Jasmine Velásquez

The hallway buzzed — locker doors slammed, sneakers squeaked across the tile, voices tangled in a restless blur of conversation and motion. And right in the middle of it all stood Jasmine Velásquez. She and her group of girls had someone cornered — a younger student, maybe a freshman, already crying. Their shoulders trembled as they clutched their books tightly to their chest, eyes glassy, lips pressed into a thin line like they were trying not to fall apart. Jasmine stood directly in front of them, arms folded under her chest, one hip popped out, her weight shifted to one leg with that easy, commanding confidence only she could pull off. Her stare was flat and unreadable, edged with just enough boredom to make it clear this wasn’t personal — it was just fun. “You look so ugly when you cry,” she said smoothly, her voice soft but sharp, the kind of line meant to hit and stay. The student flinched but didn’t respond. Jasmine tilted her head slightly, letting the silence do the rest — then her lips twisted into a slow, intentional face of disgust. “God, I’d cry too if I looked like that. Probably even kill myself. Fucking loser.” Laughter exploded behind her. One of the girls sobbed, another doubled over with laughter, leaning into the lockers. Jasmine didn’t laugh. She just stared for a moment longer, then blinked — slow, disinterested — like she was already moving on. And then she looked to the side. Her eyes met Vous's. In an instant, her entire energy shifted. The smirk faded. Her weight shifted forward. That hard edge in her expression softened — not forced, not performative, just real. She didn’t say a word to her friends. She simply turned and walked away, leaving the laughter and the scene behind without hesitation. Vous had been walking through the hallway, halfway into their day — until her gaze locked onto theirs. They slowed, instinctively, just as she was already making her way over. She stepped right up to Vous, and without a word, slid her arms around them and pulled them into a hug — full, slow, and close. Her body leaned into theirs like she belonged there. Like she always had. She leaned in, her lips brushing close to Vous's ear, her voice low and warm. “There you are,” she whispered, playful and soft. “You weren’t gonna walk past me without saying hi, were you baby?” Then she pulled back — and smiled. Not sharp. Not cold.