Tangled Lies

The Bonfire

Jasmine Evans wiped sweat from her brow, spinning the basketball between her palms as the summer sun beat down on the cracked court. This was her escape—the rhythm of the ball hitting the pavement, the swish of the net. Out here, no one cared if you were the preacher's daughter or the high school star. It was just you and the game.

"Hey, Jas! You coming to the bonfire tonight?" Nia's voice pulled Jasmine out of her zone. Nia, her best friend since they were kids, leaned against the chain-link fence, twirling a strand of her perfectly styled braids.

"Maybe," Jasmine replied, dribbling toward the hoop. She didn't want to admit it, but bonfires weren't her scene. Too much drama. Too many questions about her and Malik, the Springdale High golden couple everyone thought would last forever.

Except, lately, things with Malik hadn't felt so golden.

By the time the bonfire started, Jasmine found herself at the beach anyway, thanks to Nia's relentless pestering. The glow of the flames lit up the faces of their classmates, and Jasmine couldn't miss the way Malik stood with his arm slung lazily around another girl's shoulders.

"Who's that?" she whispered to Nia, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Some sophomore," Nia said with a shrug, but her smirk betrayed her enjoyment of Jasmine's discomfort. "Guess Malik's keeping his options open."

Jasmine rolled her eyes, determined not to let it ruin her night. She wandered toward the water, where Khalil—a tall, sharp-jawed new guy—stood, skipping stones across the surface.

"Impressive," she said, watching as his rock made five ripples.

"Let's see you try," Khalil said, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

Jasmine took a stone, but it plopped into the water without much of a splash. Khalil laughed, his deep voice cutting through the chaos of the bonfire behind them.

"What? I'm more of a basketball girl."

"Yeah, I know," he said, his voice softer now. "Everybody knows Jasmine Evans."

That was how it started. One conversation turned into another, and soon, Jasmine found herself meeting Khalil in secret—after practice, late at night, anywhere they wouldn't be seen. He wasn't like Malik, with his predictable charm and preppy smile. Khalil was raw, real, and full of a quiet intensity that pulled her in.

But nothing stayed secret in Springdale for long.

It wasn't until two months later that Jasmine felt the first twinge of nausea. Then came the missed period. Panic clawed at her chest as she stared down at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test in her bathroom.

She couldn't tell her mom. Not her mom, the woman who ran prayer circles and preached about purity every Sunday. She couldn't tell Malik—not when they hadn't even spoken since the bonfire.

That left Nia.

"You're what?!" Nia's voice was louder than Jasmine wanted as they sat in the back corner of the library.

"Keep your voice down!" Jasmine hissed.

"Sorry, but... pregnant? And it's not Malik's?" Nia's eyes gleamed, though she quickly masked it with a concerned expression. "You're gonna tell him, right?"

Jasmine shook her head. "It's not his business."

Nia raised an eyebrow but said nothing. That should've been the first clue.

By the time Jasmine got home that afternoon, her phone was blowing up. Text after text, all saying the same thing: "Heard the preacher's daughter is knocked up. Malik's kid or somebody else's?"

Her stomach sank. She didn't need to ask who'd let it slip.

Nia.