Jasmine's mind immediately calculated. $2,500. More than enough for the championship registration and travel expenses. She lingered a moment too long and Whitney finally looked up. What? You think you have a shot?
Whitney laughed, the sound drawing attention from nearby tables. The showcase is for actual skills, not basketball or whatever you people do. Jasmine walked away, her face burning, but her mind racing. The annual Oakidge charity showcase was legendary. Wealthy parents and alumni attended, checkbooks open.
Past winners had gone on to prestigious summer programs and internships. The $2,500 prize was almost an afterthought for most participants, but for Jasmine, it represented everything. After school, she sought out her guidance counselor, Ms. Bennett, to report the ongoing harassment. "The older woman listened with a placid smile that never reached her eyes. " "Whitney Caldwell's family has donated the east wing of our library," Ms. Bennett finally said, straightening papers on her desk. "Perhaps you should try harder to fit in.
Oakidge has a certain culture. We took a chance on you with this scholarship. Don't make us regret it. " The implied threat hung in the air between them. Jasmine left the office understanding perfectly. There would be no help from the administration.
The following day in chemistry lab, Jasmine carefully measured chemicals for their group project, one she'd done most of the work on. As she turned to retrieve a beaker, Whitney's elbow accidentally knocked over the solution, spilling it across Jasmine's portion of the lab report. The acrid smell of chemicals burned her nostrils as the liquid seeped through pages of meticulous notes. Miss Taylor, Mr. Phillips barked from across the room. Control your materials.
That's a zero for today's lab. But she, Jasmine began, I saw what happened. One more word and its detention. Some students, he said pointedly, should be grateful for the opportunities they've been given. Whitney didn't bother hiding her smirk.
The message was clear. The rules were different for Jasmine. That afternoon at the community center, Doj Jang, Jasmine attacked the practice dummy with controlled fury, each strike precise, but carrying the weight of her day. Master Park observed from the doorway, his weathered face giving nothing away. After she finished, sweat dampening her uniform, he approached.
Your technique is perfect, he said, but your spirit is troubled. Remember, taekwondo is not about revenge. It is about harmony between mind and body. They're never going to accept me, Jasmine said, her voice barely above a whisper. No matter how perfect my grades are, no matter how polite I am, they've already decided what I am.
Master Park's eyes softened. Then perhaps it is time to show them who you truly are. The championship is coming. You are ready. The registration fee.