But really, there’s never supposed to be any clean conclusion between two perfectly matched fighters. Look at Ken and Ryu—they went head to head for years from the original Street Fighter all the way through Street Fighter V, one never beating the other. Ken’s shoryuken may have had flame while Ryu’s had none, but they were both just as good. Two fighters facing off, identical in body, chests heaving and eyes narrowed. That was chemistry, that was power.
I was glad to see that in the latest Street Fighter, Ken finally has his own look and fighting style. He’s no longer a Ryu copy. After battling so long, coming head to head but never coming to terms, Ken and Ryu have finally found some other way to be, that doesn’t involve holding on to each other as enemies.
It gives me hope for Carson, that we might get past this stalemate before he graduates and goes away forever.
In the meantime, I’ll take a pause from this whole hooking up thing. Fortnite’s plenty to fill my time these days.
* * *
LUMBER ME MINE
by
CB Lee
Jasmine clutches her backpack straps a little tighter as she exits the bus. This is it. Senior year, she thinks, the words somehow falling flat even in her head. The drab gray buildings look the same as ever; the warning bell ringing sounds exactly the same, and the rush of students joking and laughing and lingering on the front lawn could be indistinguishable from any other day at Garden Bells High School.
She didn’t know why she expected it to be different.
You’re not different, a lingering voice inside her says. You’re the same mousy doormat you’ve always been, and a summer abroad wouldn’t change that.
“I’m going to have a good year,” Jasmine mutters softly to herself. “I am confident, I am strong, I don’t need anyone to—ah!”
Jasmine startles as a blur of red and black zooms past her. She barely manages to catch her balance in time. Ahead, the blur turns into a girl in a plaid shirt and jeans, swerving on her skateboard and narrowly avoiding crowds of students. She turns back and waves at Jasmine with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry! Didn’t see you! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine,” Jasmine says.
The girl nods and zooms off.
“It’s okay,” Jasmine says, more to herself than anything, not that the girl can hear her. She looks familiar; she probably was on the same bus just now. “No one really sees me anyway.”
Jasmine shuffles forward, keeping her shoulders tucked in as the kids from the bus rush past her.
“Did you see that new alien movie?”
“Football game on Friday, yeah!”
“We’re gonna crush Garden Heights!”
“Look at my new boots!”
She lets the conversations wash over her as she walks into her first class, ignoring the cacophony of friends greeting each other, hugs and fist bumps, trading gossip and asking about summer.
“Did you hear Janet dumped her?”
“I don’t blame her, she could do so much better.”
“What is she wearing, anyway? She looks twelve.”
The giggles stop when Jasmine looks up; the three girls don’t meet her eyes, but they change the subject to basketball.
Jasmine thought her outfit was cute this morning—a blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a denim skirt she found at Goodwill—but now she isn’t so sure. Her pink backpack covered in her enamel pin collection suddenly seems childish, and looking around, everyone else’s backpacks are cool—black or gray or sleek muted colors.
It shouldn’t bother her, the comments, but they do. Those girls—Jasmine can’t remember their names—they’re on the basketball team, she thinks. Janet would know who they are; in a school of thousands, she’d remember not only their names but something nice about them, something special. It’s what made Janet—Janet.
A sudden pang of longing courses through her as a couple holding hands walks into class, completely lost in one another. They take their seats, hands lingering, as if they’re loath to leave each other even for a moment.
Did Janet ever look at her like that?
Maybe Jasmine didn’t think this through properly, what it would be like, going back to school after the breakup.
That bitter voice echoes at the back of her mind again. Did you really think you could handle this on your own? What are you without her, really? You’re nothing.
“No,” Jasmine whispers to herself. “I am strong and confident,” she repeats. The words sound weak even as she says them, just like how she feels.
Jasmine tries to shake off the doubt coursing through her and rushes into her class, ignoring the heat of eyes on her and the whispers in the hallway.
“Settle down, we’re going to get started. Jackson, that’s inappropriate. Come on now, don’t make me report you both on the first day.” A sandy-haired man in his fifties sighs, standing up reluctantly from his desk, and looks at the time. “Alright, I’m Mr. Thompson, this is economics, and the seat you’ve chosen is going to be your assigned seat for the year.”
Jasmine taps her pencil on her desk, and the boy next to her turns and gives her a friendly smile.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Cool backpack.”
“Thanks,” Jasmine whispers back.
“You’re Jasmine, right?”
“Yeah, I—”
“Roger,” he supplies helpfully.
Jasmine studies him a bit more; he’s got a wide forehead and messy hair, and he seems nice. Maybe he could be a friend. Maybe this year won’t be terrible after all.
“You know um, Janet’s friend, Stacey? Do you think she’d be into me?”
Roger gives her a winning grin, and Jasmine’s stomach sinks.
Nope. It’s going to suck.
* * *
For as long as Jasmine could remember, they’d always been a pair—Janet-and-Jasmine, J2, J-squared, double-Jay-trouble. It seemed inevitable they’d be best friends, going from long afternoons playing pretend in Janet’s backyard or creating elaborate stories with Jasmine’s stuffed animals to trading stories about what they’d be when they grow up. For Janet, sometimes it’d be President, or an astronaut, always something fantastic. Jasmine had no doubt she’d do it. Janet was that kind of girl: the kind teachers and parents liked, smart and confident and good at sports and making friends.
Jasmine’s mom loved Janet.
“Why can’t you be more like Janet?” she’d say, right in front of Janet when they’d have her over for dinner.