Disclaimer: The world of Bridge to Terabithia, as always, belongs to Katherine Paterson, Disney, Walden Media, and any other persons whom it may concern. I'm just playing with the characters for a while.

Long Way Down

Chapter Three:

Almost Forgotten Promises

"Take me with you,"

To her, the request was not impractical—in fact, it seemed to be the only option. He wanted to leave and she had no way of changing his mind. But there certainly was no way she was staying here without him. Why shouldn't she go with him? What were two children gone compared to one; without him around she would probably be more trouble than she was worth, anyway. And besides, it wasn't as if she was an infant. She could help—she could work soon enough. She was tall for her age; she could pass for thirteen, maybe even older. She may not be able to get a job working in some chain store like he could, but she could do odd jobs: dog walking, lawn mowing, and babysitting. She could even do a paper route, that is, if they could sneak her bike out of the garage without waking anybody up…

As May Belle pondered, Jesse fretted. Her waking up and pleading with him had not been part of the plan. As he thought on it he simply couldn't see how he could win: if he took her with him, sooner or later she would want to—or have to—go home, and he very well couldn't send his eleven year old sister all the way from DC to Lark Creek by herself, for a multitude of reasons. And if he took her back himself…well, then where would he be, heading back home? That wasn't wise for his independence, and would probably cause him a great deal of unnecessary emotional pain, especially if he had to leave May behind.

I thought you had already made the choice to leave her behind. A small voice in the back of his head nagged. This shouldn't be painful at all.

And yet it was. Excruciatingly so. May Belle was just about the only true friend he had. He wasn't close to anyone, really, other than her, and—more recently—a new teacher at his high school.

He closed his eyes for half a second, thinking long and hard. The words May Belle had uttered mere moments ago ran a quick course through his mind.

"And the new music teacher who they're using to supervise the free period art classes…you like her, right?"

He did like her, very much. So much so, in fact, that part of him wondered if this level of…affection was normal for a boy of his age to feel for his teacher.

Ms. Edmunds…

Even the name brought the smallest of smiles to his face. Brief visions of her ran through his mind: her eyes, the clearest of blue, always lined with black eyeliner, but never too much. A smile, a joke that was a little too outdated to be truly funny, but he still laughed, so that she might. The billowy pastel colored tops, the blue jeans littered with scribbles and song lyrics written in Sharpie, and neon colored Crocs. The bangle bracelets that always clattered on her wrists; the long, dark curls that were never tamed by pins, bands or clips. The way she would sit; cross legged upon the old desk at the front of the art room, eyes flitting back and forth over the rows of teenagers seated before their easels. Every few times, her eyes would land on him and she would smile before moving on down the line…

The brunette teacher was a graduate student in her early twenties who had studied music at Julliard before her scholarship ran out, forcing her to return to her hometown of Lark Creek, Virginia. She had quickly become Jess's only companion in school, mainly because she was the only one who even bothered to acknowledge his presence. During his lunch period he would stay inside of the art room rather than trekking all the way to the East stairwell—he figured if he was going to eat alone, he may as well do it away from all the condescending sneers and pitiful glances cast his way by his fellow classmates—partially because art was right before lunch, meaning he had a bit more time with the beloved educator to himself.

Ms. Edmunds had caught on fast that Jesse Aarons was far from a social butterfly, and a few quiet inquiries in the teacher's lounge had sent the other members of the faculty on a rampage regarding the entire collection of Aarons children. Surprisingly, Julia had not learned much about Jess, as she had hoped to; mainly she heard a near endless stream of complaints tied to his elder sisters: Eleanor, who had insisted upon being called Ellie, and Brenda, younger by barely a year. Ms. Matheson, the Biology teacher, recalled her first encounter with the eldest Aarons daughter with a mildly nostalgic and gloomy humor:

"The first words she said to me in class during the first full day of her freshman year were: 'I don't care what your roster says, or what my mother may tell you. My name is Ellie, not Eleanor. Eleanor is my Grandmother. She smokes, and my father hates her, though he won't say so. She's grumpy and gross, and last Christmas she made my younger brother cry.'"

Brenda was even worse than Ellie, who was allegedly foul-mouthed, lazy and dimwitted, someone who cared only for boys and lunch break. "Thank God she's old enough for college now," said Mr. Greenburg, the Algebra teacher. With a smirk, he would add: "Though I doubt she got in."

Little was said about Jess, however, because little was known. There was nothing, actually, not even the carrying on of the family legacy of misbehaving, and it was something that saddened Julia greatly. Whenever the boy's name was mentioned, every teacher would blink spastically for a moment and stare into space, as if trying to recall if they had left the stove on at home. And when they did at last bring to mind the dark haired teenager who sat in the back row of every class, all they had to say of him was in relation to his average grades—mostly B's and C's—and his affection for quiet surroundings. Talk would then move onto his younger sisters, May Belle and Joyce Ann, who were in the fifth and first grades, respectively. Some teachers dreaded the coming of the younger siblings, though most hoped to be retired, or at least close, by the time the littlest arrived. A few select members of the staff; such as Ms. Carey, the History teacher, and Mr. Gregory, who taught Life Science to the freshmen, did not believe that the younger girls would possess the same unpleasant qualities that their sisters did. Bart Gregory spoke quite highly of May Belle, though he had never "had the pleasure of meeting the young lady in person". He explained to Ms. Edmunds that May Belle was a student of Gussie Meyers down at the elementary school, who had taught all of her older siblings.

Including Jess, she had tacked on in her head, a small smile on her face.

Mr. Gregory happened to be good friends with Mrs. Meyers, who apparently did nothing but sing the girl's praises whenever he inquired about her students.

"Gussie says that May Belle is brilliant," Bart informed Julia. "She's got all the smarts and spunk that none of the other kids seem to."

That statement in itself was the kind of material Julia had been looking for. The youngest of three and the only girl, she believed she could understand the sort of trouble Jess was going through. No doubt Ellie and Brenda had always been—and possibly still were—troublemakers, so that got "necessary attention". May Belle was bright and kind-hearted: positive, frequent attention most likely in the form of compliments. Joyce Ann was most likely still the baby of the family, who got the rare hugs and kisses, the special treats. And where did that leave Jess? She thought on this long and hard, and came up with nothing at all. He truly was a good kid; quiet and well mannered, a dutiful student, though academics didn't come easy for him. The only classes where he truly shined were History—the only student in ten years to get anything above a C on the midterm, according to Ms. Carey herself—and art. Ms. Edmunds had witnessed firsthand Jesse's artistic gifts, and they never ceased to amaze her. He yielded a simplistic talent with any form of brush, pencil, charcoal or marker that would have most of the students in the class brooding with envy, should they ever happen to lay eyes upon his portfolio. Jess chose to keep his work under lock and key, however; never did one of his landscapes grace the pale blue walls of the classroom, the parchment on which he painted never encased in a shoddy pine frame amongst the plethora of other creative endeavors belonging to his peers, most of which were quite crude or hasty, quickly becoming something of surfeit rather than things of splendor.

Julia considered herself propitious to have even glimpsed the diffident teenager's work. One afternoon, not long after the end of class, Jess had been gathering up his things to follow the other students to lunch. Inches from the door the bottom of his tattered blue backpack gave way, a lone strand of duct tape dangling pitifully from the worn flap of fabric, which sent a mass of papers and pens cascading to the linoleum floor. Watching with a tender heart the expression of true discouragement on his visage, she had bent to help him, fingers finding the uneven cover of a tan book which bore no title, buried amongst the heaps of crumpled Algebra II worksheets and a Chemistry quiz marked with a bright red C-. Curiosity had gotten the better of her as she stared at the mysterious volume, and in spite of herself she had indulged said emotion by opening the object that had silently mocked her with its mystifying lure.

Within the confines of the bland and uninteresting cover she found a breathtaking world of color and expression: Jesse's sketchbook was not limited only to pencil drawings but also contained delightful pastel sketches, charcoal portraits and even a few watercolors. Satisfied with the safety his boring little book would provide him with; he had willingly unleashed a talent beyond any he had ever shown in class. She then realized that he always hid, even when in the company of like minded people his own age, quicker to downplay himself into the world of mediocrity then become known for a gift that was remarkable for anyone to attain, much less a seventeen year old boy.

It was then she assumed he must've taken some form of class; after all, even the greatest of talents needed nurturing. And so she inquired, with the lightest of tones so that she would not give air of intrusion, but enough warmth was provided as to convey legitimate interest. The reality that his private place of creative expression had been seen by eyes other than his own was initially very troubling to him, but she soon managed to lower his defenses and gain insight into his mind. She found him to be very interesting, and quite like she had been at his age—not a "people person" but still lonely from time to time, quiet by nature, therefore interpreted as aloof or haughty. She grew to enjoy his company, and began to think of him as more an acquaintance or friend than a student, as lately the word brought to mind an outcropping of generally unpleasant human beings who smelled of cigarette smoke and possessed the vocabulary of a hobo. She did grow to admire the contemplative boy quite a bit, but somewhere along the line her admiration and value of his companionship became muddled in his eyes, which lead to a feeling of deep affection that he had deluded himself into believing she might also return.

So his memories of his after-class discussions with Ms. Edmunds were tainted with remnants of reveries, clouded with confusions and stories he wished would come true. While she saw a bright boy in need of a friend, he saw a possible romantic interest that was deeply repressed. While he was not one of an overly quixotic or flighty sort of mind—in fact, it was quite the opposite—his loneliness got the best of his common sense in the end.

So he thought of leaving her with a sore heart, but knew that a few good things could not compensate for the endless bad ones. After all, it was Ms. Edmunds that had prompted him to run away in the first place. Surely, if she ever learned what became of him, she would be proud of what he had done for himself. Other than his teacher's kindness, May Belle's companionship and innocent insight was one of the two nice things that he would mourn in his departure, and thinking of her again drew him from his momentary daydream and caused his hazel eyes to fixate on her shadowy form as she sat upright in her bed, eyelids slanted in contemplation, moonlight illuminating a tangled nest of hair on the side of her head. She was thinking deeply, he could tell by the set of her mouth; the way her jaw jetted upwards slightly and how her plump lips pursed, turning the corners downward in a comical fashion. Her request thudded in his temples like a bass drum:

"Take me with you,"

He couldn't. He just couldn't! While part of him desperately wanted to be assured of his sister's company—for he had grown to enjoy her over the years, and he had been pondering if one day he might actually get a bit too lonely, living all by himself—a much stronger part of his brain argued that May Belle would be the downfall of his much needed independence, in the end. He knew full well that he would begin caring for her own safety, comfort and happiness over his own (he always had, after all) and he could predict that in six months or less the two of them would be back on a bus to Lark Creek, back to their hellish household, never again to taste the sweetness of freedom. And as much as he adored the brunette girl, losing his sovereignty was a risk he could no longer afford to take.

"May…" He began hesitantly, his voice crackling under emotional strain. She looked up at him expectantly and a piece of his heart cracked and crumbled to dust upon his noticing the light in her eyes, for he could not remember the last time he had truly denied her something she desperately wanted, and she wanted this more desperately than anything else in the world.

He cleared his throat and blinked, trying to calm himself. He had to do this, for both of them. He just had to wait a little under a year—until April of 2011, to be exact; he would be eighteen by then—and he could come back without fear to see her, to see all of them, because he would be an adult, and no figurative shackles would bind his ankles unless he himself chose to put them on. A quick, clean break was what they both needed, and then he could go on and so would she, the wounds would bleed themselves dry and by the time he returned hopefully all resentment and pain would have dribbled out too. But right now he needed to make the cut. Because the sooner he did, the sooner it would heal.

"May," He started again, proud of the decisiveness in his tone. He had yet to waver, and he was hoping this was a sign that he could cut her with as little emotion as possible on his half.

"You'll let me go, won't you?" She interrupted. He said nothing, and she began to panic, eyes widening as her voice sped up with fear. "You're taking me with you, aren't you? Oh Jess, please! You have to!"

"No." His voice dipped to an ashamed whisper in spite of himself. "No, I'm not going to take you with me. I'm sorry, May Belle. I can't…you can't…I'm doing this alone. You have to understand…"

"You have to understand, Jesse!" She was almost screaming at him now, and a fleck of fear seeded inside of his breastbone—what if she aroused their parents, or Ellie or Brenda? Joyce Ann was even a threat at the moment, and the most plausible and dangerous. His eyes became glued to the lump under the faded quilt that was haphazardly draped over the bed next to May Belle's, watching with a palpitating heart the uneasy movements that were beginning to occur underneath it.

May Belle's tirade was not done, much to her brother's dismay. She went on, letting her pent up emotions free after weeks of worry. "You can't just abandon me here! How cruel can you be, Jess? I'm your sister, for crying out loud. You're asking me to lie to our parents—our family—about something you're trying to do that could get you killed! Honestly, Jess, are you completely insane? How stupid, irrational and dangerous can you possibly be…"

She was full out yelling now, and nervous sweat began to accumulate on his neck. Joyce Ann moaned in discomfort under her blankets, stirring to the point of near wakefulness. Jess, in panic, clapped a hand over her mouth and snarled into her ear.

"May Belle," Even he was surprised by the true animosity in his tone, he hadn't so much as snapped at her since they were small children. They relied on each other's loyalty far too much to risk it on petty disagreements, or so he had thought. It all seemed like another life to him now, a dream, a wish, or a faded memory. He growled at her again, unable to control his anger, even though it wasn't really her who had caused him such pain. "Stop it."

Stop she did; her voice died in her throat and he felt her quiver slightly. Remorse flooded through him, and he gently slid his hand away from her mouth—even more guilt filled him as he heard her noisy exhale; he had been clamping her so hard she could barely breathe—allowing it to rest firmly between the base of her neck and her right shoulder. He willed his tone to relax from a snarl to a whisper, trying to calm himself down. He spoke to her gently, as if she were once again that little six year old with the missing front tooth and lopsided ponytails, the one who loped around in Brenda's old red cardigan and the hand-me-down dresses, the child who was excited by little things like Barbie dolls and Twinkies.

"May, I'm sorry…" He breathed deeply, shutting his eyes for a moment before willing them to open again and focus on the traumatized sister before him. She had turned her head away from him; her profile revealed the beginnings of tears sparkling in the dark eyes they both shared and the pitiful set of her mouth.

"You have to be quiet," He whispered to her, feeling a sinking helplessness wash over him. Like a zombie, he repeated what he had first told her when she had discovered him awake. "You'll wake Joycie."

She turned to face him abruptly; the tears in her eyes dried by a fire that now replaced the sadness that had been there from the start.

"You don't give a rat's hat about Joyce Ann, Jesse." She hissed fiercely. "I'm not a child. I know that you just don't want her to spoil your little plan. I understand that, but I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me the truth. Don't lie to me if you expect me to lie for you in a few hours."

He was taken aback by the change in her behavior. "I'm not lying, May Belle. I would never lie to you. You know that, you have to know that. We're a team, remember?"

"You're sure not acting like it, Jesse Oliver. You're abandoning me, remember?" The cold sarcasm in her tone stung, it was if she had morphed into Ellie before his eyes. He realized now how deeply he was hurting her; perhaps her wound wouldn't be healed in a year's time, as he had hoped. Maybe it would never stop bleeding. The thought made his heart ache.

"I'm not abandoning you, May Belle." He shot back, feeling somewhat like an eight year old, arguing over something pointless.

"Well then, what do you call your leaving me? Leaving us? You say we're a team. You've always told me that, and you've been telling Joyce Ann too. You promised, Jess. Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?" His voice was almost inaudible; he found it hard to keep eye contact with her.

"That day, three summers ago? We were playing in the woods before dinner, and I got the back of my T-shirt caught in that patch of bramble bushes?"

"You had strayed off the path," He added, recalling the event with a bitter sadness, he could still feel the panic that had built in his chest as he ran, calling her name. "I thought you were behind me, but I looked and you were gone…"

"I got scared." She continued. "I started crying and calling you. You finally found me, but I was still upset when you did. I thought you had given up and gone back to the house without me. But you didn't, did you?"

"No." He admitted. "You scared the hell outta me, May. I couldn't think about going home without you."

"You told me that. Do you remember what else you told me, Jess?"

"No." That was a lie.

"You told me I was silly to think you would leave me behind. You said we were a team—you said you would never leave me, no matter what. You said we were family, and on top of that we were friends, kinda, and you just can't leave behind people who fall into those categories. Do you remember now, Jess?" Her innocence was back once more, and it made her words even more painful to hear.

"Sorta…May Belle…"

"What, Jess? What's different now? What did I do to make you change your mind?"

He looked at her expectant, wounded eyes and found his own closing yet again, felt his hand covering his face as another heavy sigh filled his ribs.

It was never going to be easy, was it?

"Ten minutes," He said after a long period of silence, not even bothering to remove his hand from his face.

"Huh?"

"We leave in ten minutes. Hurry up."

Author's Notes: There's chapter three for you! This originally was going to cover a much longer period of time, but I thought it might be a bit too lengthy, so I decided to split it up. I hope you enjoyed, and please review!