Jasmine's POV
I sit at the back of the classroom, doodling stick figures on my notepad while Mrs. Buttons rambles on about some nonsense that no one really cares about. My eyes drift toward the window, wondering—wait, why am I even here? What day is it? It's a blur.
I scan the room and land on Ashton Tyler, his hand raised high, like he's about to ask something profound. But Mrs. Buttons doesn't even glance his way, continuing her lecture like it's the most important thing in the world. Ashton's undeterred. He raises his hand again and, as if on cue, asks, "Mrs. Buttons, has anyone ever poked a hole in a button 'cause it's so tight?"
The class bursts into laughter, like hyenas in The Lion King, while Mrs. Buttons goes full tomato mode, her face turning bright red. I don't even get the joke, so I just rest my head on the desk, hoping the bell rings soon.
The bell finally sounds, but no one moves. Mrs. Buttons, looking a little wounded, announces, "The bell doesn't dismiss you. I do. And anyone who steps out that door before I say so gets a 5% penalty on their next test."
Everyone freezes, then slowly goes back to their seats as she re-checks the attendance like we're all suddenly skipping class.
Ashton Tyler, of course, doesn't care about any of that. He stands up, walks straight out the door, and Mrs. Buttons glares at him, defeated. After a few minutes of awkward silence, she finally lets us go.
Library time, bitches! (mini internal dance party) What? I like peace and quiet.
I grab my stuff and head straight to the library. It's exactly how you'd expect—a little eerie, the kind of quiet that feels unnatural. The grumpy librarian is always there, her eyes following every student like she's the library's secret agent.
I snag the book I've been dying to read, then made my way to my favorite corner—the plush cushions on the floor, my spot for the past three years. I pull out my blanket, get comfy, and dive into the pages.
But of course, peace never lasts. I hear a loud noise from the front—Ashton Tyler and his little squad, a.k.a. "the Four Villains," making a ruckus as they swagger in. My eyes narrow as they approach, and then—oh no. They're carrying brownies.
I tell myself I'm not judging them (but I totally am).
Ten minutes later, the brownies are gone, but the gossip is flowing freely. I catch snippets of their conversation, my curiosity piqued.
"Dude, remember Jessica Brans? Yeah, she has AIDS, and she gave them to Alex. And you won't believe who Alex gave them to." Parker, the loudmouth, says to Ashton.
Ashton raises an eyebrow. "Who?"
"David," Parker smirks, scanning the room as if the walls might have ears.
"No way. They've been together since freshman year, right?" Ashton's voice sounds disbelieving as he pops a few Skittles in his mouth.
"Yup, but not for long," Parker says, savoring the drama. "Once David finds out Alex gave him AIDS, there's gonna be a huge fight. I can't wait to see it."
"How's he gonna find out? I doubt he gets checked," Ashton says, barely paying attention as he continues munching on candy.
"Oh, he'll find out. I put a note in his locker with pictures of Alex and Jessica... well, you know. Getting intimate." Parker says with a mischievous grin.
I nearly choke on my breath, but I also can't help but admire Parker's skill as a total snitch. It's like he's laying out all the details for me to grab.
I scramble to open my laptop, trying to tap in my password quickly. I mess up a couple of times, frustration creeping in until the laptop finally decides to cooperate. With a few swift clicks, I hack into Parker's phone and grab the pictures. Maybe there's even a video.
Once I have what I need, I quickly draft a message that's bound to flip the whole school upside down.
Jessica Barnes, the school's IT girl, has AIDS. But she didn't keep it to herself... NO. She passed it on to Alex Jackson, who's dating David Wells. I wonder who else she infected. May her poor, thirsty victims rest in peace.
Love, Emia.
I hit send and watch, eyes wide, as Ashton and his crew all pull out their phones in unison. The shock on their faces is priceless.
"Emia strikes again," Parker mutters, grabbing his bag as they all scramble out of the library to catch the drama that's about to unfold in the cafeteria.
I smirk, leaning back into my corner, and getting lost in my book once again, secretly savoring the chaos I just unleashed.
Knowledge:
Jessica didn't have AIDS. She had HIV for years, which eventually progressed. The rumors about her passing it to others? False. But there were a few people who did get it from unprotected encounters or blood contact.