The next morning, as Oliver and Alonee walked to their first classes, Everette Keenan and several friends hurried by. They were talking about the latest polls—which girl was gaining, which was going down.
“I got Neely on top now,” one boy said breathlessly.
“No way!” Everette protested. “My guys are still going for Sereeta.”
Oliver looked toward the boys. “They’re just polling guys, you know. As if the girls didn’t have a vote!”
“Next thing you know they’ll be taking bets,” Alonee remarked. “Maybe that’s already happened.”
“Once this is over,” Oliver figured, “Ms. Amsterdam will probably think of something worse. Could three-legged races be just around the corner? Hula hoop competitions? I’m with Mr. Pippin. This woman has got to be stopped. Or else before we know it we’ll be bobbing for apples.”
That same morning, as Jasmine Benson ate breakfast, she got her last, desperate idea to turn the tide in her favor. She had heard that she was trailing in the number three spot and continuing to lose ground. She became more frantic as the vote neared. There were just two more days until the juniors would cast their ballots. Everything she had tried to do to give herself an edge had failed. The buzz around school was that Neely Pelham would probably win even though her camp used illegal tactics, passing her photos around. Too many guys saw the stunning pictures. They were sold on Neely now.
“Jasmine,” her mother said at the breakfast table, “you don’t look well this morning. Is something wrong? You’ve been too stressed out over that contest at school. Get serious, girl. It’s not that important. It’s not like getting good grades and getting into a fine college. Jasmine, you even got dark circles under your eyes. Have you been getting enough sleep?”
“I’m okay, Mom,” Jasmine replied. Earlier she had stood before the mirror and applied dark shadow under her eyes. She didn’t apply her usual bright red lip gloss. She used a pale shade. She made up her beautiful face in a different way.
After her mother dropped her off at Tubman High, Jasmine walked slowly into a large group of students. She knew most of them. “How’s it going, Jasmine?” Carissa Polson asked. “The vote’s coming up quick now.”
“I don’t really care anymore,” Jasmine answered in a weary voice. “It doesn’t matter to me now. I’m just hoping I get to do my senior year here at Tubman or anywhere.”
“What are you talking about, Jasmine,” Alonee asked. “You’re doing good in all your classes.”
“Oh, it’s not that,” Jasmine replied, “it’s just . . . oh, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“What’s the matter, Jasmine?” Destini asked. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good. Are you sick or something?” Destini had no use for Jasmine because of what she had done. Still, if she was really sick . . .
“My mother took me to the doctor,” Jasmine explained, “’cause of this stuff that’s been happening to me. They took tests, but it doesn’t look good.”
Alonee approached Jasmine. “What seems to be wrong, Jasmine?” she asked. By now a couple of dozen students were standing around, listening to the conversation. Almost all of them looked concerned. It seemed as if Jasmine had a serious illness. That was something that happened to older people—to grandparents. When it happened to someone their age—only sixteen years old—it was startling and tragic. It made everybody feel vulnerable.
“I just feel so tired. And I’m losing weight,” Jasmine continued. “And there are other things. It’s just too depressing to talk about.” Her eyes seemed to moisten, and she hurried away.
Alonee looked at Oliver. “Wow, that’s outta nowhere. Jasmine sick? I wonder what could be the matter with her.”
“Sounds grim,” Carissa added. “She’s not my best friend or anything. But that’s scary, huh?”
Word of Jasmine’s illness spread throughout Tubman High quickly. She was not necessarily well liked, but she was well-known. The idea that Jasmine had some mysterious and perhaps serious malady struck everyone with concern. Most of the students at Tubman had known Jasmine since elementary school and, for better or worse, she was one of them.
At lunchtime, Jasmine went off to a secluded place under some pepper trees to eat. When she finished her yogurt, she lay on the grass and stared up at the sky. She thought of sad things, like her grandmother being so lonely in the nursing home. Jasmine never wanted to visit her. But still she felt sad for her grandmother. The old lady had been a nice grandma before she got sick. Just thinking of sad things made Jasmine cry. And she wanted to cry.
Someone who was suddenly very sick ought to cry, oughtn’t they?
“Jasmine,” a familiar voice came to her as she lay on the grass.
Even without turning her head, Jasmine knew who it was. “Go away, Marko,” she commanded.
He came closer. He sat down on the grass near her. “I heard kids sayin’ you were sick. What’s that all about?” he asked. “What’s wrong with you, girl?”
“Just leave me in peace. You’ll know when it happens,” Jasmine snarled.
“When what happens?” Marko said in a strangely broken voice. “What are you sayin’ girl?” He put his face in his hands and sat there. Then he spoke to her. “Jasmine, talk to me. I still love you. I never stopped loving you. You just made me so mad . . . I didn’t want to hang with Neely. My heart’s been achin’ for you, girl. Jasmine, you can’t be gettin’ sick and, you know, leavin’ me. You can’t be. Y’hear what I’m sayin’?”
“Nothing matters anymore,” Jasmine responded. “The kids don’t have to vote for me for princess. I probably couldn’t even do the job. But I’d try. I guess it’d be good if I won. Even if I’m sick, I’d do my best . . . “Jasmine turned and looked at Marko. “How could you love me, fool? You treated me like dirt.”
“I do love you, baby . . . I do. You gotta get well,” Marko begged.
Oliver Randall heard Jasmine crying. He saw Marko sitting beside her with a terrible look on his face. He came over to them and asked, “What’s this all about?”
“She’s sick. She’s really sick,” Marko explained.
“Jasmine,” Oliver said, “you seemed fine yesterday in Mr. Pippin’s class.”
“It’s been coming on for a long time,” Jasmine answered. “I ignored the symptoms. Just tell the other girls I wish them luck. If anybody votes for me, well, that’s okay. I guess if my time is coming, at least I’d go happy, you know . . . To leave this world knowing all the juniors really liked me, I guess I could go with a smile on my face.”
Oliver left the couple to find Alonee. She was talking to some friends at Harriet Tubman’s statue.
“Alonee, have you heard about Jasmine?” he asked.
“Yeah . . . it’s strange,” Alonee said.
“Look,” Oliver pointed. “There’s Jasmine’s mom driving up in the middle of the day. I guess Jasmine must be feeling so bad she called her mom to come get her.”
As Jasmine’s mother crossed the campus, Alonee and Oliver met her. “We’re so sorry to hear that Jasmine is sick, Mrs. Benson,” Alonee told her.
“Sick?” Mrs. Benson asked. “Did she get sick here at school? She seemed okay this morning, though she did look a little under the weather. Dark circles under her eyes.”
Alonee and Oliver looked at one another. Oliver thought the unthinkable first. Was it possible? Surely it couldn’t be. Could Jasmine have pretended to be sick in a last-ditch effort to gain sympathy and perhaps become Princess of the Fair that way? “No,” Oliver thought, “not even Jasmine would do such a thing . . . or would she?”
“Mrs. Benson,” Alonee explained, “Jasmine said you took her to the doctor. They took tests, and it wasn’t looking good.”
“Took her to the doctor?” Mrs. Benson snapped. “What’s going on here? I found the English report she was supposed to turn in today laying on her bed. I brought it here to school. I had to take time off from work. Where is she?”
Oliver and Alonee led Mrs. Benson to the spot under the pepper trees where Oliver had last seen her. As they approached, Jasmine was in Marko’s arms. He was tenderly stroking her back.
“Look,” Mrs. Benson declared with disgust. “She’s with that fool again, the one who put the smelly chicken in her locker. That girl is going to be the death of me yet. Marko Lane turned on her like a snake. And now she’s all kissy face with him.”
Mrs. Benson stomped up and yelled, “Marko Lane, you get away from my daughter. You didn’t treat her right and you know it!”
“Mrs. Benson,” Marko stammered. “She’s sick . . .”
“Jasmine Benson,” her mother yelled. “I brought you the English report you need for that Mr. Pipper.”
“Mr. Pippin,” Jasmine said in a small voice.
“I don’t care if his name’s Peter Piper,” Mrs. Benson said, throwing down the report. “Now . . . what’s this about you being sick, girl? What kind of lies are you telling now? You know what, Jasmine? That pretty little nose of yours is going to grow long as a carrot one of these days.”
Jasmine took the English report and began to cry. “I’m s-sorry, Mommy,” she wailed, scrambling up the hill and fleeing.
“She’s so anxious to win that princess contest. She must’ve thought pretending she was sick would get kids to vote for her out of pity,” Mrs. Benson figured, muttering to herself. “I heard her last night on her phone saying that dying people get a lot of sympathy. I didn’t pay any attention to what she was saying then. But I guess that’s what happened.” Mrs. Benson had fire in her eyes. “That girl is so grounded. She is so grounded she’ll forget what the world looks like outside of school and her own bedroom!”
After Mrs. Benson left, Marko looked stunned. “She ain’t dying then?” he asked. Abig smile broke on his face. “That’s great. That’s really great! We’re friends again. She’s my chick again. She’s one crazy chick, but she’s mine!”
Oliver shook his head and smiled. “I hope I never in my life want anything so bad as Jasmine wants that tiara. If I do, I think I’ll stick my head in a bucket of ice water until I come to my senses.”
The following day, all the juniors at Tubman High were issued ballots to vote for Princess of the Fair. They were to write in the name of any junior girl they wanted. Ms. Amsterdam and several other teachers were going to tally the ballots. They would announce the winner on Thursday afternoon.
At the end of classes on Thursday, a large crowd of juniors gathered in front of the statue of Harriet Tubman. Ms. Amsterdam took the microphone in hand and, beaming widely, made the announcement. “It gives me great pleasure to announce the name of the girl who has been chosen by her peers to be Princess of the Fair. She is a girl of great beauty, like all our junior girls. More importantly she has the qualities of compassion and kindness that are hallmarks of our beloved school namesake, Harriet Tubman. So without further ado, I give you our princess . . . Samantha ‘Sami’ Gabriella Archer.”
The crowd of juniors erupted in wild applause. They stamped their feet and yelled, “Sam-i! Sam-i!” Most of them had been personally touched by her kindness. Many of the kids were crying with joy. Alonee saw Sereeta Prince hugging Sami. She was only the first of many.
Oliver put his arm around Alonee’s shoulders and led her to the foot of statue. He told her, “When Harriet Tubman was dying, she said, ‘I can hear the angels singing.’ I think Harriet is singing with them now and smiling with pride at what we did today.”
The juniors of Harriet Tubman High School had made the fairest choice.