Chapter 14 - Jokes That Become Weapons
Nia met Jasmine at a park where they used to practice driving.
Neutral territory.
No Bennett house.
No Price apartment.
No graduation decorations.
Jasmine sat on a bench facing the basketball court.
Nia remained standing.
“Tell me exactly what you said.”
Jasmine rubbed her hands together.
“We were arguing.”
“You and Malik.”
“Yes.”
“About?”
“You.”
Nia almost laughed at the predictability.
“He kept saying you were definitely leaving.”
“I was.”
“I told him he was obsessed.”
“Interesting advice from you.”
Jasmine accepted the hit.
“He said if your housing was gone, maybe you’d reconsider.”
Nia stared.
“So he suggested it first.”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“I said maybe if your dorm disappeared, you’d finally notice what you were leaving behind.”
Nia’s expression changed.
“That is not a joke.”
“I said it sarcastically.”
“You said exactly what he wanted to hear.”
“I know.”
“Did you give him the password after that?”
“No. He already had it from my notes.”
“What notes?”
Jasmine looked uncomfortable.
“When I helped with your scholarship applications, I had a document with logins.”
Nia felt rage rising.
“You kept a document containing my passwords?”
“I deleted it later.”
“When?”
“After graduation.”
Nia stared at her.
“After.”
“Yes.”
“So Malik had access for months.”
“He saw it once.”
“And photographed it?”
“I think so.”
“You think.”
Jasmine nodded miserably.
Nia sat on the opposite end of the bench.
She suddenly felt tired rather than angry.
“You know what keeps bothering me?”
“What?”
“You keep describing yourself as careless.”
Jasmine looked confused.
“You were not careless when you slept with him.”
Jasmine lowered her eyes.
“You weren’t careless when you hid it.”
“No.”
“You weren’t careless when you photographed my mother’s files.”
“No.”
“You made choices.”
Jasmine cried silently.
“I know.”
“Good.”
Nia looked across the court.
“Because if everything is just you being stupid, then you never have to ask why you wanted to hurt me.”
Jasmine looked up sharply.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You wanted something enough to accept hurting me.”
The words landed.
Jasmine’s face crumpled.
For a long time neither spoke.
Finally Jasmine said, “I was jealous.”
Nia looked at her.
“I hated saying that even to myself.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
“That’s vague.”
“You.”
Jasmine wiped her cheek.
“You always knew what came next.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It looked like you did.”
Nia remained silent.
Jasmine continued.
“You had your mother. Your house. Your grades. Your scholarship. Teachers remembered you. Adults trusted you.”
“My father died.”
Jasmine flinched.
“I know.”
“Nothing felt stable after that.”
“I know.”
“No, you saw the house and thought stability.”
Jasmine looked down.
Nia’s voice softened without becoming kind.
“You don’t get to turn my life into a list of things you wanted.”
“I know.”
“My mother worked two jobs after Dad died.”
“I know.”
“She almost lost this house.”
Jasmine looked surprised.
“What?”
“See?”
Nia shook her head.
“You didn’t know everything.”
Jasmine’s tears fell faster.
“My mom always said you were lucky.”
Nia stared.
“Lauren said that?”
“Not meanly.”
“There are a lot of cruel things people say without sounding mean.”
Jasmine looked toward the court.
“She’d say, ‘Monica planned better.’ Or, ‘Nia has opportunities because Monica knows people.’”
Nia absorbed that.
Lauren and her mother had been friends since college.
She had never realized comparison flowed between their daughters through them.
“Did your mother know about Malik?”
“No.”
“Any part?”
“She knew I was talking to somebody.”
“Did she know it was him?”
“No.”
Nia believed her.
Jasmine inhaled shakily.
“When Malik complained about you, it felt good.”
There it was.
Ugly.
Honest.
“He said you treated people like they were temporary.”
“And you believed him because you wanted to.”
“Yes.”
“Then you slept with him.”
“Yes.”
“Four times.”
Jasmine closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Nia felt tears rising.
She hated that she could still remember Jasmine at six years old, missing her front teeth, holding Nia’s hand on the first day of school.
“You were supposed to be safe.”
Jasmine covered her face.
“I know.”
Nia stood.
“I’m never going to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now.”
Jasmine looked up.
“That’s not forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“And maybe I never forgive you.”
“I know.”
“But stop telling yourself Malik made you do everything.”
Jasmine nodded.
“He manipulated you.”
“Yes.”
“And you betrayed me.”
“Yes.”
“Both are true.”
Jasmine whispered, “Yes.”
Nia started walking away.
“Nia?”
She stopped.
Jasmine’s voice trembled.
“The pregnancy is real.”
Nia turned.
“I never thought it wasn’t.”
“I mean I had it confirmed at a clinic.”
Nia said nothing.
“I’m going back Monday.”
“For what?”
“To talk through my options.”
Nia understood.
Jasmine was eighteen.
Pregnant.
Terrified.
And responsible for choosing what came next.
“That decision isn’t about me,” Nia said.
Jasmine cried.
“I know.”
For once, Nia did not hate hearing the phrase.
As she walked toward her car, her phone rang.
Mr. Greene.
“Nia, we received records from the trust-email provider.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Did they identify who sent them?”
“There’s an IP address.”
“Whose?”
“It resolves to the Price residence.”
Nia slowly turned.
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Jasmine still sat on the bench.
And suddenly the truth became complicated again.
