I would remain still for a dramatic and pregnant pause, at which point I would say the perfect thing, depending on my mood:
BLAKE [Without opening his eyes]: I could have fallen in love with you.
(This would not be psycho like “I loved you,” but would still be profound).
Or...
BLAKE [Without opening his eyes]: You’ve always gotten what you wanted, your whole life...until now.
Or...
BLAKE [His eyes open, releasing a single tear]: What we have is a song, and although we haven’t reached the chorus, I can’t stop singing.
Definitely some high drama there, I hear you. What actually happened, though, was this. I’m going to tell it quickly, because it’s honestly kind of sordid.
During winter break I finally came out to my dad (Him: “I’d love you even if you were polka-dotted!” Me: “Thanks?”) and began dating this kid, Matt.
He went to a different school, but was the son of one of my dad’s coworkers—I met him at the work holiday party Dad made me come to. He was kind of vapid (his big phrase was “that was quite an experience,” which he used to validate lame story after lame story), but he had these angular green eyes and an elfin expression that I couldn’t resist. He would have made an awesome mage.
He liked me but I wasn’t into him (I hate to say that; it makes me sound like a prick, but it’s true!), and by the time break was over I knew that relationship was a goner. So, when I returned to school in January, it was with the cheerful step of the jilter. I had a win under my belt.
This attitude seemed to turn Carson on, because he started texting me nonstop (well, at least once a week), and he returned my messages really quickly. Although he didn’t make any moves or anything, and stopped texting back eventually, it was clear that he still had a thing for me.
Late one February afternoon, I’m waiting outside school for my dad to pick me up to go to the orthodontist. Lisa walks by, gives a wave that makes her skull rings tinkle, returns to her phone. Then Carson follows a minute later, face totally blank, even after he notices me. He’s trying so hard to be chill that a stranger watching could almost think that the sight of me standing there, available, didn’t bother him.
Technical Knockout
My dad won’t buy me a graphics card, so my computer has never run Street Fighter V all that well: after I begin a special move, I can put the controller down and watch the frames of animation pass like slides until the move finishes seconds later.
It takes Chun Li so long to do her lightning kick that the blur of feet in the console version is revealed to be only one foot, bathed in blue pixels, striking first the top of a person’s body, and then the bottom, then the top. Ear and chin, ear and chin, knee and shin, knee and shin.
On consoles she makes this jubilant “huzzah!” sound, but on my slower computer the sound breaks down into a “heh heh.” Ear, heh, and chin, heh. When her move is slowed down and the elements of it became distinct, the truth appears—Chun Li is feverishly laughing as she slaughters.
I call Carson’s disappearance from my life a technical knockout, for a number of reasons.
One is that I like Lisa, I really do. No one believes me when I say that. Maybe some of my warm feeling for Chun Li just passed over onto her.
Second, I technically couldn’t have hooked up with Carson again, anyway. Matt and I hadn’t officially broken up, and as far as Carson knew I might have been in love with the guy. So, Carson probably didn’t even realize that I was available. Typical Carson.
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.
Jasmine would scoot back in her chair, twiddling her chopsticks idly in her hand, and Janet sitting next to her would laugh and insist that Jasmine was talented too and she was lucky that they were friends.
Being friends with Janet was like being friends with the sun. Wherever they were, people would always be drawn to her, her warmth, her smile, her ideas.
And Janet always had ideas: let’s go hiking, let’s go see that detective noir marathon, let’s go eat too much food at all-you-can-eat Korean barbeque, let’s go to the zoo, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. She would plan these elaborate adventures, coordinate with people for carpools and pickups and everyone would have a good time. Jasmine didn’t quite understand how she did it, how she got along with everyone, how she knew what different people needed to enjoy themselves, how everyone—everyone wanted some of that sunshine.
Being her girlfriend was no different—Janet could sweep excitement into any ordinary day with her wild ideas, and Jasmine would always go along, always say yes. That’s how it was between them. Looking back, Jasmine can’t even remember properly if it was ever a question to begin with.
They were both sixteen, studying at Janet’s house on afternoon when Janet sighed, put down her book, and looked up at her with a serious expression.
“You okay?” Jasmine asked. They had only been studying for twenty minutes; it was out of character for Janet to tire of homework that fast. Then again, she’d been distracted all day by something, staring at Jasmine occasionally with an intense focus, like she was trying to figure out something.
Janet blurted out like it was nothing, “Do you like me?”
Jasmine’s mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts—all the times she thought about Janet, holding her hand, imagining what her lips would taste like, imagining the two of them getting married and what that would be like, if Jasmine could still be a wildlife photographer if she was First Lady. Years of thoughts and daydreams and hopes and dreams flitted through her mind in the split few seconds before Janet spoke again.
“Because I like you. I um, I like girls. And you, specifically.” Janet looked down shyly at her chemistry book, and twirled her hair in her fingers.
Jasmine always remembers this: how nervous Janet was, how she’d never played with her hair before, how she’d always been confident and knew exactly what she wanted and there’d never be any doubt that she’d get it.
It’s strange, thinking about that afternoon now; it was barely two years ago, but now it’s like a dream that happened to a different person, someone who just got swept up and carried away by a bright promise.
* * *
Jasmine’s first two classes fly by in a blur of teachers and conversations that she feels are somehow about her. It’s probably gone around the school twice by now, whatever Janet’s been saying.
She walks into yearbook with a relief. There’s a few “Hey, Jasmine’s”, Harry Wu gives her a nod, and Bonnie Owens waves at her. Jasmine smiles back at Bonnie and drops her backpack next to her, taking her seat.
Jasmine listens intently as Ms. Park gives a one-minute spiel about yearbook before handing it over to Bonnie, the editor-in-chief.
“This year, we’re going to meet our deadlines!” Bonnie starts. It’s pretty much a carbon copy of the speech Joey, their editor-in-chief last year, gave, and then a few months later they promptly derailed into missing deadlines and frantically trying to catch up, but it’s always nice to pretend in the beginning anyway.
Jasmine grins despite herself as Bonnie starts brainstorming on the board about how best to get the most features squared away so they can keep on schedule. Jasmine marks up her schedule, chatting with the other photographers about who can do what this week.
It’s a familiar rhythm, and Jasmine loves it. Yearbook is the one place people recognize her for her own talent, as a photographer, as an editor. Nobody here ever forgets her name or calls her Janet’s girlfriend.
“Hey, how was China?” Bonnie asks, plopping into the chair next to her, speech done.
“Oh,” Jasmine says, surprised and a little pleased Bonnie remembered this conversation. They’d never been super close—Jasmine was always spending time with Janet—but Bonnie’s always been nice. “It was really pretty.”
“Your family has like, a farm, right?”
“My great-aunt’s side, yeah,” Jasmine says. “I ate so many lychees, it was amazing.”
Jasmine had gone to China only once before, when she was ten. While it was great to see the sights, a good chunk of the time was spent visiting relatives she didn’t quite know how to talk to, sitting and holding her tea in silence while her parents laughed and talked and caught up. So when her great-aunt invited them again for the summer, Jasmine hadn’t planned on it.
But she needed a change, and this time was different. Instead of trying to cram visiting endless relatives and sightseeing in one week with her parents, Jasmine spent the entire summer trying to learn Chinese, spending time with her cousins and going for long walks in the countryside. It’d been perfect; she needed time away from this town, from Janet and her attempts to include Jasmine in all her summer plans out of pity.
Ugh.
It had been so humiliating, as if Janet was the one to want to break up—and somehow at the end of that conversation, it was like everything Jasmine had said had gone over her head, and Jasmine breaking up with Janet—became about Janet somehow. Like everything always ended up being. Even Jasmine’s one, final attempt to stand up for herself and do what she wanted for once, still ended up feeling like it’s what Janet wanted all along. It was as if she dumped herself for Janet, who just hadn’t gotten around to it.
“How was yours?” Jasmine asks Bonnie, racking her br
ain to try and remember that conversation before school ended. “Robots?” she ventures. It was some sort of science camp.
“Yes! It was brilliant. I took first place and I made a bunch of friends! Did you know how many different batteries are used in robotic combat?” Bonnie grins, waving her hands, taking the conversation forward.
It’s nice, charting out schedules with Bonnie and the yearbook crew. No one asks her about Janet.
* * *
Bonnie falls into step behind her as Jasmine heads toward the vocational buildings at the back of the school. “Do you have Nutrition and Household Planning too?”
“Woodshop,” Jasmine says, gripping the straps of her backpack even tighter. She signed up for it on a whim; it’d been right after the breakup, right before school ended, and she knew for sure that Janet was taking NHP. She doesn’t think she could handle it, a year of Janet being perfect and holding court with her friends as they baked cookies or whatever.
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?”
Out Now Page 4
