She spent the past weekend in self-imposed isolation, ignoring phone calls from Esther and trying to keep her eyes closed as much as possible so she could stay in the memory of Emily in the bathroom on Friday afternoon. The feel of her skin against Jesse’s own, the explosion of softness and intensity, like an underground nuclear bomb test…. Jesse felt her loyalties melt away completely the moment she pulled Emily’s shirt off over her head. She felt ravenous, half blind with hunger, like an animal. When they left the bathroom, neither one of them could look the other one in the eye. And the aftershocks kept moving through Jesse all weekend. Esther called twice on Saturday to ask if Jesse was coming to the vigil again or not, but Jesse let the calls go to voice mail and didn’t call back. This morning on her way in to school, she was careful to avoid the freshman hall and head straight to homeroom, so she wouldn’t have to see Esther and explain herself to her.
The two girls leave the bathroom at last, and Jesse slips in. There are four posters still on the wall in here, high above the bank of mirrors over the sinks. Apparently, it was easy enough to tape them up there in the first place—she must have leapt up onto the sinks like Superman and sailed back down: No fear. Was Esther with her in this bathroom, spotting her when she climbed up, tearing off pieces of tape and passing them to her? How can Jesse not remember what it was like to post these, which she herself personally did, only a few days ago? She was in a haze of purpose then. Only the plan existed, and the partnership between her and Esther—the logistical details were nothing to them, tiny hurdles they sailed over on wings of enthusiasm.
Now she’s wingless. Land-bound, with two left feet inside a pair of boots that couldn’t be more wrong for this operation. She feels unprepared, out of balance. As she starts to hoist herself up onto the sink, she catches her own reflection in the mirror.
She doesn’t look like much. Dark, empty eyes. Backpack hanging, lopsided, off her shoulders. Ringer tee, cargo pants, and a suddenly girly haircut. Overnight, her hair has gone from just right to way too long. It does this—puffs up from badass to embarrassing over the course of what seems like a matter of hours. She needs to take her Swiss Army Knife to it as soon as she gets the chance. When she gazes back at herself from the mirror she looks shaggy and lost.
Jesse scrambles awkwardly to her feet on the sink, but she’s wobbly in the boots, unsteady on the wet, slippery porcelain. She clutches desperately at the mirror’s narrow edge as she reaches for the first bright-yellow poster. When the burst of static comes from right outside the door, she’s about as hidden as a target at a shooting range.
Jesse freezes mid-reach. She closes her eyes and feels the slight breeze move around her as the door creaks open. She senses more than sees Snediker’s squat, compact body anchored in the door frame down to her left.
“Well, well, well,” Snediker whines. “This is getting to be kind of a habit with you.”
Jesse swallows, and looks down at her. From this vantage point, with Snediker so short and Jesse up so high, the dean of students looks like a peevish elf. Her round, rosy face is placid, as always, under the tight cap of her perm. She props her small, balled fists up on either side of her belly. When she moves her arms, the ring of warden-keys she keeps bungee-corded around her wrist jingles.
“I was trying to take it down,” Jesse says dumbly. She hasn’t moved since the door opened; her arm is still stretched over her head, reaching. Her big green boots are still propped wide on either side of the sink.
Snediker smiles her miserly smile, her lips drawn into a short, straight line. “I’m afraid that’s neither here nor there.” The walkie-talkie clipped to her blazer pocket emits a staticky crackle. A voice on it says, “We have a situation in four ten, situation in four ten, over.”
“Come on down,” Snediker says, a chillingly friendly invitation. She beckons to Jesse. “You’re coming with me.”
***
Snediker makes Jesse wait for some time in the row of red chairs lining the narrow hallway outside her office.
“Ms. Yost is probably waiting for her pass… ?” Jesse suggests when Snediker seats her there, holding up the bathroom pass in question.
“Ms. Yost knows where her pass is.” Snediker passes Jesses calmly, without looking at her. She goes into her office and shuts the door.
The last time Jesse was remanded here, she only made it as far as the outside reception area. The inner sanctum, where she is now, is reserved for more serious offenders—Jesse has never been this far in before. She peers at the closed, featureless office door. Maybe Snediker actually does have something to do in there, or maybe this is just her tactic to get kids worked up into a frenzy of fear before she brings them in to skin, fillet, and fry them in oil.