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.”