Possessing Jessie by Nancy Springer Page B

crappy they made her feel, were not worth bothering with.
    But these commonsense thoughts did Jessie no good. She felt her heart pounding, her neck going hot, her fists clenching, and she knew why: it wasn’t about her. She was nobody. But Jason was–had been–somebody, and this was about Jason.
    Jason’s legend.
    Jason’s daredevil legacy.
    Jason’s right to a brand-new, expensive black sports car.
    Jessie’s blood burned with a new glad-mad defiance even stronger than the anger she had felt in the school psychologist’s office. Yes, she would show up at Dead End Bend tonight. Maybe confronting the challengers would put a stop to some of the ugliness in school, she told herself, but even without that rationalization, she would do it anyway.
    And she was looking forward to it. She had never felt so bone-deep excited in her whole polite, boring little life. Thank you, Jason , she thought, because this rush felt like her brother’s gift to her from the grave.
    Alisha truly could not think what more to do, but she would not stop trying to locate Jessie’s father. Wandering around town, she started looking for adults about the right age and asking them at random. The guy in the hardware store: “Do you know where Mr. Ressler lives now? Yeah, Richard Ressler, do you know where he went when he moved out–no? Never mind. Thanks anyway.” Woman in the coffee shop, same thing, guy in the auto-parts store–Alisha realized she was wasting her time, but also it had come to her where she should be asking: the bars.
    Not her idea of fun.
    Scared her, actually.
    But she had to try.
    By now it was almost nighttime, and the bars were beginning to fill. As she entered the first one, the bartender took one look at her and said, “Honey, you ain’t old enough to come in here.”
    â€œI’m just trying to find out where Richard Ressler moved to.”
    For some reason a few laughs went up from around the room. “Dick? Detox,” one guy said.
    â€œPlayboy Bunnyland,” said another.
    The bartender said, “Move along, young lady.”
    No sooner had she stepped onto the sidewalk outside when her cell phone rang. It was her mother. “Alisha, where the heck are you?”
    Tired of lying, she told the truth, sort of. “Downtown.”
    â€œDowntown! What for?”
    â€œTrying to find out where Mr. Ressler is.”
    â€œFind out where Mr. Ressler is? Why?”
    Alisha heard a screech from her grandmother. “You tell that girl she riling the spirits, riling the spirits! You tell her she sticking her hand in ghost snake’s nest!”
    Ignoring this, Alisha pleaded, “Mom, if I could get him to talk to Jessie–”
    â€œIf I could get you to mind your own business! You come on home right now !”
    Alisha walked toward a bus stop, telling herself that she would try again tomorrow. But she felt like crying, because tomorrow might be too late.
    She heard footsteps behind her.
    Stiffening, she stopped and turned.
    A man was ambling out of the bar. Old guy who somehow reminded her of a white rabbit, maybe because of his white fuzz of beard and hair. Maybe more because of his weak face. Harmless looking. Although never relaxing completely, Alisha stood still and let him walk up to her. He handed her a dirty napkin on which was inked a phone number.
    â€œRick Ressler’s cell,” he mumbled, his speech a bit slurred, his breath reeking of beer. Clownishly, he smiled. “Didn’t want the guys to see me. Ruin my reputation of being no good for anything.” He meandered down the sidewalk while Alisha stared after him, so surprised she didn’t even think to say thank you.
    After he disappeared around the corner, she jumped, coming out of her daze. Muttering “Duh!” at herself, she grabbed her cell phone. With a shaking hand she fingered the numbers.
    Right around dark, Jessie got into the black Z-car, revved