The Unenchanted Tales of Jasmine White

ⓈⒺⓋⒺⓃ

Snow White – Eight

My phone vibrates through the fabric of my pajama pants with an incoming text message. It was Chrissie.

            “Reply if you’re still alive. I repeat: Reply if you’re still alive. I need to know if the Meyers aren’t cannibals and have eaten you up and taken possession of all your belongings. If it really is you, Jazz, reply with my darling boyfriend’s name.”

            I take a furtive glance at the Meyer family. Finn is using his teeth to tear apart a piece of his roasted chicken leg. Cason is playing with his soup, uninterestedly stirring and watching the steam float up. His eyes follow the trail of hot air and travel to my face, catching me staring at him. Flushing, I look down and concentrate on my spaghetti again.

            One herb, two herbs, three herbs. I pick at them until all have disappeared from the surface of my spaghetti. Then, somehow, I find myself looking at Alex and Zander. They are scarily in sync. Both of them twirl the spaghetti round their forks, lift up their wrists and slurp the spaghetti. Except Alex does it noisily while Zander’s actions are graceful and perfected.

            I focus on Mrs. Meyer. She’s feeding Winston, the little baby. Luckily, she excludes all the ‘open up, the aeroplane is coming…choo-choo” fuss and sends the spoon of mush in and out of the baby’s mouth, then shifting to Ryker and doing the same, expertly. My mother has never done all that motherly stuff before. Thinking about that makes me feel sad and angry at the same time.

            Discreetly, I use one hand to reply Chrissie from under the table.

            “David the dickhead. And stop being so melodramatic.”

            Her text arrives almost instantaneously.

            “And you stop being such a sassypants. H2H me.”

            I roll my eyes at her text, but proceed to excuse myself from the dinner table.

            “I need to, uh, finish my homework and…uh, stuff.” I tell Mrs. Meyer, finishing off lamely.

            “A hardworker,” Mrs. Meyer appraises. I cringe and Zander catches my eye. He smiles, and immediately I start blushing. God. My body is not functioning properly anymore. I stand up with a jerk to my chair and almost trip over it as I cannot tear my gaze away from Zander’s hundred-watt smile he continues to send my way.

            “Shit.” I curse under my breath. “Shit this shit.”

            I dash up the stairs and rush into my room, locking the door behind me. Then, I frantically turn on the laptop, waiting for the heart-to-heart log on screen to pop up.

            Chrissie video-calls me, and I accept.

            “Woah,” Chrissie exclaims. “You look pale. Even under this bad quality video image, you look pale. Like, white as a ghost.”

            She creases her forehead in worry. “What’s going on?”

            “Nothing.” I lie, avoiding her piercing gaze.

            She raises her eyebrows inquisitively. “Nothing?”

            I nod and force out a smile. In my mind, I’m debating whether I should ask Chrissie for help. She is my best friend, after all. Maybe she could solve what is going on with me.