CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THIS DREAM ISN'T FEELING SWEET
song of the chapter: ribs, lorde

Here's the thing: it's not like Indiana is eager to rush her recovery and be back at work, but after the mandated rest period given to her by her doctor is over and he clears her for light activity, Indiana has her phone to her ear and is on the phone to her employer before she's even buckled into her seat.

From the drivers seat, Jasmine raises her eyebrows in question as Indiana pulls open the passenger door, "How'd it go-"

Indiana holds out a hand to silence her friend, gesturing to the phone squashed between her ear and her shoulder as she fiddles with the seatbelt with her spare hand. Jasmine holds up her hands in surrender, before manoeuvring them back to the steering wheel as she starts the car up and reverses out of her spot in the hospital parking lot.

"I understand that, Pamela, but you have to-" Indiana pauses, a small huff following her words. She takes a steadying breath, releasing her hold on the seatbelt and moving her phone to her hand, "Yes, I know that the school is being rebuilt, but I can-"

The quiet, tinny sound of their Principle's voice silences Indiana's protests from the other end of the line, and Jasmine can tell from the way that Indiana's shoulders drop in defeat that the discussion has come to an end that she's not happy with.

"Alright," Indiana sighs, sinking back into her seat. Jasmine watches her in her peripheral vision, gets to see the way that Indiana deflates as if she's a popped balloon, the way the crease in between her eyebrows deepens the way it only does when she's holding back something she desperately wants to say. "Okay, Pamela. Speak soon. Goodbye."

They continue the drive in silence. Jasmine knows not to pry, and Indiana knows not to speak until she's processed her thoughts and feelings on the matter. As they turn the corner onto Indiana's street, she lets out a frustrated sound and kicks her foot lightly against the glovebox.

Childish, she knows, but it seems like an appropriate response to her situation.

"Hey," Jasmine admonishes lightly, checking her rear view mirror as she begins to park, "what'd my car ever do to you?"

A response begins to form on her tongue, but with the force of her kick partnered with Jasmine putting the car into park, the glovebox falls open and the contents spill out onto the floor of the car.

Indiana gestures vaguely with her hands toward the mess, rolling her eyes so far back that she's pretty sure she catches a glimpse of her brain. She undoes her belt, leaning down to start gathering the mess, but Jasmine places a gentle hand on her upper arm before she can get far.

"Leave it," she tells Indiana, a wary expression on her face. She opens the drivers side door, "Let's go inside."

Wordlessly, Indiana follows her out of the car and into Jasmine's apartment complex. The silence follows them into the elevator and through the hallway, lasting all the way until Jasmine is perched on her kitchen counter, halfway through a glass of Merlot. She eyes Indiana over the rim of her glass, raising both eyebrows in question.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Indiana says in response, gripping her glass so tightly she can imagine the glass starting to splint in her grasp. She manoeuvres herself onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, placing her glass down on a coaster as she picks at the skin surrounding her thumb. With a weary sigh, Indiana confesses, "Durand has decided that they will not be welcoming me back next semester."

"What."

Indiana has known Jasmine for a long time. They met in the third grade, when Indiana's family had just moved to Jasmine's hometown, and bonded over their shared obsession with Nicholas from The Princess Diaries: The Royal Engagement.

(Yes, Indiana refers to the movie with its government name. It deserves nothing less.)

Anyway. All is to say, Jasmine and Indiana have been through the trenches together. They survived their skunk hair dye phases, and the crimped hair that followed. They traded Juicy Couture tracksuits and shared a dorm room when they both finally packed up and went to college, then tracksuits changed to infinity scarves and business casual at the club.

And yet. Yet. To this day, through twenty something years of friendship and through the various trials and tribulations of life, Indiana does not think she's ever seen Jasmine's face in such a state of shock.

"Sorry," Jasmine continues, something between a disbelieving laugh and a scoff following her words. "It sounds like you just told me that you aren't coming back to Durand next semester."

Indiana drums her fingertips against the marble countertop, looking at Jasmine with plea in her eyes, "Jas."

"Indi."

"Come on."

"Fuck you," Jasmine scoffs, slamming her glass down on the counter. Red wine splashes over the rim, coating Jasmine's fingertips. "Sorry, not fuck you, fuck Durand. But, also, fuck you, because why are you just lying down and accepting it instead of fighting to get your job back?"

"You don't think I've tried?" Indiana argues, gesturing with her hand. "I've been on the phone seven times over the past two days, begging the superintendent to reconsider. She told me to stop calling, Jasmine, because their decision was final and nothing I could say to them was going to change that."

They stare at each other from across the kitchen, Indiana with tears in her eyes and Jasmine with fury behind hers. The thing is, fighting with your best friend of two decades can only end one of two ways: one of you concedes, or you let it build up to a point, and then you never speak to each other again.

Indiana is not willing to let either of those things happen.

She hates confrontation, hates the thought that she might make a bad situation worse, but she is as strong willed as Jasmine is stubborn, and if there is anyone who knows how to get through to her, it's Indiana.

"The district won't approve the additional budget costs. It's costing them more than they planned to rebuild the school, and apparently they've been wanting to downsize the classes for a while, so now they have the right excuse."

Jasmine continues to stare at her, a rapidly confusing expression building in her eyes. Indiana takes a steadying breath, following on.

"Durand has decided that I am the teacher they are willing to lose. They say that they appreciate my service to them and to the children throughout the years, but they think that my skill set would be better appreciated elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" Jasmine echoes, the furrow in her brows deepening. "What do you mean, 'elsewhere.'"

"Tennessee," Indiana confesses, the words tasting like vomit as they leave her mouth. "They have recommended me for a Vice Principal position in Tennessee."

The saying goes, 'you could hear a pin drop.'

Indiana has never felt that to be truer than in this moment.

She can hear the off beat dripping from Jasmine's leaky faucet, the low humming of the refrigerator. The breeze outside, rusting through the trees planted on the sidewalk outside, accompanied by the distant voices of passersby.

The silence is deafening. The silence is terrifying. The silence is suffocating.

The silence is a decision, weighing in the air between them, waiting to be seen and chosen.

"So," Jasmine says, after what feels like a lifetime. She swallows past the lump in her throat. "Are you going to take it?"

"Do you think I should?" Indiana asks in reply, feeling the desperation creeping up her throat with every breath she takes. "I mean, it's not the first time I've been offered the position, but it's the first time I haven't had a reason to say no."

Jasmine sighs, "What about your reasons to say yes?"

That is how they find themselves, twenty minutes later, with a notebook in front of them with a line down the middle. In pink glitter gel pen, on the left side, reads PROS. It reads as follows:

PROS

•  SALARY INCREASE
• HIGHER POSITION
• RELOCATION BONUS
• NEW ENVIRONMENT / OPPORTUNITIES
• LOWER COST OF LIVING
• PERSONAL DEVELOPMENT
• BETTER YARD FOR CLOVER????????

On the right, in matching purple, it follows with:

CONS

• LEAVING JASMINE ( ᴖ̈ )
• LONGER COMMUTE
• NEW COLLEAGUES WHO MIGHT HEAT SALMON IN THE COMMUNITY MICROWAVE
• 30 HOUR DRIVE IN YOUR SHITTY CAR

"Okay," Indiana says, bringing Jasmine's rapid scribbling to a halt. "My car is not shitty."

"You had to replace one thing three times last year."

"Because the first two mechanics ripped me off."

"No, it was because your car is eating your money, and you refuse to put the poor thing to rest."

"Alright, first of all-"

Jasmine puts her palm up, stopping Indiana's upcoming rant of defence. They've been here a hundred times before, and Indiana isn't going to admit defeat until that car eventually decides to die while she's on her way somewhere very important and sweet, sweet justice is served at last.

Jasmine gestures vaguely towards the list, "It feels like you're missing the point. I can't help but feel like you're doing it on purpose."

"No idea what you mean," Indiana replies, breezily. She taps the pink pen against the page, small pink glitter dots of ink following the pattern. "Seems like a no-brainer to me."

"Indi," Jasmine stresses. "I can't make this decision for you."

"Why not?" Indiana questions, eyes fixated on the growing pool of ink on the page. "That's what friends are for, right? To help you out when times get tough?"

"I'm helping you the best I can, Indiana," Jasmine responds, reaching over to remove the pen from Indiana's grip. "I love you, and I'm gonna miss you like hell, but you've already made this decision in your head and you're scared to say it out loud."

"Why would I be scared?" Indiana asks, feeling the steadily rising rhythm of her heart thumping in her chest. She wants to reach out and ask for help, to ask Jasmine to hug her and tell her it's all going to be okay, like she's an infant begging for solace in their mother's arms. She can feel the tears welling in her eyes, stinging and traitorous.

Jasmine, reading her mind in the way she always does, reaches out and pulls Indiana into her. Indiana's head lands somewhere between her shoulder and her neck, her breaths coming steadier than they were a moment before.

"Because saying it makes it real," Jasmine whispers, the words pressed against Indiana's forehead. She can feel the warmth of Jasmine's cheek pressed against her, can hear the slight tension in her voice as she forces the words out.

Indiana pulls back, placing her hands on Jasmine's knees as she puts herself upright. She tilts her head slightly, smiling in a way she hopes is convincing enough, feeling the first tear slip free from her eye.

"Say it for me?" She asks. Pleads.

Jasmine puts a hand on her shoulder, a steadying weight to the uneasy waves that Indiana can feel in her stomach. She can see the strain in her best friend's eyes as she computes the news in her own head before she speaks it aloud, the words coming out barely above a whisper.

"You're moving to Tennessee."

And there was never a question about it, really.

"I'm moving to Tennessee."