedly hanging in its spot. Lisa must have put it back on the wall on her way upstairs last night. How thoughtful of her. Jasmine tried to not look at it.

  Her dad was having coffee at the breakfast table. And there were the beignets. Jasmine sighed and plopped down in her chair.

  “Quite a night, huh, Jazzy?” her dad asked with a sympathetic smile. “Lisa sure left in a huff just now.” He seemed to have gotten over it. If only Jasmine could say the same.

  “Uh, yeah,” Jasmine mumbled, grabbing a beignet and taking a big bite. “Subject change, please.”

  “You got it,” her dad said. “What’s going on for you this weekend? Any plans?”

  “Nope,” Jasmine said. “Just homework.”

  “Okay, honey,” her dad said. “Well, enjoy your breakfast. Please excuse me. I’ve got a phone call to make.”

  Jasmine finished her beignet and brushed the powdered sugar off her hands and onto her pajamas. The morning sun filled the kitchen. She glanced at the door that opened to the basement stairs. The terror of last night seemed like it happened forever ago. And it also felt like it had just happened only moments before. But mostly what Jasmine felt now was sad. She was still mad at Lisa, but sadness was quickly taking over. She sighed again, got up slowly, and started up the steps to her room. Maybe she’d go back to bed. As she passed her dad’s office, she heard a voice on speakerphone. Her dad did lots of his interviews for his articles this way because it allowed him to type with two hands as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the call.

  “. . . may have believed that your camera was stealing something from the mask,” a man’s voice was saying.

  “I’ve heard of that,” Jasmine’s dad said. “But I’ve never heard of it in this tribe.”

  “More study is certainly needed,” the voice said.

  “But, Dr. Wilson,” her dad began tentatively, “he didn’t seem afraid. He was angry. Said that I’d summoned some evil.”

  “So it could be that his mask-making was a ritual,” Dr. Wilson said. “And you taking pictures might have been considered disrespectful. In this culture perhaps this is a big enough mistake that the man truly believed an evil spirit would come to dole out punishment,” the voice suggested.

  Jasmine finally figured out who her dad was talking to. It must have been that anthropologist he’d mentioned before, the one who he’d hoped could give him more information about the tribe he’d visited.

  Her dad sighed. Everyone seemed to be doing a lot of sighing these days. “His anger . . . ,” he began. “It was so intense. It was as if it had jumped out of his body and was bouncing all around the carving studio.”

  “I see,” Dr. Wilson said.

  “And I’m disappointed in myself for being so inappropriate,” her dad added. “I wasn’t traveling with a photographer, and the magazine insisted on seeing some photos. But I know better than that, I really do. My photographer, Buddy, would never have let this happen.”

  “Well, it sounds like you’ve punished yourself enough, Martin,” the voice said with a sympathetic chuckle. “My advice is, write a great piece that teaches your readers about this little-known culture. That is your contribution.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Wilson,” Jasmine’s dad said. He sighed once again. “I’ll try to do that.”

  CHAPTER 10

  It was Monday morning. The weekend had dragged by. Jasmine and Lisa still hadn’t spoken, and Jasmine awoke with a feeling of dread. It was Mini-Course Day, and she remembered she had signed up for Mardi Gras mask-making. And so had Lisa. What terrific timing. Why did she have to choose that as a workshop? Haven’t I had enough of masks for one week? she thought. Haven’t I had enough of Lisa?

  But the truth was, Jasmine missed Lisa already. She hated being in a fight with her.

  As Jasmine entered the classroom, she saw a long table full of craft supplies set up in the middle of the room, so colorful that it looked like a Mardi Gras parade would be starting during Mini-Course Day. There were little pots of paint, jars of paintbrushes and water, glue, beads in all sizes, colored feathers, sequins, glitter, pom-poms, yarn, and ribbons. There were all colors for kids to choose from, but there was a ton of materials in purple, gold, and green.

  Some kids were already sitting around the table, waiting for the teacher to come in. Lily and Nina waved at Jasmine. And there was Lisa, an empty seat next to her, a shy smile on her face. She seemed like she hoped Jasmine would come and sit with her. Jasmine took a deep breath and walked toward the seat. She could feel Lisa’s relief that she wasn’t still totally mad. It was kind of weird. They were making up, but they didn’t have to say anything out loud. That was easy.

  My problem is that I let my imagination run away with me in the dark, Jasmine thought. And Lisa’s problem is that she thinks it’s a big joke. And she doesn’t understand how scared I really am. But maybe I can be less of a scaredy-cat. And maybe Lisa will be a little more sensitive now.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Mr. Aaronson called as he entered the room. Suddenly Jasmine’s life felt like it was turning back to normal. Jasmine had always liked Mr. Aaronson. Some kids said he had traveled around the world—like, literally, bought an around-the-world plane ticket and stopped in different countries, making a complete circle around the globe. He was also kind of artsy. It made sense that he’d be teaching this mini-course.

 

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