Jasmine just isn’t strong enough; she can’t handle Janet seeing her, she can’t handle another year feeling like she’s not good enough.
Bonnie whistles. “I heard Harrelson can be super strict, and you don’t get to build anything until like, after the break.”
Jasmine shrugs.
“Are you sure you don’t want to switch? You still can, right? It’d be fun, I heard we’re making empanadas today.”
Part of Jasmine does think it would be much more fun to be in a class where they would get to cook every day and then eat their creations. And there’s like useful stuff too, like learning to do taxes.
“Mrs. Caldwell won’t let me switch,” she lies easily. Her counselor probably would if she asked and made a strong case for it, but Jasmine really doesn’t want to.
Bonnie nods. “She’s still holding a grudge after all the drama you gave her about yearbook counting for your PE credits?”
“Hey! Taking photos is very aerobic,” Jasmine says, snorting. That petition saved her high school experience, seriously. She couldn’t stand another year of being picked last for pointless scrimmage games in sports that confused her.
Bonnie snickers. “Just tell that to Jason and Harry, they were so mad they couldn’t get credits either. It’d start a precedent, apparently.”
“Going to class, ladies,” a voice booms at them. It sounds like it’s supposed to be a question, but it isn’t.
Jasmine looks up. This must be Mr. Harrelson; he’s wearing a sawdust-covered apron and crossing his arms at them.
“Yep!” Bonnie says. “I was just walking her to class and now she’s here. Bye!”
Harrelson looks at Jasmine, and she shrinks back, hoping he isn’t judging her. He probably is. “Well, sit down. We’ve got a lot of safety to cover.”
Jasmine follows him inside, feeling very self-conscious.
The classroom smells like wood and the faint sharp tang of metal, and it’s completely different from any class she’s been in before. The building is older, for one, the window frames rusted over and glass clouded with age. Multiple workbenches line the main classroom area; at the front is Mr. Harrelson’s desk, a chalkboard, and behind it, a locked cage filled with power tools.
It’s funny how many kids here Jasmine knows by name and some random detail about them because of yearbook—she’s never talked to any of them.
Well, here’s your chance, a voice inside her says.
Jasmine tells it to shut up and looks for a seat. There’s an empty one next to a long-haired girl in one of the middle rows. She’s leaning backwards on her chair, chatting away with the two boys behind her. Her baseball cap is nonchalantly flipped backwards on her head, and she laughs, throwing her head back. She looks completely at home in the woodshop class already, unlike a few of the other students, who sit quietly at their desks and look apprehensively at the tools locked away behind Mr. Harrelson.
“Hey,” Jasmine says, her heart leaping into her throat. “Can I sit here?”
The girl touches her hat, adjusting it with a wide grin, balancing effortlessly on one leg of the chair as she sprawls out like the class is her kingdom. “Sure,” she says easily. She squints. “Oh hey, you take the Persimmon Grove bus, right?”
“Yes,” Jasmine says, sitting down. She looks familiar, but Jasmine’s only just started taking the bus. Janet always drove her to school before.
The girl looks at her, biting her lip like she wants to say something, and for a brief moment of panic Jasmine wonders if it’s going to be something like are you a new student or how come I’ve never seen you before and she’d have to explain.
“Sorry about earlier. Sometimes I go way too fast because if I don’t make it to the quad before the warning bell, it’s filled with people and I can’t practice any of my jumps.” She grins, broad and sunny. “I’m Ash, by the way.”
“Jasmine.” She waits for it, for some semblance of recognition, or the inevitable question about Janet, but it doesn’t come.
“Cool. Excited about woodshop?”
Mr. Harrelson coughs and glares at the classroom. “Before anyone asks, no, we’re not building anything today. This class is serious business, and our first week we’ll be covering safety. If you don’t pass the safety test on Friday, you will not be allowed to handle the tools, is that clear?”
The class groans, but there’s a good-natured air of energy in the air. Everyone does seem to be looking forward to this.
“I am, actually,” Jasmine says to Ash, surprised at herself.
She turns to look at Ash, who’s looking at her with some sort of calculated amusement, her lips quirking up in a smile. It’s a nice smile, and she has a nice face and she’s cool and oh no. No. This is not happening.
Jasmine spent the whole summer being independent and confident and she’s going to have a good senior year, none of which involves having a hopeless crush. Jasmine already decided: the life of a wildlife photographer is a lonely one, and she just will be single forever. She doesn’t need anyone.
Ash’s smile lights up her whole heart-shaped face, and she adjusts her baseball cap at a jaunty angle. Heat rushes to Jasmine’s cheeks, and she turns determinedly back to Mr. Harrelson in the front.
It’s not going to be a crush. Nope.
* * *
Lunch in the yearbook room is pretty nice, actually; Jasmine’s never done it before. She’d always poked awkwardly at her food while Janet and her friends chatted about student government policies or volunteer activities or whatever it was that Janet was organizing. No one talked to Jasmine at all; she was just there.
Bonnie’s looking at her with a strange expression and Jasmine realize she’s been staring off into space.
“You can ask me, it’s okay,” Jasmine offers.
Bonnie shrugs. “I figured you knew that I knew. The whole school knows. Janet was telling Priscilla this morning it was a—” and she does finger quotes—“‘mutually amicable thing at the end of junior year, and we both agreed to go our separate ways, of course we’re still friends’, which everyone is taking to mean that she dumped your sorry ass by the side of the road. No offense.” She pats Jasmine on the shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Something inside Jasmine splinters, a hard, angry thing rising inside her. Of course. Of course, Janet would spin it the way she wanted to in front of her friends.
Oh.
Something actually broke.
“If you need a new pencil for class, I can give you one,” Bonnie says, taking the broken pieces of the pencil out of Jasmine’s hand gently. “I take it that it wasn’t exactly mutual?”