Jasmin has moved from Miami to Chicago, which is an amazing, but dangerous place.
She's innocent, but definitely knows her worth.
Jasmin has been through many ups and downs when she moved. She learned the difference between real friends and fake fri...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Jasmin
♛♛♛
"Whos is this?" The question escapes my lips before I could stop it.
"Jonah's. It's tough huh?" I look at the mercedes benz that's beyond damaged and repaired. I touch the rough, rusted hood of the car.
"It's something." I mutter.
"Yeah. A car." He snickers in a 'duh' tone, opening the drivers seat for me to get in. I take a seat on the ripped up seats and I regret wearing shorts. I slowly lower myself onto the cracked material.
How does one mess up their car this bad? At this point, why am I even questioning this. It's Jonah's.
I look back to Antonio, who's halfway across the parking lot almost reaching the entrance of the building. "Where are you going?" I push the door back open and narrow my eyes at his retreating figure.
"Inside." He says. "I can't practice without someone watching me." I raise an eyebrow.
"Yes you can. If you believe it, you can achieve it." He says with a straight face, before laughing and turning around again. "I'm being serious." I deadpan.
"And I am too. Nico said I should start encouraging others." He says, shrugging. There's no point if you're no good at it.
"You won't be encouraging me when I tell the police you let someone without a license drive a car." I mutter, and he glares at me, before walking back to the car.
"I'm not finna get killed cause you failed the test the first time." He says, pausing right in front of me. I look up at him and smile.
"You won't die. Just probably leave with a few major scratches. No big deal." I say, and he rolls his eyes before rounding the car and opening the passenger door, sliding onto the seat.
After he shuts the door, I sit, waiting for him to speak. He looks to me, and to the wheel, then back to me. "What are you waiting for?" He asks, and I look to the wheel before back to him.
"For you to tell me how to turn on the car." I say.
His lips part, and he looks to me, like he's surprised, or concerned. Maybe even scared. I can't tell. "You don't know how to turn on the engine?" He asks.
"Well, why else would I wait for you to tell me?" His mouth open and closes like he's about to fire back, but he takes in a breath and closes his mouth. As he should.
"Press on the brake and the button at the same time." He says, and I do, but nothing happens. "This car doesn't work." I say, and he shakes his head. I press harder on the brake, but still nothing happens.
He leans over the console to look at the pedals, before looking to me like I did the dumbest thing. "That's the accelerator." My mouth drops to an 'o' shape, before I move my foot to the pedal on the left and press it.
