“Last year—wasn’t good,” Jasmine says. It feels strange to admit it out loud, that their picture-perfect relationship was anything but. “And I was telling myself for months to get out and I finally did and I still can’t—she’s everywhere,” she admits miserably.
Bonnie takes a thoughtful bite of her pizza. “Well, I’m glad you did. You’re doing your best, don’t be too hard on yourself,” she says with a small smile.
“Thanks,” Jasmine says, grateful.
A few other students sit down with their lunches, and Bonnie changes the subject. “Anyway, so Harry says he’s afraid of water, can you cover the swim meet next Tuesday?”
“I am not afraid of water!” Harry insists. “I just am creeped out by those plastic floaty things—”
“You mean the lanes?” Jasmine teases.
The yearbook room erupts into laughter. Harry rolls his eyes as Preston elbows him good-naturedly.
The rest of lunch should be forgettable—Bonnie and Harry discuss the finer points of pool equipment; Preston asks her—Jasmine, of all people!—for advice on how to ask out Jimmy Veracruz; Ms. Park surprises them with Halloween candy. But it’s so nice, laughing and joking with her friends, that Jasmine wonders why she wasted so much time being someone else’s shadow.
* * *
Woodshop becomes, surprisingly, the one place she can relax and have fun. Jasmine’s other classes start piling on the homework and yearbook is starting to ramp up in intensity; she’s often out every afternoon taking photos for features and interviews.
Mr. Harrelson is finishing a long-winded story that Jasmine lost track of ten minutes ago. “And that’s how I lost my finger. Not fighting the bear, but because I didn’t read the safety manual properly and wasn’t watching the saw.”
“Do you really think Mr. Harrelson did all those things?” Jasmine whispers to Ash. “He keeps talking about the war, but which one? How old is he?”
Ash chuckles. “He could be immortal.”
“Getting lost in a snowstorm in Russia? Losing a bet in Spain? He’s like, traveled the world. He just might be.” Jasmine laughs. “Or maybe he is part of a secret underground crime ring. I wonder if he has anything to do with that fake wig shop.”
Ash tilts her head at her. “That one on Persimmon and Walnut? I always thought that place was creepy!”
Jasmine’s never been inside, but the dusty storefront has always seemed strange to her. She turns and grins at Ash. “Wanna go check it out with me? There’s also a boba shop a block away, we could go get some boba and then do some reconnaissance.” The words fly out of her before she realizes it sounds suspiciously like a date.
No, no, she and Ash are friends now—they make jokes about Mr. Harrelson’s mustache and study the safety manual together, draw blueprints for ideas and designs of stuff they could build for their project when they actually get drawing. Ash rips out pages from her notebook and shares them with Jasmine before she can even ask, and always saves the seat next to her for class.
It’s always on the tip of her tongue to ask if Ash wants to eat lunch together, since their class is right before, but Ash always waves at her goodbye and speeds off on her skateboard.
Jasmine has seen her a few mornings, walking to the bus as well, but she hasn’t struck up the courage to say hi or even sit next to her.
She doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s been enjoying it, getting to know someone on her own, as herself.
“That sounds like fun!” Ash says, grinning at her. “You take the Persimmon bus home, right? I see you sometimes in the morning but I never see you on the three o’clock bus going back.”
“Oh, I usually stay after for yearbook. I’m covering all the fall sports so I have to get good shots of the home games this year,” Jasmine says. “But uh, this Thursday I don’t have anything.”
“Thursday it is,” Ash says.
* * *
Thursday comes too soon and not soon enough. Jasmine tries three different outfits before settling on a floral-print sundress and high-top sneakers. She stares at herself in the mirror, wondering if it’s too much. No, plenty of girls wear dresses to school. It’s cute. She’s cute. She’s hanging out with Ash, who she likes.
Like like? a small annoying voice in her head pops up.
“Shut up,” Jasmine says aloud.
She walks to school, lingering on the corner of Persimmon until she sees Ash skateboarding toward her.
“Hey!” Ash says brightly. She slows to a graceful stop, kicking her board up and holding it nonchalantly. “Guess what, I was watching the History Channel last night and I swear in the documentary on cryptids there was a guy who looked just like Mr. Harrelson.”
“Why is a documentary on cryptids on the History Channel?” Jasmine asks. She also can’t stop smiling at Ash, she can’t help it.
Ash usually wears her baseball cap over her hair down, but today her brown hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. A few wisps frame her face, falling around her dark skin in soft curls. It’s cute, she’s always cute, why is Jasmine even thinking about this—
“Wanna sit with me?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jasmine says, following behind her onto the crowded bus. They get a seat near the back, and for all that Jasmine thought it’d be awkward, it isn’t. It’s just like woodshop, conversation flowing easily.
Ash points to the enamel pins on Jasmine’s backpack. “These are cool! I like this one the best.” She chuckles, flicking a cat riding a Roomba.
“That’s one of my favorites,” Jasmine says, catching her breath. Ash is leaning close, close enough for her to smell her hair. Jasmine freezes, going unnaturally still.
“These are all awesome,” Ash says, flicking a rainbow pin with the slogan SOUNDS GAY, I’M IN.
Jasmine blushes. “Thanks. Do you have any?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a few on one of my jackets, but I like how you have all of yours here.”
Ash’s knee knocks against Jasmine’s own, their thighs brushing together the entire ride to school.
* * *
“Today, we will practice hammering nails into these boards. Remember to be aware at all times. Got it?” Mr. Harrelson glares at the class before passing out hammers to everyone.
“The mythical Cage of Tools is finally open,” Ash says, in a deep dramatic voice.
Jasmine chuckles, marking her board with a row of neat dots, matching the diagram on the board precisely.