Amy and Dad pick me up from Bowie’s around eleven. Well, Amy picks me up, and Dad is also there. Being short like me, he’s kind of a lightweight.
When we were younger, Dad used to drag me and Jasmine to all his work parties. We’d stand around all dressed up, awkwardly interacting with a bunch of kids we didn’t know, while Dad got tipsy off a single glass of champagne and spent the night telling medical jokes with the other doctors.
Eventually Dad stopped feeling like he had to show us off, and I’m not sure if it’s because he realized he didn’t need to impress anyone, or because he realized me and Jasmine weren’t that impressive measured against a bunch of kids who were piano virtuosos or lacrosse champions or Johnson County residents.
Amy tries to talk to me while I buckle in. There’s a light drizzle falling on the windshield; the forecast for tomorrow is freezing rain, which is always miserable.
“Huh?”
“You have fun?”
I shrug. Dad’s head lolls in the passenger seat, and Amy shakes her head as she pulls away.
It’s a short drive home, and Jasmine’s car is in the driveway when we get there.
I wonder what she and Liam did tonight.
Dad rallies enough to make it up the stairs with Amy’s help; Jasmine doesn’t emerge from her room, but the lights are on, spilling from her doorframe.
I knock on her door, but when she doesn’t answer, I knock again louder.
“Jasmine? You asleep?”
Still nothing.
I crack the door slowly, just in case she’s changing or something.
But she’s not. She’s lying facedown on her bed, still in her jeans and sweater. Her rain-soaked boots drip onto the bedroom carpet—a disowning offense in the Ghasnavi household.
“Jasmine?” She doesn’t answer me, but her shoulders are moving up and down like she’s breathing hard.
Or crying.
A cold fist clenches in my stomach.
“You alive?”
She raises a hand before letting it flop down onto the bed again.
I approach her cautiously, like a wounded animal. Her duvet is rumpled from where she flung herself on top of it. “What’s going on?”
She shifts around and turns her head enough to look at me. She’s got tear tracks running down her cheeks, staining them black and purple from her makeup. Her puffy upper lip quivers.
“He broke up with me.”
Liam broke up with her.
Liam. Broke up. With Jasmine.
It hits me like an out-of-control set piece, driving all the air from my lungs.
They broke up. They’re not together anymore.
I clamp down on the strangled laugh trying to fight its way out. I’m a terrible brother. Quite possibly the worst in the world. Bottom ten for sure.
Because my first thought isn’t even to comfort my sister. No. It’s relief, flaring deep in my chest like a ghost light.
Maybe bottom five is more accurate.
Jasmine’s still crying. I sit next to her and rub circles into her back. Just like I always do.
They broke up.
“You okay?” I ask.
I already know she’s not. She never is.
She slowly sits up. I lean away to grab the Kleenex box, nearly toppling off the bed before I right myself.
There’s a weird spot on her covers, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s a smear of her makeup. It looks like a drama mask—the tragedy one—and another cruel laugh threatens to erupt.
Bottom three. For real.
Jasmine blows her nose, dabs at her eyes.
“What happened?”
I don’t want to know. I have to know.
“We were at the party. I thought we were having a good time. We wound up in an empty room. I thought . . .”
Thankfully she doesn’t finish that sentence.
“But he said he wanted to talk about something. And then he said . . .” Jasmine blows her nose again, lets out this long sad sigh. “He said he’d been somethingsomethingsomething didn’t think we should date anymore. That he somethingsomething, and it wasn’t fair to lead me on.”
She’s talking too fast, her face all screwed up so I can barely read her lips.
“And then he said he hoped we could still be friends.” She nearly wails that last part.
As far as breakups go, pretty much all of Jasmine’s have been worse.
“I’m sorry.” And I’m proud of myself for actually meaning it. I am sorry. I don’t want Jasmine to be hurting.
If only they’d never dated in the first place. If only I’d warned Liam off. Told Jasmine not to go for it.
Admitted I like him.
“I should’ve seen this coming. He’s been—” But then she’s off again, and I lose the thread entirely.
“Can you talk more clearly?”
“Sorry.” She sniffs hard. “He’s been weird since the cast party. You know? And he kept talking about taking things slow. I thought he was being a gentleman. But I was the one who asked him out. I’m the one who called us official. I’m the one . . .” She reaches for another Kleenex and dabs at her eyes, though she misses a large streak of mascara. “I was going to tell him I loved him.”
I feel like I’ve swallowed a crescent wrench.
Jasmine loved him?
“But it was always like . . . he didn’t like me as much as I liked him. He was always holding back.” She blows her nose. “Oh god. Was there someone else?”
“No,” I say immediately. Liam could never do something like that.
“How are you so sure?”
“Did he ever tell you why his parents got divorced?”
“He never wanted to talk about it.”
I swallow. “His dad was cheating on his mom. It tore him up. So no. I don’t think he would cheat on you.”
“He told you that?” Jasmine sniffs. “He never told me. He never talked to me!”
I rub Jasmine’s back in circles as she cries, her hair tickling the back of my hand. It’s still styled in the loose waves she spent hours putting in with a curling iron, even though her hair would already have a natural curl to it if she didn’t straighten it twice a year.
She takes a shaky breath. “I just don’t understand.”
My sister’s classic refrain:
I just don’t understand.
I just don’t understand why Mom and Dad are splitting up.
I just don’t understand why Nick, Jason, French Class Guy, Blake, Tristan, Animation Guy, Dominic, and all the others broke up with me.
I just don’t understand.
What’s to understand? Sometimes things don’t work out. Your boyfriend dumps you for being a techie. Your parents argue constantly. That guy in class doesn’t notice you.
The boy you like goes out with your sister.
“I’m sorry. But at least he wants to be friends?”
She snorts, blowing a snot bubble out her nostril before she wipes it away. “You’re joking, right? I’m never talking to him again. Liam is dead to me.”
“Jasmine . . .”
“Here.” She reaches for her nightstand, comes back with a purple glitter pen and a sheet of paper. “Do the thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know. Make a breakup list.”
“No.”
Jasmine gapes at me. “I know he’s your friend, but I’m your sister. You’re supposed to be on my side. You’re supposed to somethingsomething.”
“What?”
“You’re my brother. You’re the only one I can count on.”
“I don’t want to do this, Jasmine.”
“Come on, you love making those lists. You can find fault with anyone.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Yes it is. You think love won’t last, so you come up with reasons why it’s not worth trying.”
I feel like she’s stabbed me.
“That’s not true. Why are you being such a jerk? I’m not the one that dumped you.”
As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back, because Jasmine cries even harder.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She sniffs. “I just liked him so much. You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve never had your heart shattered into a million pieces.”
I have. Every time I saw them together.
“Please?” She’s crying again, harder than ever. “I need you, Jackson.”
My heart cracks. She needs me.
“Ugh. Fine.”
The good thing is, Liam already made his own list. It was all jokes, but Jasmine doesn’t need to know that. I uncap the garish purple pen.
TOO HANDSY
PEOPLE PLEASER
RAZOR BUMPS IN WEIRD PLACES
“How would you even know that?” Jasmine shoves me. “I’ve got them in weird places too.”
“I don’t need to know that.”
“What else?”
I wiggle the pen between my fingers and think. This would be a lot easier if Liam actually had any faults.
FEATHERY CHLORINATED HAIR
FLAT ASS
MISSED HIS CUE OPENING NIGHT
“Come on. None of these are even real faults.”
“Fine. You do it.”
But Jasmine shakes her head. “I can’t. He was perfect. He had the most beautiful eyes. And I liked his flat ass, it made mine look better. And his shoulders were so strong. And his abs . . . god, you ever see him with his shirt off? Of course you did, you saw the play.”
I mean, it’s all true, but it’s all physical. I think about what he said. How he feels like people only see his body. And it makes me so mad. He deserved better from Jasmine.
“Do you hear yourself?” I snap. “Did you even know him or was he just a slab of meat to you?”
Jasmine blinks. “Oh my god. You’re right. The only good thing about him was his body.” She straightens up, sniffling, wiping away her tears with her mascara-stained Kleenex. “Put that down.”
“What? No. That’s too mean.”
“So? How’s he going to know?”
“I’ll know.”
“Jackson. Please.” Her eyes have dried, but her lip is quivering again. “Can you just do this? For me?”
“Fine. But you can never tell him.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise.”
“All right. I promise.”
So I add it.
BODY IS HIS ONLY REDEEMING FEATURE
“Good. More. I bet that’s why he got cast too. Keep going.”
I hate myself, but I keep writing.
ONLY GOT CAST FOR HIS LOOKS
GETS AWAY WITH THINGS BECAUSE HE’S HOT CONVENTIONALLY ATTACTIVE
DOESN’T CARE WHO HE HURTS
Guilt settles into my stomach like a stage weight. Liam worked hard for his role. He works hard for everything he does. He’s a good friend.
And I’m a horrible one.
But Jasmine has stopped crying. She leans her head against my shoulder, reaches for the list. She scans it over, then looks at me and finally manages half a smile.
“It’s perfect.”