Chapter 7: Jasmine POV

The morning of (bonus round) cheer tryouts + not being invited to attend + one of my step-father's foul moods = absolutely necessary retail therapy.

It was nine AM when I woke up, hurriedly applied my "natural" makeup, pulled my hair up in a bun, and rushed downstairs in my sweatpants and t-shirt. I slid my feet in my favorite green flip-flops, grabbed my new Louis Vuitton bag, and was about five feet away from the door when –

"JASMINE WALTERS!" I groaned inwardly and spun around to face my worst nightmare.

"Good morning?" I said sheepishly. The man in front of me did not look pleased. His long face was twisted into a frown. As usual, my evil step-father looked immaculate. He wore a dark red robe and a sort of turban. It looked like he'd borrowed my gray eyeliner, too.

"Just where do you think you're going? You didn't tell me you planned to leave!" he said with a huff. Then he cocked his hip and raised an eyebrow. "Jasmine, that bag is limited edition and you're carrying it while wearing sweatpants?"

"Jafar, Jasmine told me last night she might go shopping." My father, ever the morning person, padded silently over.

Jafar looked taken aback by my father's sudden entrance. "Oh, sweetie! I didn't know you were up." He glanced around hurriedly. "I was just about to make breakfast."

Father's permanent smile deepened. "It's alright, dear." He stood on his tiptoes to kiss Jafar's cheek. Jafar was a tall, bony man, standing well above six feet, while my father was an inch or two shorter than me and quite…round. My father was a third generation billionaire while Jafar was an accountant. Well, he used to be an accountant. Until he met Father, that is. Now he was a regular house husband.

I didn't care that Father was gay. But did his husband have to overreact every ten seconds?

"Have a good shop, sweetie." Father handed me his credit card and patted my shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

I plastered on a smile and hustled to my car. Father might have horrible taste in men, but he was a good listener. He knew I was stressed because, even though I had been a varsity cheerleader for two whole years now, Ms. Queen wouldn't hesitate to replace me if the chance presented itself. The only person who wasn't replaceable was Ripley Hart.

When you became a cheerleader, Castle Heights required you to sign a release form saying that it was okay for you to stunt during games and the school wouldn't be responsible for your potential injuries. It should've included a warning that said "cheerleader" was just a fancy term for "Ripley Hart's bitch slave."

But whatever. I wasn't the kind to dwell. I turned my phone on as I sat inside my silver BMW. My thumb hovered over one contact in particular. Megara.

Megara Kormos didn't exist until Halloween in eighth grade. I decided to befriend her. Partly because I was the loneliest popular girl to ever live and partly because she was clueless. She had sucky clothes, couldn't apply bronzer to save her life, and was meaner than some of our lunch ladies.

Three years later and she was gone again.

It's too late, I thought to myself, she's made her decision. Okay, yeah, I was pretty harsh. I chose my words wrong. But ultimately it was her choice, and she'd made the wrong one for our friendship.

I texted Charlotte La Bouff instead. Feeling sad but determined, I started the car and drove to the Mouse Valley Mall.

According to the clock on my phone, I had twenty minutes to myself. I hustled to an elevator and walked into my all-time favorite store: Sephora.

Three years ago, Meg and I had stood here on the night of our first sleepover. I'd needed lip gloss. She'd needed an education. I waved the employees away with a flick of my wrist. YouTube had prepared me for this moment as I used tester products, disposable applicators, and pure willpower to turn Meg into a mega hottie.

Over the years, Meg and I had sprouted curves and developed waists side by side. Our hair had never been colored and totally natural, unlike certain people. (Like the Tremaine twins). And I'm sure without our first trip to Sephora, Meg would be pretty. Well, pretty enough. But even though she could take credit for her gorgeous hair and rockin' hot body, her meticulously made-up face was all me.

But enough lamenting. The past was in the past. It was time to shop. I took a shopping bag and headed over to the Benefit counter before stopping in my tracks. My right arm was surprisingly bare. In fact, it was missing a limited-edition Louis Vuitton bag that was worth almost two-thousand dollars, not to mention the credit cards and personal information stored inside.

I dropped the shopping bag and booked it to my car. I ran right past a very confused looking Charlotte.

"Jasmine! What's wrong?" Her face couldn't look more confused than if it had been replaced with a question mark. Charlotte was a good friend. Her house was always stocked with snacks and she was an expert when it came to nail polish. But right now I had a shopping spree to save.

My flip flops slapped the concrete of the parking garage erratically. With its dim lighting and lack of witnesses, it was the perfect place for a crime. An empty cup from Java Juice and a Cinnabon napkin littered the parking space next to mine like dead bodies off of CSI. I heaved a sigh of relief, but it was much too soon to relax.

A gangly, poorly dressed man was fumbling with a screwdriver at the driver side door. He looked up sharply and without a word began to run away.

"Hey!" I screeched. Where was security when you needed it? Instead of logically calling the cops, I set my flip flops on top of my car and took off after the guy. I searched my pockets for something to throw. A Starbucks gift card? No way. A tube of Buxom lip gloss? Yeah, right. My change purse? Perfect!

I stopped in my tracks and heaved the purse at the thief's head with all my might. I even think I grunted, which is majorly not cute. Luckily enough, it hit its target with a dull thunk! The man tripped over a trashcan and fell to the ground. I hurried over.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded. I placed my hands on my hips and held my cell phone, totally prepared to dial 911. The man rolled over on his back to face me. I was surprised to see that he might have been my age, maybe younger.

"I could see you had an iPhone charger and I figured I might have been able to sell it," he tried to convince me. His dark, shaggy hair was in his face and he used a free hand to brush it out of his face.

"I don't believe that for a goddamn second," I growled, narrowing my eyes and glaring. This punk couldn't lie to me. I could smell a lie a mile away. I was a teenage girl who was popular. Lies were second nature.

He held his hands out in front of him as if to surrender. "Okay, okay. I wanted your bag. I have a girlfriend who has a birthday coming up and I thought she'd like it." He looked sheepish and I think he was blushing. "Can you let me up? I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."

I backed away but still held my phone. "Why can't you steal something from Wal-Mart like a normal guy?" I asked with a snort.

The guy hung his head and looked ashamed. "I don't know. Are you going to press charges?" His eyes widened with fear and he started begging. "My mom will totally flip, my brother's in jail for drug possession and we can't afford another. I'll do anything, I can wash your car or I could "

Why did I feel sorry for this guy? "It's okay, I won't report it." I touched the back of my ratty bun and felt stupid for looking so gross. One point Jafar, zero points Jasmine. "I mean, it's pretty sweet that you want to do something so nice for her."

He smiled and stuck out his hand. "I'm Aladdin, by the way." I took it and smiled back. Shaking his hand felt so…official. I'd never felt such calloused hands.

"I'm Jasmine Walters," I told him.

Aladdin laughed. "Yeah, I know. You're a cheerleader and I go to Castle Heights." His dark eyes looked me up and down. "You don't look like you usually do in school."

I blushed deeply. "Yeah, sometimes I look like my normal self," I mumbled, laughing nervously. I really don't think guys understand the concept of makeup. My boyfriend, Flynn, was great, but he didn't understand why I took so long to get ready. He also legitimately believed that most celebrities woke up looking like they do. Flynn didn't understand why I needed so much makeup, either. Like, hello, I want to do this professionally after high school! I can't rely off of three different eyeshadows and a bronzer. A girl needs options.

Aladdin was still smiling at me. For having a girlfriend, he didn't seem too attached. "You should wear your hair like that more often. It looks nice." He patted his pockets, which reminded me that Charlotte had probably called me like a million times. I discreetly checked me phone. Yep. Fourteen calls from Charlotte La Bouff.

"I should go," I said almost apologetically. Sephora could wait no longer. I had stuff to do.

"Yeah, I get it," Aladdin said. "It was a pleasure to finally talk to you. I guess I'll see you around?"

I bobbed my head up and down and looked back down at my phone. A call from someone way more important than Charlotte was coming in. I pressed the big green button and strolled back to my car.

"Hey, Jessica," I said in my breezy tone of voice. I had practiced it so many times it almost felt like I wasn't trying.

"Walters, you are not going to believe this!" Jessica Rabbit shrieked into my ears. She was probably my favorite senior on the squad (since Ripley was a bitch, the Tremaines were brainless, and Arista Current was totally forgettable) but she had zero phone etiquette.

"What's wrong?" I asked quizzically. Everybody had figured that one of the nameless JV butt-kissers would make the squad. She'd initially be annoying, but we could put her in her place faster than you could say "pom-pom."

"It's Babette, the annoying-ass French slut. She's on the team! She made varsity freaking cheerleader!" Jess was practically screaming now.

I started to use the yoga fire breathing technique before I fell over. "No way. Can she even do the splits?" This was a disaster.

"Of course she can! She's a ho!" I think Jess was crying in her anger. She hung up abruptly and I started fast-walking back into the mall.

Boy, did I need retail therapy more than ever.