Chapter Eight:
Memories of Jasmine7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYWFGhzOS7w
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0z3SE67aWl
Han stayed in his seat, calling it "modesty," but really, he didn't feel like rushing off. The bus engine hummed, and people shuffled down the aisle, backpacks swaying. Jasmine stepped out, her pace slow, her shoulders slightly hunched.
I didn't say nothin'. Just watched her.
Her silhouette disappeared as the sunlight outside swallowed her. My mind drifted, pulling me back to a time when Jasmine wasn't just walking through life like a ghost. She had this glow, y'know? Like, wherever she went, the energy followed. And funny thing is, when we first met her in junior high, Marcus and I had no idea who she even was.
She'd won first place in some big academic competition, and it wasn't just a small deal. I mean, her name was announced over the loudspeakers, people clapped—it was all official. But Jasmine? She acted like it didn't mean anything.
"Why she sittin' there like she don't even care?" Marcus whispered, nudging me. We were standing by the lockers, watching her quietly eat at a cafeteria table, her blue ribbon just chillin' in her bag like it wasn't worth showing off.
"She too good for us little people," I said, smirking.
Marcus chuckled. "Bet she think she Beyoncé or somethin'. Like, 'Don't look at me, peasants.'"
I snorted. "You tryna humble her?"
"Oh, for sure," Marcus said, cracking his knuckles dramatically.
We swaggered over, real casual, like we weren't up to no good. Marcus plopped himself onto the seat across from her, and I leaned against the table.
"Well, well, well! Look who decided to grace us with her presence!" Marcus said, grinning like an idiot.
Jasmine blinked at us, mid-bite of her sandwich. "Huh?"
I pointed at her bag. "First place, huh? Real low-key about it, aren't you?"
"Y'all got the wrong table," she said, her voice dry as a desert.
"Oh, we know what we're doin'," Marcus shot back, leaning closer. "Miss Jasmine over here, actin' too cool for school. Why ain't you throwin' a party?"
"I don't need no party," she replied, rolling her eyes.
"Girl, you need a parade," I added. "Where's the confetti? The balloons?"
Jasmine chewed, trying to act unbothered, but I saw the corner of her lip twitch.
"Y'all are stupid," she finally said, shaking her head.
Marcus gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been shot. "Stupid? Us? Nah, we just tryna understand why you ain't celebratin'!"
"'Cause I don't need to," she said, smirking now. "I already know I'm good. Why I gotta prove it to y'all?"
"Oh, she got jokes," Marcus said, pointing at her. "Alright, I see you."
I laughed. "Okay, you cool. You passed the vibe check."
She chuckled. "Y'all are somethin' else. I can't believe I'm talkin' to y'all fools."
From then on, Jasmine was stuck with us.
Another memory popped up. Marcus and I were arguing about something dumb, probably who was better at basketball, even though neither of us was that good.
"Man, you can't even dribble right!" Marcus snapped, throwing his hands up.
"At least I don't shoot like a grandma," I fired back.
Before Marcus could respond, a cold splash hit both of us, leaving us stunned.
"What the—?!" Marcus yelled, spinning around.
There was Jasmine, standing a few feet away with an empty water balloon in her hand, grinning like a cat that just caught a mouse.
"Y'all sound like two old ladies fightin' over bingo!" she hollered, flicking her ponytail as she turned to walk away.
"Oh, she done lost her mind," Marcus muttered.
I nodded. "She really think she's untouchable."
We both grabbed balloons from the cooler nearby, exchanging a look. Without a word, we sprinted after her, yelling like maniacs.
What followed was pure chaos. Water flew everywhere, screams and laughter echoed through the yard, and by the end, we were all soaked and out of breath.
And then there was the funeral.
It was one of our classmates. The mood was heavy, everyone dressed in black. Marcus and I stood quietly, our heads down. Jasmine was with us, unusually silent.
Out of nowhere, she started clapping.
"Aight, enough with the sad faces!" she yelled. "This ain't a pity party! Y'all better celebrate their life, or I'ma make y'all do it!"
Before anyone could stop her, she started dancing—badly, on purpose—spinning in a circle and snapping her fingers offbeat.
"Girl, what are you doin'?!" Marcus hissed, but he was already chuckling.
"Bringing the party back!" she replied, grinning. "Y'all look like you need it."
We couldn't help it. Within minutes, people were laughing, the tension broken. That was Jasmine for you—always finding a way to bring the light.
But the moment that stuck with me the most was her speech at the assembly.
She stood at the podium, looking out at the crowd like she was born to be there.
"Listen," she said, her voice strong. "Life ain't easy, and people will make you feel like you don't matter. But you do. You're important. You're loved. And don't let nobody tell you different."
Her words hit hard, and by the time she finished, the entire room was on its feet, clapping and cheering.
I glanced at Marcus, who had tears in his eyes.
"She really somethin' else," he whispered.
I just smiled. "Yeah. She really is."
The bus driver's voice snapped me out of it.
"You plannin' to get off, or what?"
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. Jasmine might have walked out quietly today, but in my mind, she was still that girl who could light up a room without even trying.
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