The Jasmine Project

by Meredith Ireland

  “I think you’ll crack my ribs otherwise,” he says.

  With that we take off.

  My hands are in fists so tight, I’m probably breaking what little nails I have, but his ribs will be fine. I squeeze my eyes shut as my stomach swoops like when I was swinging. However, while I was safe on that children’s swing, I’m not safe at all right now. Anything and everything can go wrong.

  After a few minutes I decide it’s worse to be in the dark, so I open my eyes and the scenery blurs by. I look over his shoulder at the speedometer and Eugene is going the speed limit. A little under, actually. It just seems faster on the bike. I feel a lot more of everything, from the night air to the cars around us. The pavement is immediate, the stars, all of it.

  A little more time passes and when we’re not roadkill, I have to admit there’s something thrilling about this. It’s exciting in a way that defies everything reasonable.

  Note: I will never admit this aloud.

  He takes the turn off the highway for Winter Park, and I lean the way he does. And I’m certain we’re going to fall and die anyhow. There’s no reason to be at this angle. I take back what I said about it being thrilling, this is just death taunting. My heart is in my throat, but we finish the turn and we’re upright again.

  I will kiss the Corolla when I see it.

  Once we’re in Winter Park, we have to weave more than on the highway, and if possible, I hold him tighter. When we stop at a working light, he pats my arm and leaves his hand on me until the light changes. I think he says something. The vibrations of his voice echo through his back, but between his visor, my helmet, and the engine, I can’t hear him.

  We make it to my driveway, and he takes off his helmet and shuts off the bike.

  “Make sure to get off on this side because the exhaust pipe is very hot,” he says.

  Great.

  I slide off the bike, and once again I’m wobbly. He reaches out to steady me, and I put my hands up for him to stop. It may be silly since I’ve been pressed against him for a while, but it’s different being face-to-face.

  We lock into a wordless stalemate. There’s so much I want to say, but none of it comes out.

  “Thanks for the ride, I guess,” I say.

  He nods.

  “Goodnight.” I turn toward my door.

  “Jasmine,” he says.

  I stop and look at him.

  “You’re not a competition or a game to me,” he says. “You never were.” He pauses and then says, “You’re not like anyone. And you’re perfect the way you are. I know you don’t believe me, but I hope one day you will.”

  Eugene gets on his bike and kicks it started. He puts on his helmet and backs out of the driveway. I remain still and watch as his taillight disappears into the night.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  By the end of the day Monday, some of Winter Park (the richest part) has power. By Tuesday night, the generator shuts off and my house has full electric again. By Wednesday, I’m back at Berry Plum.

  I haven’t heard from Eugene since he drove away. When I watched his bike disappear, I had a feeling I’d never see him again. I tell myself I’m okay with that. He lied to me like everyone else—even after I told him the truth about Paul. Bits and pieces of our conversation gnaw at me, but I can’t process any of that right now because my life is in ruins.

  I haven’t forgiven my family, and it’s become a constant weight around my chest. We’ve settled into a quiet truce where I ignore them and they cast looks in my direction every few seconds. It won’t last forever, but for now they leave me alone.

  I also haven’t forgiven my friends.

  With almost no one to talk to, I’ve spent a lot of time at the shelter and I picked up more shifts at work. Katia is in the middle of relationship drama with Lee, and she’s talking about them nonstop. At least it’s a distraction.

  The only person I talk to lately is Paul, and although we’re not officially back together, he filled out an apartment application and he’s been accepted. He wants to put a $500 deposit down this week so we can move August 1—thirty-six days from now. I guess that’s okay. It would, at least, get me away from my family. But I can’t seem to say yes. I also haven’t formally accepted the Valencia scholarship, despite their email threatening that I’ll lose it if I don’t respond soon. And I know this is what I’ve worked for, but right now it doesn’t seem to matter.

  I finish my shift at Berry Plum and walk out the door. June and Emily wait next to the Rolla.

  “We didn’t want to come in while you were working, but can we talk?” June says. She’s still in her tennis whites.

  “Maybe take a walk in town?” Emily says. “I’ll treat to Peterson’s Chocolates.”

  Dammit. Bribery. Peterson’s Chocolates are wildly good, but wildly overpriced.

  “Please,” June says.

  It’s been five days since the hurricane party, which makes this the longest we’ve ever gone without talking. Emily and I have had longer breaks, but only when she’s been out of touch on trips to places with no cell coverage.

  They stare at me, waiting for a response. I sigh. I want to get in my car and drive away, but the truth is, I’ve missed them. And deep down I know I’m wasting what little time we have before they leave for college—before I’m left behind. I know that years and years of friendship mean they deserve to be heard. And in the end, they didn’t organize the contest. Of course, they knew and didn’t tell me, but all things considered, that seems like a lesser wrong.

  “I’ll follow you over there,” I finally say.

  A few minutes later I meet them in the small candy shop. I’m not joking when I say each chocolate-covered strawberry is five dollars, but they’re enormous and my favorite.

  “I’ll have one,” I say, pointing to the cloche.

  “Just give us a dozen,” Emily says. She hands over her credit card.

  “That’s way too many,” I say.

  “June and I will have them too. Whatever we don’t finish just take home.”

  We stroll out of the store and toward the green space in the middle of town.

  “So, we’re shit friends and we’re sorry,” Emily says. She hands me the bag of strawberries.

  I blow out a long breath.

  “I’m especially shitty,” June says. “We’ve been friends longer and I did the podcast. I should’ve told you, and I also held Emily back from telling you. I just…”

  “You just what?” I say.

  I bite into one of the strawberries, but it’s going to be a mess to eat and walk, so I sit on a park bench. They both perch on the one next to mine. We sit in the sun-dappled shade of the large trees.

  “I just wanted you to be happy,” June says. “I didn’t think about how you’d feel if you found out. Paul was so bad for you, and when he said he wanted to take a break, we thought you’d finally meet a better guy—but you said you wouldn’t date. When your family told me about the dating contest idea, all I could think was it would be good for you. That other boys might help you see you the way we see you.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t get it. Cari said something similar in the podcast. What does that mean—see myself the way you see me?”

  June hesitates and makes a few false starts.

  “You never acted like you were worth a damn,” Emily says. June purses her lips but doesn’t argue. “You kept settling and making excuses for The Paul’s shittiness because you had this idea in your head that you needed to hang on to anything you had. That it was all you deserved. You were afraid to reach for anything new. But you changed this summer. I mean, I’m sorry as hell we had to lie to you, but you changed for real.”

  “You got into a batting cage, you raced go-karts, you swam in the ocean,” June adds.

  “I rode a motorcycle on Sunday,” I say.

  “Get the fu—… hell out of here,” Emily says. She’s been trying to curse less post-Shawn.

  “What? How?” June says.

  “More
family intervening,” I say. “I cooked for the pop-up dinner at Amway.”

  “Oh my God, yes! My family saw you on TV,” June says.

  “Well, Jay abandoned me afterward so Eugene would have to take me home.”

  June and Emily stare at each other and then at me.

  “Wait, back up. You were with Eugene?” June says.

  “You got on his motorcycle?” Emily says.

  “I didn’t want to, but there wasn’t another way home,” I say with a shrug.

  “Oh, no. See, this is what we’re talking about,” Emily says. “Old Jaz would’ve either walked or waited around for a family member to come get her. How was it?”

  “I lived.”

  “How was it seeing him again?” June says.

  “I lived.” I finish the strawberry and pitch the stem in the trash can. I actually make it. “He, um, he told me he really fell for me.”

  The two saps across from me nearly melt on their bench.

  “Guys, no,” I say. “He lied to me. He was a game-show contestant. How can I take anything he says seriously?”

  Emily claps her hands together and dusts chocolate off them. “All right, I know we’re supposed to be nice and super sorry and I am. What we did sucked, and I never thought it was the best, but do you even hear yourself right now?”

  “Em…,” June says.

  “No, seriously. She’s going to be pissed at us for lying and I get it, but what about turning that around? You lie to yourself more than anyone lied to you.”

  “How do I lie?” I say. “I didn’t tell him about Paul at first, but…”

  Emily shakes her head. “What don’t you lie about? You liked Eugene. He liked you. You don’t want to be with The Paul, but you’re too scared to end things. You don’t want to be a nurse, but you’re too scared to tell your mom. All that settling, ‘I love the status quo’ thing, was always such bullshit. You want to cook in Paris, so go do that. Stop lying to yourself about what you want.”

  We’re all silent for a while. I’m stunned, so is June, and even Emily seems taken aback by her own words.

  The thing is: Everything she said is true. It’s everything I’ve been thinking since my graduation party. Just said aloud. I do like Eugene. And I’ve been too scared to cut things off with Paul because what if I don’t find better? What if I’m totally alone when everyone leaves next month? And it’s been similar with my mom. How do I break her heart when I’m not sure if I can make it as a chef? But it’s what I want to do. I want to be a chef. I want to learn to cook in Paris. But I’d have to leave everyone I love behind.

  “I’m not you, though,” I say. “I can’t just say everything on my mind to my parents. And what if things don’t work out? What if I can’t make it as a chef?”

  It feels so… naked, to have my worst fears out there. But June just tilts her head.

  “They’re your family, Jaz,” June says. “They love you. This whole ridiculous thing happened because they love you and just want the best for you.”

  “Tell them what’s up,” Emily says. “Be that boss bitch we know you are and stop using your family as an excuse to not live your life. If things don’t work out, then they don’t. Then you go to Valencia. But that’s better than never having tried.”

  As her words sink in, I realize how much I’ve been using my family as a reason to stay in place. There’s nothing wrong with a family as a safety net—that’s how things should be. But somehow things morphed in my mind and they went from being a safety net to a glue trap. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to make it as a chef, and my family became the excuse why I couldn’t. I let the comment Jay made when she was losing her dream stop me from pursuing mine.

  And what is the worst case? In the worst case, I do fail. I’ll be embarrassed. I’ll be hurt. But I’ll still have my family. And I can still go to community college here. Or even reapply to schools and go to a four-year college. But at least I can say that I tried.

  I’m so struck by my thoughts that it’s a while before I notice how quiet we’ve all been.

  June glances around, worrying her fingers on a napkin. “Um, so, we really hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive us,” she says. She shoots Emily a dirty look.

  And I can’t help it. I laugh. All three of us laugh.

  “I missed you guys,” I say.

  “We missed you.” Emily reaches across and I take her hand. June does the same.

  “We love you, Jaz,” June says.

  “I love you both,” I say.

  And that’s how, on a Wednesday afternoon, we sat crying on park benches in the middle of town.

  We get ourselves together, and Emily adjusts her eye makeup with the tip of her finger.

  “But seriously, what are you waiting for?” she says. “When are you going to actually live your life?”

  “Right now,” I say.

  And I mean it.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  “I’m really happy you asked to meet here,” Paul says. He slides into a chair across from me at Tijuana Outpost. It’s not Burrito Friday; it’s Thursday lunch, but close enough.

  He looks handsome in a soccer jersey and shorts. He used to love playing soccer as a freshman. It made him happy—until he realized football was way more popular at our school and more interesting to his dad. He was different back then. We were different back then.

  “You didn’t order anything, or are you waiting for your food?” he says.

  “I never really liked the food here,” I say. I sip my Coke.

  “Oh.” His eyebrows knit. “We could’ve gone somewhere else. Chuy’s was good.”

  I smile. “It was good. But this place has more memories.”

  “Yeah, it does.” He reaches across and puts his hand on mine.

  I flip my hand over and take his. It’s so familiar but different at the same time. I take a deep breath.

  “Paul, most of those memories weren’t good. Not for me,” I say. “Not in the past year, maybe more.”

  “In the past year?” he says, his eyebrows knitting. “I know we haven’t had a good couple of months, but things were fine senior year. You’re exaggerating.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not. Things were only fine because I put up with so much, and I won’t do that anymore.”

  He withdraws his hand. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean: I know we still have thirty-five days until August, but I’ve made up my mind,” I say. “It’s time for us to go our separate ways.”

  He shakes his head. “I thought… but we’re back together. I got the apartment. We’re moving in together.”

  “No,” I say. “I wanted to meet to tell you in person that we can’t move in together. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  He looks hurt, broken for a second, then his expression morphs into anger. Then calm, and that was always the worst.

  Paul sits back and folds his arms. “You’ve chosen one of your contestants, huh?”

  There’s the snide I knew was coming.

  “No. I want to be on my own.”

  Paul looks thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand. I’m saying I want to be with you. Move in together. Start college together. What we’ve talked about for years. They all lied to you, Jaz. I’m the only truth.”

  He’s right: they did lie, or at least didn’t tell me the truth. I’ve thought about this for days.

  “I know,” I say. “But they lied to me to help me. I’ve wanted to get back together with you, I have. I’ve wanted to keep my life the same. But there’s nothing to go back to.”

  “Nothing?”

  I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. I had this vision of us being together forever, and I wanted it so bad. I was so caught up in this safe zone where I wouldn’t have to experience life that I was willing to do anything to stay. That’s on me, not you. You never asked me to do that. And I don’t think it was possible for you to respect me when I didn’t respect myself. When I accepted any way you treated me.
Instead of expecting you to expand your world to include me, I shrunk myself to fit into yours. And I can’t fit back into that space. I won’t again.”

  He’s stunned silent, blinking at me.

  “But I love you,” he says.

  And it hurts. It physically impacts my chest, and a soft sadness closes in around me.

  “I love you, too,” I say. “I think I always will. And if you want to be friends, we can be. I still care about you.”

  He shakes his head. “But if we love each other…”

  “The thing is, just because there’s love doesn’t mean it works.”

  And just like Emily said, the second I stop trying to hold things together, I feel immediate release. I know for certain this was right.

  I grab my purse. “I want you to know that I do remember the good times,” I say.

  “We could have more…,” he says. And his expression makes him look just like the boy I met. The one who didn’t have his guard up all the time. The one who told me he loved my brownies. The one who still liked himself.

  I reach out and cup his face with my hand. “We’re moving in different directions and it’s time. You knew it this summer before I did. We’d only hold each other back now. And I love you too much for that.”

  I get up from my chair and kiss him on his cheek. “You’re going to be great, Paul.”

  With that, I walk out of Tijuana Outpost for the last time.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  It’s Thursday night and I’m making dinner. My entire family is home and they keep passing by the kitchen, looking at me. Their glances are everything from slight smiles to confusion to caution, like this may be a trap. But after I talked to Paul, and after I finished crying, I sat in my car thinking about what we’d said. When I pointed out that my family had lied to help me, it was true. I started the engine, then I went grocery shopping.

  “Dinner’s ready,” I say.

  They come out of hiding and take their places around the dining room table. I made pasta Bolognese, a simple salad where I tried to whisk together a dressing as tasty as the one at Lantern & Jacks, and the sinangag arancini I made at the pop-up dinner.