Something in her tone made Allison hesitate. She dropped the belt with a nervous laugh. Whatever. It's probably for some weird cultural thing. Jasmine checked her father's gold chain, thankfully still safe in an interior pocket, and assessed the damage to her uniform.
The water stain was noticeable, but would eventually dry. The real question was whether it would dry in time. During her free period, she slipped into the empty girl's bathroom and used the hand dryer to blow hot air on the damp fabric. The noise attracted unwanted attention when Miss Bennett, the guidance counselor, entered. Miss Taylor, what exactly are you doing?
Jasmine quickly stuffed the uniform back into her bag. Just drying something that got wet, ma'am. Miss Bennett's eyes narrowed. I understand you've entered the showcase tonight. So they were monitoring her.
Yes, ma'am. I hope you understand the sensitivity of your position here at Oakidge. The showcase is a tradition for our legacy families. It would be unfortunate if anything disrupted that tradition. The threat was thinly veiled, but Jasmine met her gaze steadily.
I'm just there to perform, ma'am, like everyone else. After Ms. Bennett left, Jasmine leaned against the sink, doubt creeping in. Was she risking too much? The scholarship, their financial stability, her future, all for what? A moment of recognition, a chance to show her true self.
As these thoughts swirled, her phone buzzed with a text from Ms. Powell. Gym office is empty. Seventh period, if you need a quiet place to focus, keys under the mat. The small act of support steadied her. During seventh period, Jasmine slipped into the gym office, locking the door behind her.
She spread her uniform out to finish drying, then sat cross-legged on the floor, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. Her mind kept returning to the night before her first major tournament 3 years ago. Her father had sat beside her on their worn couch, sensing her nervousness. "Everyone feels fear, Jazz," he'd said. "The trick isn't getting rid of it.
It's making it work for you instead of against you. How? She had asked. By remembering who you are, not who they say you are, who you know yourself to be. As the final bell rang, signaling the end of classes.
Jasmine opened her eyes. Her uniform was dry and her mind was clear. She carefully folded the Dobach and belt, placing them back in her bag alongside her father's chain. Tonight, she would remember who she truly was, and so would everyone else. The Oakidge Academy Performing Arts Center gleamed under spotlights, a monument to privilege draped in the school's blue and gold colors.