» Westerburg Journal ◈ Jason Dean «

Chapter One

I never thought I would write a journal entry about my experience with Jason Dean, let alone an entire book about it. It wasn't something I thought I would ever tell anyone, not even my sister, Van, whom I tell everything to. Of course, this experience could get me jailed, so I had that to consider for a while. But, I guess you could consider this book a tell-all. Or even...a suicide note.

It all started in late April of 1988. I was walking to school with my sister, Vanessa - everyone calls her Van - and we began arguing about Westerburg High, where we went to school. She was always the reserved, short-tempered type, but she still had a lot of friends. She never had a problem with that.

As for me, I had a huge problem with making friends. I'm just as, if not more short-tempered than Van. I protest a million times before making just one friend. My clothes weren't as in-style as some people's, and I was okay with that, because I had no one to impress anyway. The one thing many people could describe me as, was unique.

"I don't get it, Billie. You always tell me about how you wish you had someone to talk to other than me," Van whines, "and yet you get into the biggest quarrels with girls at our school. One of these days, I swear..." her voice trailed off as she shook her head. "Nevermind."

"No. Say it," I demand as I stop and focus my eyes on her. To say I was mad was a bit of an understatement. She always nagged me about my grades, who I hung out with after and in between classes, when I would be home, and why I acted the way I did. I honestly didn't know, and I wouldn't have minded someone telling me. "Go on, say it," I ordered her impatiently.

Van sighed. Her eyes turned away from me and branded themselves onto the ground below our feet. Watching her seem so glum was like watching a blistering flame burn out in a time-lapse; it made you empathize with her, like you were just yelled at yourself. She pulled her books closer to her chest, stiffening up. She held herself like this for a few seconds.

"Van," I said, urging her on.

She looked up at me and straightened her posture confidently. "I just think you get in over your head a little bit," she tells me with a shrug, "that's all."

"No," I object, "that's not all. What is it?"

"What is what?"

"You said one of these days... and then you changed your mind. What is it that's going to happen one of these days?" I mandate.

She let out a groan. "You're going to get into a fight!" she finally howls in my face.

I stared at her in shock. I never thought that she would say that. Not my sister. Van always told me I was too sweet, and that being assertive was a feature she admired about me. But I guess it's my fault that she told me something I didn't want to hear. After all, I was the one forcing it out of her.

After a few seconds of staring at each other, she broke down into tears. She tried telling me she was sorry, and I would have accepted her apology had I actually have been paying attention. But I was far too distracted to actually be listening. I had my mind on other things.

There was a guy riding a motorcycle up the street in the direction of the school, the way we were walking. From a distance I could see he was wearing a long dark trench coat that drifted along behind him as he rode up the path like an empty plastic bag being dragged through the wind. He had longish hair just an inch or so past his ear. The closer he got, the better I could see. I wanted to see, too. He was attractive.

"Are you even listening to me?" Van asked, whining.

"Hm, what?" I said, drawing my attention away from the guy and back onto my sister.