Riley Freeman was bored out of his skull.
He'd been bored since nine in the morning, when Granddad put on a marathon of a show about buying storage lockers and fell asleep in his recliner with a can of beer balanced on his chest. Huey was in his room reading something with a title Riley couldn't pronounce, and every time Riley tried to talk to him he got a lecture about the prison-industrial complex. So Riley did what any ten-year-old with twelve dollars in his pocket and a scowl on his face would do.
He snuck out the back.
The mall was three blocks and one bus ride away, and Riley spent the whole ride planning what he'd buy. A new phone case. Maybe a video game from the used bin. Something that said Riley Freeman is not to be messed with. Instead, he found Cindy McFarlane standing in the middle of the department store like she owned the place.
She was wearing a crop top that said PRINCESS in glitter letters and denim shorts that were probably against school dress code, and her blond hair was in a high ponytail that swung when she turned her head. She spotted Riley before he could duck behind a mannequin.
"C-Murph!" she called out, loud enough that a woman folding sweaters looked up. "I knew I smelled broke."
"I ain't broke," Riley said, already walking toward her because his feet were traitors. "I got money. What you doing here by yourself?"
"Shopping. What's it look like?" Cindy grabbed his wrist and started dragging him toward a section of the store he'd never been in. The signs had pink letters on them. There were mannequins in bras. Riley's whole body went stiff.
"Hold on—" he said.
"Come on, I need a second opinion."
"Cindy, this is the girls' section."
"Wow, nothing gets past you."
She pulled him past a rack of training bras and into the underwear aisle. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the air was cold and smelled like clean cotton and something perfumey. Riley looked at the floor. Then at the ceiling. Then at a rack of lace panties that were definitely not meant for him to see.
"I ain't never been in here before," he said, keeping his voice low. "Huey and Granddad would kill me."
"That's 'cause they're boring." Cindy held up a pair of underwear with a little bow on the front. "This one or the pink one?"
Riley's jaw worked. "How would I know?"
"You got eyes, don't you? Look at 'em."
He looked. Then he looked at the floor again, his ears burning. "The pink one, I guess. It's got more... stuff."
"More stuff. Real helpful." Cindy put the bow one back anyway. "Okay, now come look at the outfits."
For the next twenty minutes, Riley stood by a rack of clothes while Cindy went in and out of the fitting room. She'd come out in a skirt and spin around. "Too much?" she'd ask. Then a dress. Then a top that showed her belly button. Riley gave the same answer every time—"It's cool"—and Cindy rolled her eyes and went back in. It wasn't terrible, honestly. It was better than watching storage locker shows. She'd come out and pose and then roast him for standing there with his hands in his pockets like a statue. "You look like you're waiting for a bus," she said. "Smile or something."
Then she came out in the swimsuit.
It was blue, with little white flowers on it, and it fit her like it was painted on. The top part was a bra thing—a bikini top, he guessed—and the bottoms were cut high on her legs. Cindy put her hands on her hips and turned in a slow circle.
"Well?" she said.
Riley's dick got hard so fast he didn't even have time to think about baseball or Granddad or anything.
It just happened. One second he was looking at her, and the next his cargo pants were doing something they weren't supposed to do, and he crossed his hands in front of his lap like he was protecting his stomach from a punch.
Cindy's eyes dropped. Then her eyebrows went up. Then her mouth curled into a grin that was pure evil.
"Oh my god," she said.
"Shut up."
"C-Murph."
"I said shut up!"
"You got a boner." She said it loud. A woman three racks over glanced up. Riley wanted to die. "From the swimsuit. From me in the swimsuit."
"It's a—it's a condition," Riley hissed. "It happens. It's medical."
"It's medical," Cindy repeated, delighted. "You need a doctor, C-Murph? You need me to call somebody?"
Riley turned around and stared at a rack of jeans like they were the most interesting thing in the world. His face was on fire. His dick was still there, still hard, still ruining his life. Behind him, Cindy laughed and went back into the fitting room, and when she came out she was dressed again, holding the swimsuit on its hanger.
"I'm getting this one," she said. "Since it clearly made an impression."
"Whatever."
They paid for her stuff—Cindy had her own money, a whole wad of it, and Riley felt his twelve dollars shrivel in his pocket—and headed out into the mall. The whole way, Cindy roasted him.
"You know it's normal to look at girls," she said. "Most boys do it. They just don't do it that obvious."
"I wasn't looking at nothing."
"You were looking at everything. I saw you, C-Murph. You looked at my butt and then you looked at my chest and then you looked at my butt again."
"I did not."
"You did. I counted."
"You can't count."
"I can count to three, and your boner was on three."
Riley walked faster. Cindy kept up easily, those long legs of hers eating up the floor, and she was still talking—"You probably got a whole folder at home, don't you, with pictures and stuff"—when they passed the new sign for the indoor pool.
GRAND OPENING. ALL WELCOME.
Riley stopped so fast Cindy almost ran into him.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing." He stared at the sign. "I just... I need to think about something else."
Cindy followed his eyes to the sign. Then to his face. Then she smiled that evil smile again.
"You want to go swimming," she said.
"I want to go look at the pool. It's new. It's got a—a diving board, probably."
"You want to go swimming so you can think about something else." She said it slow, like she was tasting it. "Something other than me in that swimsuit."
"Man, whatever." Riley was already walking toward the entrance, because she wasn't wrong, and because if he stood there another second she'd say something worse. "I'm just checking it out."
The pool was in the back of the mall, past a food court and a store that sold nothing but candles. It was huge, with a glass ceiling and a floor that was all wet tile, and the air was warm and smelled like chlorine. A few kids were splashing around. A lifeguard sat on a high chair looking bored.
Cindy bought a day pass with her own money and disappeared into the girls' changing room. Riley stood by the wall with his arms crossed, trying to look like he hadn't followed her here, trying to think about anything except the way that blue swimsuit had looked.
Two minutes later, the changing room door cracked open.
"C-Murph." Cindy's voice, a whisper. "Come here."
Riley looked around. Nobody was watching. He walked over. "What?"
"I can't get the clasp right. Come fix it."
"I ain't coming in there."
"It's the changing room, not the girls' bathroom. Nobody's in here. Just come fix it before I rip it."
Riley's feet moved before his brain could stop them. He slipped through the door. The changing room was a narrow hallway with a bench and a row of curtained stalls, and Cindy was standing in front of a mirror in the blue swimsuit, her back to him, holding the top part against her chest.
"The clasp," she said. "It's twisted."
Riley's hands were sweating. He reached out and touched the little plastic clasp at the back of her neck, and his fingers fumbled it, and his whole body was pressed against her back because there was nowhere else to stand.
His dick was hard again. It pressed right up against her butt.
Cindy went still. Then she moved—just a little, a slow roll of her hips, pushing back against him.
"Cindy," Riley said, his voice cracking.
"What?" She did it again. "I'm just getting comfortable."
"You ain't—"
"You ain't complaining." She looked at him in the mirror. Her cheeks were pink. "You want me to stop?"
Riley didn't say anything. His hands were still on the clasp. His dick was pressed against her butt and she was pushing back against it and he could feel the heat of her through the swimsuit and his own pants, and he thought he might actually die right there in the mall.
"Come on," Cindy said. She turned around, and her face was close to his. "I know somewhere we can deal with that before you cause a scene you don't like."
She grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the changing room, past a sign that said SHOWERS, and into a tiled room with a row of shower heads and a drain in the floor. The door swung shut behind them. The room was empty. The water was off, but the tiles were wet and the air was steamy.
"Cindy," Riley said. "What are we doing?"
She pushed him against the wall. "Dealing with it." She dropped to her knees on the wet tile, and her hands went to the front of his cargo pants, and Riley's whole brain shorted out.
"Wait—" he said.
She pulled his pants down. His boxers went with them. His dick sprang out, hard and dark and already leaking at the tip, and Cindy looked at it and then up at him.
"Huh," she said. "It's bigger than I thought."
"You—" Riley's voice was a squeak. "You thought about it?"
"Shut up." She wrapped her hand around it. Her hand was small and warm and it fit around him just right, and Riley's knees went weak. "I watch porn."
"What?"
"You asked how I know what to do. I watch porn. My cousin's got a laptop and we watch it at sleepovers." She said it like she was talking about the weather. Then she opened her mouth and took him in.
Riley's head hit the tile behind him. His eyes rolled up. Her mouth was wet and hot and her tongue was doing something—sliding along the underside of his dick, pressing against the vein there, and he could feel her teeth just barely, and then she pushed down and took him all the way in.
His whole dick. In her throat.
Riley made a sound he'd never made before. "Cindy—"
She pulled back, spit hanging off her lip, and looked up at him. "What?"
"Nothing. I don't know. Do it again."
She did it again. She took him deep, her lips stretched around him, her nose pressed into the fabric of his shirt, and Riley grabbed the back of her head without meaning to. His hips moved. He was pushing into her throat and she was letting him, her hands on his thighs, her eyes watering but not stopping, and the wet sound of her mouth was the loudest thing in the room.
It went on for a long time. Longer than Riley had ever lasted doing anything. She'd pull back and lick up the side of his dick, then take him in again, and her hand would work the part her mouth couldn't reach, and Riley's legs shook and his breath came in short bursts and he kept saying her name—"Cindy, Cindy, Cindy"—like it was the only word he knew.
"I'm gonna—" he said. "I'm gonna—"
She pulled off. "Not yet."
"What?" He almost cried. His dick was throbbing, aching, wet with her spit. "Why not?"
"Because I ain't done." She stood up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her swimsuit was still on, the top part still untied, and she pulled it down, and then she pulled the bottoms off and dropped them on the tile.
Riley had never seen a girl naked before. Not in real life. Her body was pale and smooth and her tits were small with pink nipples and between her legs there was a patch of blond hair and underneath it her pussy, pink and wet and open.
"You ever done this before?" she asked.
"Yeah," Riley said. "Lots of times."
"Liar." She turned around and put her hands on the tile wall and looked at him over her shoulder. "Put it in."
Riley stepped forward. His dick was slick with her spit. He put his hand on her hip, and the other hand guided himself, and the tip of his dick touched her pussy.
She was wet. Wet like the shower had been running. He pushed, and she was tight, tight enough that it almost hurt, and then he was in.
"Oh," Cindy said. "Oh, that's—"
"What?"
"Nothing. Keep going."
He pushed in all the way. His hips hit her butt and he was buried in her, and she was hot and wet and clenching around him, and Riley had to stop and breathe or he'd have come right there.
"My hymen's already gone," Cindy said. "In case you were wondering."
"What?"
"I got a toy. A purple one. I use it at night." She pushed back against him. "So don't worry about being gentle."
Riley didn't know what to say to that. So he pulled out and pushed back in, and Cindy made a sound—a little gasp that turned into a moan—and he did it again. And again. The wet sound of his dick going in and out of her filled the room, mixed with the slap of his hips against her butt, and Cindy's hands slid on the tile and she kept saying "yeah" and "like that" and "harder."
Riley grabbed her hips with both hands and went faster. He wasn't thinking anymore. He was just moving, pushing into her, watching his dick slide in and out of her wet pussy, watching her back arch and her head drop. His balls were tight and his whole body was on fire and he knew he couldn't last much longer.
"I'm gonna come," he said.
"In me," Cindy said. "Come in me."
"But—"
"Just do it."
He did it. He pushed in deep and his dick pulsed and he came inside her, his hips jerking, his hands gripping her hips so hard it probably hurt. Cindy moaned and pushed back against him and her pussy clenched around his dick like it was trying to milk him dry.
When it was over, Riley pulled out. His dick was wet and softening and there was cum on it, and when he looked at Cindy's pussy he could see it leaking out of her, white against the pink.
"Oh my god," Riley said. "Oh my god. I'm gonna have a kid."
Cindy turned around. She was grinning. "Relax. I'm on birth control."
"What?"
"My mom put me on it. For my period." She pulled her swimsuit back up. "So you ain't gonna be a daddy, C-Murph."
Riley sat down on the wet tile. His legs wouldn't hold him. "Birth control," he said. "Okay. Okay. That's good."
Cindy crouched down in front of him. Her face was close to his. "So," she said. "We're a couple now."
"What?"
"We just did that. That makes us a couple." She said it like it was a fact, like she was telling him the sky was blue. "You're my boyfriend now."
Riley stared at her. "That's how it works?"
"That's how it works." She stood up and held out her hand. "Come on. Let's go swimming."
Riley took her hand. He didn't know what else to do. His legs were still shaky and his heart was still pounding and he was pretty sure he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life. But Cindy was smiling at him, a real smile, not the evil one, and she was pulling him toward the door.
They walked out into the pool area together. The water was blue and the sun was coming through the glass ceiling and the kids were still splashing around. Cindy let go of his hand and ran for the water, and Riley stood there for a second, watching her, before he followed.
He didn't see Huey.
Huey was standing behind a potted plant near the entrance, his book still in his hand, his face a mask of horror and fury and something else. Jasmine Dubois was next to him. She had her arms crossed and she was watching the pool with a bored expression.
"That was sex," Jasmine said.
"I know what it was," Huey said, his voice tight.
"Your brother just had sex. With Cindy McFarlane. In a shower."
"I know."
"You were gonna bust him."
Huey's jaw worked. He looked at Riley, who was now in the water, splashing and laughing like nothing had happened. Then he looked at Jasmine.
"I can't," he said. "If I bust him, I have to tell Granddad what I was doing here. And then—" He stopped.
Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "And then you'd have to explain why you were watching."
Huey didn't say anything.
Jasmine turned to face him. Her eyes were sharp and calm. "I saw what I saw," she said. "And I know what I know." She stepped closer. "So here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna do what I say. Or I'm gonna tell everybody what your brother did—and what you did."
Huey's face went pale. "I didn't do anything."
"Not yet." Jasmine smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "But you're gonna."
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the showers.
Jasmine's grip was tighter than Huey expected. Her fingers dug into the bones of his wrist, and she walked with her chin up, her braided pigtails swinging, stepping around a puddle of pool water like it was a personal insult. Huey's book—the one he'd brought to read on the bench while he waited to catch Riley sneaking back home—bumped against his thigh with every step.
"Jasmine," he said. "Let's think about this logically."
"I'm thinking plenty logical."
"You're not. You're—this is coercion. This is—"
"This is what happens when you follow your brother to the mall to spy on him and get a front-row seat instead." She pushed the shower room door open with her free hand. It swung in on its hinge and clicked against the tile wall. "Get in."
The room was empty and tiled floor to ceiling, a long drain running down the middle, shower heads bolted to the wall in a row like a prison. Water beaded on the tiles and sat in the grout. Somewhere a pipe knocked. Huey's sneakers squeaked when he stepped inside.
Jasmine let go of him. Then she turned around and leaned back against the wall, arms folded, and looked at him the way a teacher looks at a kid who's about to fail a test he should've studied for.
"Take your pants off," she said.
"No."
"Huey." She said his name flat, no heat in it. "I'm not playing. You saw what your brother did. You were gonna tell on him. Now you're not, because I got something on you, and you know it. So the least you can do is stop acting like you're better than him."
"I am better than him." Huey's voice came out tight. "I read. I think. I don't—" He gestured at the door, at the pool, at the entire mall. "I don't do that."
"You don't do what? Be a kid?" Jasmine pushed off the wall and walked toward him. Her sneakers made a soft sound on the wet tile. "You think I don't know about you, Huey? You think I don't see you sitting on that bench with your book, watching everybody like you're some kind of scientist and we're all bugs?"
Huey's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
"I watch stuff too," Jasmine said. She stopped in front of him. "My momma's got a laptop. She don't lock it. I seen plenty." She tilted her head. "You ain't the only one who knows things."
Huey stared at her. His hands had gone cold. "That's—that's not the same."
"It's exactly the same." Jasmine reached out and hooked her fingers in the waistband of his khakis. "Now drop 'em, or I'm walking out there and telling everybody in that pool what your brother did. Including the lifeguard."
Huey's jaw worked. He looked at the door. He looked at Jasmine's face, which was calm, which was worse than angry, because angry you could argue with.
He undid his belt.
The khakis slid down his legs and pooled at his ankles. His boxers were white and plain and they did nothing to hide the fact that his dick was already half-hard, which was humiliating, which was the whole problem, because it had been half-hard since the pool, since he'd seen Riley's face, since Jasmine had said that was sex in that bored voice of hers.
Jasmine looked down. Her eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch.
"Huh," she said.
"Don't."
"I didn't say nothing." She pulled the waistband of his boxers down, and his dick came out, and she looked at it for a second with her head tilted. "It's not as big as your brother's."
Huey wanted to die. "You saw my brother's—"
"I saw everything. I was standing right there." She wrapped her hand around him. Her palm was warm and dry and she held him like she was testing the weight of something at the store. "Relax. You're gonna make it weird."
"It's already weird."
Jasmine snorted. Then she dropped down onto her knees on the wet tile, and Huey's stomach dropped with her. She looked up at him, and her face was still calm, still bored, and she said, "Don't move," and then she put her mouth on him.
Huey's back hit the wall. His book fell out of his hand and slapped the tile and slid. Her mouth was wet and warm and she took him in without any ceremony at all, no teasing, no build-up, just her lips sliding down his dick and her tongue flat against the underside of it, and Huey made a sound that was not a word.
She pulled back. "You gotta breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You're not. Your face is all red." She went back down. Deeper this time. Her nose touched the fabric of his polo shirt and she held it there, and Huey's hand came up and gripped the back of her head before he could stop it, his fingers in her braids, and he felt the muscles in her throat work around him and his knees almost gave out.
"Jasmine—"
She pulled off with a wet sound. Spit strung from her lip to the tip of his dick and she wiped it with the back of her wrist. "What."
"I don't—how do you—"
"Porn." She said it like it was obvious. "I told you. My momma don't lock her laptop." She took him in again, and this time she went slow, her lips tight, her hand working the base of him in time with her mouth, and Huey's head dropped back against the tile and his eyes closed and he stopped thinking about the book or the pool or Granddad or any of it.
It went on. The shower room was quiet except for the wet sound of her mouth and his own breathing, which was getting ragged, which he couldn't control. She'd pull off and lick up the side of him and then take him deep again, and her braids brushed his thighs, and Huey's hips started moving without his permission, small pushes into her mouth, and she let him, and that was somehow the worst part, that she let him.
"I'm gonna—" he said. His voice cracked in the middle. "Jasmine, I'm gonna—"
She pulled off. "Not in my mouth." She stood up and wiped her face with the flat of her hand. "I ain't swallowing that. My momma would know something."
"Then what—"
Jasmine turned around and put her hands on the tile wall. Then she looked at him over her shoulder, and she pushed her leggings down her legs, and her panties went with them, and Huey saw her pussy, dark and wet between her thighs, and his brain stopped working entirely.
"Put it in," she said.
"I don't—" Huey's voice was barely a voice. "I've never—"
"Huey." She said his name the way she always said it, like the answer was already obvious and he was being slow. "I seen how it works. Put it in. I ain't gonna do it for you."
His legs carried him forward. His dick was slick with her spit and it bumped against her, and she reached back and guided him with her hand, and the tip of him pressed into her, and she was tight, tight enough that it didn't go in at first, and Jasmine made a small sound and pushed her hips back and then he was in.
"Oh," Jasmine said. "Okay."
"Is it—"
"It's fine. Keep going."
He pushed in the rest of the way. His hips met her butt and he was buried in her and she was hot and wet and gripping him, and Huey had to put his hand on the wall next to hers to keep from falling over. The tile was cold under his palm. His khakis were still around his ankles. Somewhere out in the pool, a kid screamed with laughter.
"Move," Jasmine said.
He moved. It wasn't graceful. He pulled out too far and pushed back in too hard and Jasmine's hands slid on the tile and she said "slow down" and he slowed down and then she said "okay, like that" and he did it like that, and the wet sound of it filled the shower room, and his balls were tight and his whole body was hot and he couldn't believe he was doing this, couldn't believe he was doing this in a mall shower with Jasmine Dubois, couldn't believe his brother had done the exact same thing twenty feet away not ten minutes ago.
That thought should have stopped him. It didn't. It did the opposite.
"Harder," Jasmine said. Her voice had lost some of its boredom. "Come on."
He went harder. His hips slapped against her and she braced herself against the wall and her head dropped forward and she made a sound that was low and rough and not bored at all. Huey grabbed her hip with one hand and held on and just moved, and the drain in the floor caught the water from the pipes and the sound of it mixed with the sound of them and he was close, he was so close.
"I'm gonna come," he said.
"In me."
"But—"
"I'm on the pill. My momma put me on it for my cramps." She pushed back against him. "Just do it."
He did it. He pushed in deep and his dick pulsed and he came inside her, and his hips jerked twice, three times, and his hand squeezed her hip hard enough to leave marks, and Jasmine made a sound and pushed back against him and her pussy clenched around him and held him there.
When it was over he pulled out. His dick was wet and softening and there was cum on it, and when Jasmine straightened up and turned around, he could see it on her thighs, white against her dark skin, and she looked down at it and then up at him and her face was calm again, bored again, like she hadn't just made sounds he'd never heard her make.
"Okay," she said. "Now we're even."
"Even?" Huey's voice came out hoarse. "That's—what does that even mean?"
"It means I ain't telling nobody what your brother did, and you ain't telling nobody what we did, and we both go out there and act like it's a normal day at the pool." She pulled her leggings up. "That's the deal."
Huey pulled his khakis up and buckled his belt with fingers that wouldn't work right. His book was on the floor. He picked it up and the cover was damp and the pages were bent and he didn't care. "This is insane."
"This is what happened." Jasmine walked to the door and pushed it open. Light from the pool came in and made her a shape. "You coming or you gonna stand in the shower all day?"
Huey followed her out. The pool was bright and loud and smelled like chlorine and the sun through the glass ceiling made everything look normal, made the water look blue and clean, made the kids splashing around look like kids and not like anything else. Riley was in the shallow end with Cindy, and Cindy was splashing water at his face, and Riley was scowling and splashing back, and neither of them looked like they'd done anything at all today.
Huey's legs were still shaking. He sat down on the edge of the pool and put his feet in the water and his book on the tile beside him, and Jasmine sat down next to him and pulled her pigtails over her shoulders and looked at the water like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Riley saw them.
His face went through something. Then he swam over, slow, and pulled himself up on the edge next to Huey, and Cindy followed him, and for a second nobody said anything.
"What you doing here," Riley said. It wasn't a question.
"Watching you," Huey said.
Riley's jaw tightened. He glanced at Jasmine, then back at Huey. "You see anything?"
Huey looked at the water. Then at Jasmine. Then at Riley. "I saw enough."
Riley's face went pale under his brown skin. "Huey—"
"Don't." Huey's voice was quiet. "I ain't gonna say nothing. I can't." He leaned closer, so Cindy and Jasmine couldn't hear. "If I bust you, I gotta explain why I was here. And then Granddad finds out what I was doing. So this stays between us. You don't tell Granddad. You don't tell nobody. And we go home like nothing happened."
Riley stared at him. Then he looked at Jasmine, who was watching the water with her bored face on, and then back at Huey. "You too?"
Huey didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Riley sat down on the edge of the pool next to his brother. The water lapped at his feet. Cindy sat down on his other side, and Jasmine was on Huey's side, and the four of them sat there in a row with the sun coming down through the glass and the kids splashing and the lifeguard blowing his whistle at somebody.
"This is weird," Riley said.
"Yeah," Huey said.
"You gonna read your book?"
"It's wet."
Riley snorted. Then he laughed, and it was a real laugh, the kind he hadn't done in a while, and Huey looked at him and something passed between them that didn't need words, the brother thing, the thing that had been there before the mall and would be there after.
"Race you to the deep end," Riley said.
"You can't swim."
"I can swim better than you."
"You can't."
"Can too." Riley pushed off the edge and into the water and started paddling, and Huey watched him for a second, then stood up and took off his polo shirt and dropped it on the tile and dove in after him.
Cindy looked at Jasmine. Jasmine looked at Cindy.
"Boys," Cindy said.
"Right?" Jasmine stood up and pulled her denim jacket off. "Come on. I ain't sitting here by myself."
She dove in. Cindy followed. The water was cool and blue and the sun was warm and the four of them splashed around like it was any other day at any other pool, and nobody said anything about the showers, and nobody was going to.
Riley floated on his back and looked up at the glass ceiling and the sky past it, and for a second he thought about what he'd done, and what Huey had done, and the fact that Granddad was probably awake by now and wondering where they were.
Then Cindy splashed him in the face and he splashed her back and Huey rolled his eyes and Jasmine said something dry and cutting and it was a good day. It was a nice day.
It happened.