“Yeah,” I say, blowing on my tea. “The guy who interviewed me was really nice. He liked one of my films. The oneabout the Star Festival. I think he would have hired me if it wasn’t for the school thing. Or maybe I’m just telling myself that.”
“Of course he would have,” Jasmine says. “I told you, you’re talented. Everyone loves your stuff. I don’t know why you stopped.”
It’s been a while since I touched my camera. I used to bring it everywhere, waiting for inspiration to strike. But it’s hard to find that motivation these days. “It’s just been hard to focus,” I say vaguely. “And it’s not like you’re around to help with the sound.”
“You can’t blame me for that,” she says.
“I’m notblamingyou. I’m just saying, you promised to help and you didn’t,” I remind her. We made all these plans to collaborate. I would work on my films and she would add music over it.
“You know I’ve been busy with school.”
“And I’m busy finding a job right now.”
Jasmine leans into the table. “Why are you so stressed about that anyway? There’s nothing wrong with taking time off. Especially since—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I cut her off.
Another silence. Jasmine stares at me in thought. “Listen, if you really want to find a job, you should message Kevin. I’m sure he would help.”
I look at her. “It’s okay to talk to him?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because you guys aren’t together,” I remind her. Theybroke up in the spring, ending a four-year relationship. I always thought they would move in together, adopt a cat, get married eventually. I think Jasmine did, too. Too bad nothing happens the way we planned.
“We left things on good terms,” Jasmine says. “I know he cares about you. You should reach out to him.”
There’s a knot of guilt in my chest. Kevin has messaged me a couple times. But I never responded to him. I wasn’t sure how Jasmine would feel about it. “Okay. I’ll text him later.”
The waitress reappears, setting down our food. The fried rice is served in a pineapple boat, decorated with a toothpick umbrella. I spoon some onto my plate and take a small bite. It tastes better than I remember. As we’re eating, Jasmine’s phone goes off. She glances at the screen and places it face down on the table.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“The friend I came with. I have to meet her after this.”
“What are you visiting for again?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Are you missing class?”
Jasmine sets down her fork, taking her time to answer this. “That’s actually something I wanted to talk about,” she says, straightening up a little. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I’m not going back to school.”
“What do you mean?”
Her voice is calm as she folds her hands in her lap and says, “I’ve been focusing more on my music. You know aboutthe band I’ve been playing with. We’ve been talking about getting a manager. The friend who drove me is meeting with someone now.”
“So you’re dropping out of school?”
“I already did.”
“You’re joking—”
“There’s a tour happening soon,” she says, leaning into the table. “It’s for this band, the Copper Tigers. Our guitarist, Michael, is friends with them, and their opening act bailed. They’ve asked us to take their place. So we might be leaving soon.”
“Leaving where?”
She hesitates. “Amsterdam.”
