Tayla was down at her side once more. “If you’re not going to play, stay out of the game!” she shouted, as her face turned as purple as a plum.
Michaela jogged to Tayla and grabbed her arm. “Don’t let her get to you—she’s trying to cause trouble.”
“I only did what Lori said…” Jasmine grinned.
“Don’t bring me into this!” Lori backed away.
“Play the game, we’re losing!” yelled Tayla.
“Ooh, go get Miss Anderson! See if she can help,” Jasmine goaded.
The game continued at the other end of the court and Lori turned her back. Jasmine grinned and moved to the painted lines on the ground. She followed the line to the corner and sat herself down on the tarmac.
“Jasmine Scott! Get up!” yelled Miss Anderson returning from the other game. “Pull your weight!”
“You saying I’m heavy, Miss?” called back Jasmine. “Don’t think you’re allowed to say that!”
“She’s useless Miss, we can do without her!” yelled Tayla.
“She’s playing,” Miss Anderson replied.
“I can leave, I’m quite happy to leave…” offered Jasmine.
“You’re playing, now play on.”
Tayla had possession once more and spun on her heel trying to decide who to throw the ball to. Amber and Lori were both blocked. Jasmine met Tayla’s eyes and heard the hiss of disproval throughout the team. Tayla threw the ball. It sailed high over Lori’s head and Gail twisted to try and reach it as she leaped into the air.
Tayla stood poised ready to spring as Jasmine watched the ball. Jasmine stepped forward and lifted her arms as if to catch the ball, but allowed it to drop through her hands as it reached her. She shook her head as the ball bounced, yet again off the court. Her lip curled into a smile and she shrugged. “I thought you could do without me…” she called.
Tayla growled and sprinted across the court, slamming into Jasmine. Winded and full of adrenalin, the two girls collapsed onto the ground, a tangle of limbs and shrieks.
Both matches stopped as the girls crowded around the brawling couple, eyes wide and chants already slipping off lips. Miss Anderson hurried into the fray and yanked both girls apart. “That’s enough!” she shouted above the cacophony. “That is ENOUGH!”
Mr Jackson hastened from the football pitch, followed by a mob of baying, whistling boys keen to see the playground turn into a gladiator pit.
“Girls! I’m ashamed!” cried Miss Anderson, “What do you think the two of you are portraying to the school?”
Jasmine wiped her bloody knee with the back of her hand and pushed her hair out of her face. Sure enough, faces had appeared at classroom windows. She waved, and Miss Anderson grabbed her arm, marching both girls off the playground and indoors.
Jasmine grinned.
At lunch, Jasmine retreated to her favourite bench at the back of the school. It was placed in a fairly secluded spot beneath an extended awning, just around the corner from the kitchen doors. It had an added bonus of a warm draught from a vent at the side in the kitchen’s brick wall. Not many students had discovered the delights of the bench and any that had were sent packing when she arrived.
Jasmine sat with her back against the wispy flow of hot air. She lifted her feet up onto the bench and admired her boots, then reached into her bag and brought out her new set of eye pencils. She chuckled as she recalled her uncle’s words, shrugged her arm out of her leather jacket, and pushed back her sweater’s sleeve. Leaning her arm against her raised knees she began to doodle on her inner arm. It wasn’t long before an emerald green mermaid with perfect plum hair swam in the peacock blue ocean. She grinned and plucked up her thick black kohl pencil, drawing a shark fin in the waves. That was the beginning of a story, if ever she saw one!
She pulled her sleeve back down, slipped back into her jacket and took out her lunch. Her mind whirled with ideas and plotlines as she ate, and she barely felt the cold wind biting at her fingers and feathering through her hair. When she’d finished, she whipped out her notebook and began laying ink on paper.
When the lunch bell rang she ignored it and finished her notes, then grabbed her mirror and checked her face. Though she’d reapplied her eyeliner after PE, watery eyes from the mad March breeze had smudged the line, and she grabbed her kohl. As she redrew the line she smiled, it was peacock blue, not black, and she lengthened her line into waves at the edge of her eye. She peered into the small compact mirror and drew the shark fin with her black pencil. She giggled and pushed back her heavy fringe. She held her hair back with her arm and angled her hand with the mirror. Around her other eye she smudged emerald green and curled the line down across her cheek bone into the mermaid’s tail. She sketched scales in black and swirled perfect plum into the crease of her eye for dishevelled, seaweed mermaid hair.
As the second bell echoed across the playground she grinned and let her fringe flop back into place. She leisurely put away her pencils and notebook, and buckled up her messenger bag, before sauntering back into school.
She slid into the classroom just before her form tutor. She scribbled in her notebook while she waited for the bell for class. She had no desire to leave her desk by the window again, and there was absolutely no appeal in double maths, which awaited her after registration. When the bell went, chairs scraped on the floor and bags were grabbed as everyone filed quickly out of the tutor room. Jasmine took her time, so much so that Mr Fischer tapped her on her shoulder as she scrawled in her notebook. “Class, please, Jasmine,” he said.
“In a minute,” she replied rapidly writing. “It’s just maths.”
“I’m sure Mrs Rhodes would like to see you there.”
“I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t.”
Mr Fischer grinned and shrugged. “Maths is an important part of the curriculum—so hop to it.”
Jasmine offered him her best withering glare from beneath her fringe. He stared at her for a moment, frowned and opened his mouth, then obviously thought better of actually speaking and closed it again. Jasmine sighed and replaced the lid of her pen. She pushed out her chair and got up.
“Okay, okay, I’m going—maths it is.”
Mr Fischer nodded and watched her leave the class; he shook his head as she closed the door.
Jasmine dawdled along the corridor. She wasn’t as late as she’d hoped and she dodged past several loitering groups of students. She ignored their glares and whispers and marched down the corridor, her new boots clomping as she went. She joined the straggling tail end of pupils as they filed into the classroom and she chose a desk at the back of the room. She placed her bag on the desk and hugged it to her, while the class settled and Mrs Rhodes finished stacking textbooks.
“Right.” Mrs Rhodes cleared her throat and surveyed her students. Jasmine grinned at the sour expression on the teacher’s face. Group three weren’t the most attentive lot, and she watched the teacher’s gaze settle on Tayla and Amber. “No more talking, this isn’t the playground.”
“And we’re not year six either, Miss!” muttered Tayla.
“Then stop acting like eleven-year-olds.” Round One to Mrs Rhodes. “Books out, please.”
Chairs grated and books shuffled, pulled out of bags and slapped on the desks.
“And what’s that in your mouth, Amber?” asked the teacher moving towards Amber’s desk.
“Nothing, Miss.” Amber flushed and put her hand to her mouth.
“Can you swallow it?” Mrs Rhodes overlooked the giggles and glared at Amber. “If you can’t, then please spit it into the bin. I won’t have children chewing the cud in my class, you’re not cows.”
“She might be!” piped up Denis.
“She’s not, unless you’re full of—the proverbial—and, you often are.” Mrs Rhodes returned to the front of the room as Amber spat into the bin and Denis squirmed. Round two and three to Mrs Rhodes.
“If that’s everything, then let’s get on,” she said as she opened the textbook. “Let’s do
page sixty-eight…”
Denis sniggered and elbowed Timothy beside him. “What about the next page, it’s way more interesting!” he muttered under his breath.
“Denis! You’ll be out the next time you speak, now zip it—in every way you can think of!” The teacher’s eyes flashed and Denis smothered his smirk as the ripple of laughter petered out. “Page sixty-eight.”
The class opened their books and began getting pens and pencils. Jasmine grinned, casting a smug sideways glance at Tayla and Amber.
“Will you be joining us, Jasmine? Got your maths book with you?” Mrs Rhodes fixed her eyes on the back of the room. Jasmine started and unconsciously flicked her fringe away from her eyes as she opened her bag. She hunted for her book and pencil case.
Her maths book appeared to be hiding and Jasmine’s skin prickled beneath the teacher’s stare. The book was nowhere. She searched again, flicking through books and junk stored in her bag.
“Miss Scott, we’re waiting.”
“The book probably fell through her fingers, Miss, that’s what happened in netball—repeatedly!” Tayla scowled.
Jasmine buried her face in her bag, frantically rummaging. She heard adult footsteps tapping on the classroom floor and—there it was, squashed down underneath her lunch box. She retrieved it with relief and dropped it on her desk. She looked up, right up into the teacher’s face.
As Jasmine met her eyes, Mrs Rhodes squinted.
“And who are you today, Jasmine?”
Jasmine shook her head, not understanding the question.
“Are you in the right place or were you expecting a field trip to the beach?” Mrs Rhodes fixed her with piercing eyes.
Again Jasmine shook her head. “No, Miss…”
“Then why the face paint? I can see the shark—is that me?” Her lip curled in what Jasmine could only perceive as a sneer. “And you’re the…” She reached down and with barely a touch, gently lifted Jasmine’s fringe. “And you’re the mermaid.”
Jasmine recoiled and shook her hair back across her face. She reddened and licked her lips, her fingernails pinching her palms beneath the desk.
“So sweet, but, this isn’t an art class, we’re a maths class and art doesn’t belong in a maths class.”
Jasmine began to burn as students stared and Tayla grinned.
“So, please take a moment to remove your work of art and return back to us when you’re as plain as an equation.”
Denis snorted and snickers spread across the class.
Jasmine sat, simmering, her heart pounding and her head throbbing. “No,” she said quietly, “I’m not taking it off, it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“Pardon me?” Mrs Rhodes raised her eyebrows so high Jasmine thought they’d fly off her forehead.
“No.” Jasmine bit her lip and glowered. Daggers prickled her body and she burned.
“I think you’ll find I’m the teacher here, and what I say goes.” Mrs Rhodes pursed her lips. “Now, please go and remove the makeup. It’s against the rules for one thing.”
Tears stung Jasmine’s eyelids.
“If you won’t remove it then you can stand outside.”
Jasmine slammed her maths book back into her bag and slung the bag over her shoulder. She kicked the chair backwards and let it fall, clattering to the floor as she stood. She held the desk with one hand, gripping it for all she was worth, and smoothed her hair out of her face, tucking her fringe behind her ear and exposing her make up with the other. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted!” She spat out the words, her spittle landing on her teacher’s face.
Mrs Rhodes watched as her pupil marched out of the class. “Stand outside!” she called as Jasmine slammed the door. The door bounced against its frame.
“Yeah, right!” cried Jasmine and her feet thudded down the corridor.
The classroom door flew open. “I said, wait outside!” called Mrs Rhodes.
“You never said wait—you said stand! And I’m taking one!” shouted Jasmine.
“Taking what?” yelled back Mrs Rhodes.
“A stand, I’m taking one!” and Jasmine was gone.
She refused to run, though her heart felt like it would implode and the walls felt like they would crash right down round about her.
“Jasmine.” A male voice echoed down the corridor. “Jasmine Scott.”
Jasmine closed her eyes and willed her feet to keep moving. They did.
“Jasmine, could you please wait.” The voice belonged to her year tutor, Mr Harvey. She did not want to stop, and she couldn’t stop her feet from picking up speed, and soon she was racing down the hall like a hellion. Her breath caught in her throat, her hair bounced and her heart sent searing red-hot spears right through her. Sobs escaped like flames and the feet behind her picked up speed too. “Jasmine Scott!”
Ahead, the corridor split into two, and she couldn’t think straight. She giggled, a wild sound mixed with tears. She couldn’t recall where she was and tears blinded her. A drum beat in her head and she ran. She skidded around the corner and slammed through the doors leading to the stairs. The door boomed throughout the stairwell as it closed behind her, then crashed open again as her pursuer chased. She almost tumbled down the stairs, grabbing the rails and hanging on as her feet took her to the bottom.
“Jasmine Scott, stop running,” he called, his voice echoing and cold in the bare stairwell.
Her sobs resounded too, each one slipping down the steps with her. She bolted through the doors at the bottom and continued running through the corridor. The lobby opened out into bright sunshine beyond the formal fluorescence of the hallway, and Jasmine headed towards it.
The staircase doors flung open again and the footsteps increased. Now there were two people following her. Voices called, but she could no longer hear them, and suddenly a figure stood enveloped by light in the lobby. The blurry figure began advancing and Jasmine ducked left, heading automatically for the ground floor girls’ toilet block. She crashed through the door and into a stall. Her fingers trembled and shook as she drew the bolt across. She climbed up onto the seat, balanced precariously, and hugged her knees to her chest, holding her breath.
For a moment all was quiet, just the sound of a dripping tap and the hiss of cisterns. She stifled another sob and shook as she tried to relax. Her breath jerked and her body shuddered, and she slowly brought her mind back from the edge.
Outside voices buzzed. Then the bathroom door opened. It was quiet. “Jasmine?” A woman’s voice spoke, a soft voice.
Jasmine bit her lip still holding her breath.
“Jasmine, are you in here?”
Jasmine fought the urge to cry, to reply, to breathe, and drew blood on her lip.
“Jasmine, sweetie…” The woman stepped into the toilet block and she recognised the voice as the head of year eight. She liked Miss Honeywell, who didn’t? With a name like Honeywell you could only ever be a nice person. “Jasmine, are you okay?”
That was all it took, her floodgates caved and silent tears streamed down her face.
“Sweetie, I need to know if you’re okay…” Jasmine still offered no reply. “Jasmine, I really need to know you’re okay, or I’ll have to get someone else in here to help. You need to come out…” Miss Honeywell did what she could. “Sweetheart, you can’t stay in here.”
“I’m not coming out.”
“It’s not that bad, c’mon, what happened?” Miss Honeywell spoke softly, “I think they’ve called your mother…”
Jasmine cried harder. “I don’t want to see my mother!”
“Of course you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
The main door squeaked open and Jasmine held her hand over her mouth. “Any luck, Anna?”
There was quiet outside the stall, and Jasmine controlled her tears as the male voice disappeared and the door closed again.
“Jasmine?” said Miss Honeywell, “Jasmine, you still there?” A soft laugh tinkled. “Of course you’re still there, how sill
y! Now I’m embarrassing myself.”
Jasmine slid her knuckle into her mouth and gently bit down. She sniffed and began to relax, dropping her feet to the floor. She sighed, her breath shuddering, and closed her eyes.
“Jasmine, tell me what’s going on? I know you’ve had a hard day, I heard about netball…”
She released her hand and studied the bite marks on the knuckle, and let out another juddering sigh. “It’s not that.”
“So what was it? Who’s upset you?”
“Mrs Rhodes.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
Silence filled the room then Jasmine sniffed loudly. “I hate her.”
Miss Honeywell waited.
“It’s just makeup, doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“What makeup?”
Jasmine heaved a big sigh. “It was just a makeup design I was mucking around with, forgot I’d even done it. Then Mrs Rhodes…” She spat out the name. “Mrs Rhodes totally humiliated me.”
“What did she do?”
“Embarrassed me in front of the whole class.”
Miss Honeywell drew in her breath. “Don’t let it bother you, Mrs Rhodes is, is sharp…”
“Yeah, she thinks she’s as sharp as a knife.” Jasmine glowered.
The teacher sighed. “So, forget Mrs Rhodes, what else is going on?”
“Well,” Jasmine paused, “it’s…it’s my, my birthday…” She hiccupped.
“Your birthday!” Miss Honeywell sounded relieved at her response. “Today?”
“Yester, yesterday…”
“Oh, yesterday,” the teacher repeated. “Did you get anything nice?”
“I got boots…”
“Nice ones?”
Warily, Jasmine slid her foot across the floor of the stall. “These.”
From her perch on the toilet seat she could see Miss Honeywell’s hands on the floor. “They’re nice, really nice.”
Jasmine smiled and pulled her foot back.
“Are they Dr Martens? I always wanted a pair, never had them, but I’d like them.”
Beneath the Distant Star Page 3