Home. Three fires were waiting for me.
Fire one: my mom.
You fake being sick, then put away two bowls of noodles the second you walk in the door — nobody's buying it.
"Stomach flu?" Mom eyed my empty bowl. "Stomach flu, huh. That's two bowls."
"Mostly better."
"Jasmine." She set down her fork. "Why did you really come home? What are you hiding?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? You bought a bus ticket overnight? Your phone's been off all day — I called four times!"
I opened my mouth and closed it again.
My roommate is setting a trap for the whole suite. How do I even say that out loud?
Based on what? She's treating? She asked for IDs?
Say it, and even Mom would think I'd lost it.
"School's been a lot. I wanted to rest for a couple of days."
"You had to lie to get a few days at home? Jaz, you have never lied to me in your life."
"Mom, can you drop it!"
My voice came out too loud.
She froze. Looked at me for a long moment.
"Okay." She stood and started clearing the bowls. "Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here."
I sat in my room, chest tight. I'd been trying to protect everyone — and instead I'd turned myself into a liar. A buzzkill. A girl with a weird secret.
Fire two arrived Thursday at noon.
The landline rang.
My cell was off — how had they gotten my parents' home number?
I picked up and got hit at full volume.
"Jaz! What is your PROBLEM!"
Bree.
"Mindy's been crying all morning! She says you single-handedly wrecked this for all six of us! The deposit's forfeited — do you get that!"
Nadia piled on in the background.
"Six-person booking falls apart without you Friday. Two hundred a head. Are you paying that back?"
"Forfeit it, then. I'll cover the deposit."
"You'll cover it?" Bree laughed, ugly. "Can you cover what she put into this? She planned it for half a month!"
I took a slow breath.
"Then answer me one question."
"A girl who simped for three years. Ate ramen for three years. Never spent a dime on herself for three years."
"Where did twelve hundred dollars suddenly come from?"
A beat of silence on the line.
"Maybe she saved it! Maybe her parents gave it to her—"
"Her allowance is eight hundred a month. You all know that."
"Then — scholarship money!"
"She failed two classes."
Longer silence.
Then Bree's voice turned vicious.
"You're so dark, Jaz, you know that? The girl hands you her whole heart and you're auditing her bank statements!"
"Fine. I'm dark." I kept my voice level. "Then ask her one more thing for me. What legitimate studio makes you hand over your license?"
"For RECORDS! Mindy said it's for records!"
"Records of what? It's a photoshoot, not a hotel."
"You—!" She was shrieking now. "You just can't stand anyone being good to us! You're jealous that Mindy finally got herself together! Be dark alone — stop dragging us into it!"
Click.
She hung up on me.
I stood there holding the receiver for a long time.
Did it hurt? Sure.
It didn't move me an inch.
Some parties, you skip one, nothing happens.
Some parties, you show up once — and you never come all the way back.
Fire three came Thursday at midnight.
Past eleven, the landline rang again. Mom was asleep; I crept out and picked up on the first ring.
Mindy. Her voice shaking.
"Jaz."
"I'm asking one last time."
"Tomorrow. Are you coming or not."
I gripped the receiver.
"Then I'm asking you one last time, Mindy."
"Who is this shoot actually for?"
Her breathing scrambled for a second.
"For us! Obviously!"
"Then tell me why it doesn't count without me. Five girls can't take photos?"
"Jaz. Stop asking."
Her voice suddenly went wet. "It's just photos! What could happen? Just pretend it's the last time we'll all be in one frame."
"Why would it be the last time?"
She didn't answer.
"Mindy. Is something happening to you? Tell me now. There's still time."
Silence stretched so long I thought she'd hung up.
Then, very quietly:
"I'm sorry."
Click.
I stood there with goosebumps crawling up both arms.
Sorry for what?
Sorry to who?
I called straight back. No answer.
Again. Power off.
I barely slept. A dozen times I reached to turn my phone on; a dozen times I made myself stop.
I'd promised.
Saturday. Not one minute before.
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