Months Later.

"Picking up where we left off, the chameleon effect. What is the chameleon effect?" the teacher began. It was a relatively small discussion section of about fourteen students. Jasmine had barely made it without dozing off in lecture that morning, so having to attend the afternoon discussion later that day was especially taxing. She mashed the eraser-end of her pencil against her desk and drew faintly visible little scribbles: faces, her initials, random stuff. A young man raised his hand.

"Yes, Donte?"

"Chameleon effect in psychology refers to the nonconscious mimicry of the postures, mannerisms, facial expressions, and other behaviors of one's interaction partners, such that one's behavior passively and unintentionally changes to match that of others in one's current social environment."

"Right," the teacher said. "So, it's a normal thing. We tend to mimic or mirror the behavior of people close to us. This subconscious mimicry is used as a means to form a bond between two people or even groups of people. How would this phenomenon be represented in someone who has been diagnosed with say, Borderline Personality Disorder?"

Jasmine pressed harder with the eraser. She etched an oval shape, with broad squiggles throughout it to crudely represent luster. She centered on the nothingness that glared back at her tired face.

"A person diagnosed with BPD may have a vacant or distorted self-image. In such persons, the mirroring can manifest itself as an imitation of another person's speech, mannerisms, behaviors, dress style, purchase preferences or daily habits.

"In more extreme manifestations of this behavior, the person doing the mirroring might begin to believe they actually are the other person, to the extent they might call themselves by their name, claim to be them or 'borrow' elements of the other person's life such as relationships, past experiences, career or family history and claim these as their own.

"'The Chameleon Effect' – or 'mirroring': this is the constant, unconscious change in the person's 'self', as they struggle to fit in with their environment, or the people around them. It is, essentially, a fluctuating identity. It is the manifestation of a basic inability or difficulty in establishing a stable sense of self.

"From one person's account on having BPD: 'Borderlines instinctively 'mirror' to fit in, because without that behavior, we have no idea what will happen. We have little or no sense of our own identity, so we can't know if that will be acceptable to others. Without acceptance by others, we risk abandonment, which is often an intense fear for Borderlines. Why do we have this intense fear of abandonment? Because if we are abandoned, we have nobody to 'mirror'. The fear of abandonment is a fear of being alone. It is terrifying to be left alone with yourself, when you don't know who yourself is.' Ms. Jones?"

"Alone. Huh— yes?"

When class let out, Jasmine was among the first to dart out of the room, barely bothering to zip up her bag all the way as she exited. Just as she was crossing the hallway intersection, she felt her cellphone buzz: the reminder she had scheduled to let her know she was late for work. She dug in her purse to grab the phone and...wham! She and another girl went crashing to the floor.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I should really look where I'm going," Jasmine cried.

"Yeah, maybe." Jasmine's eyes met the other girl's. They weren't harsh or fiery or spiteful; they were soft and kind. Jasmine took a good look at the girl, tossing her bouncy, dark strands of hair from her face with her fingers. She felt odd liking what she saw. A smirk crept across the girl's pink lips. Her pearly, black glistening eyes were large and warm. Her skin was a golden brown. Her pretty face always looked like a professional had done her makeup every morning, and her hair appeared effortlessly perfect. Jasmine's eyes followed the girl's taut, smiling cheekbones to her perfect, pillowy lips, which were parted slightly, enough to see only a bit of her white teeth.

"I'm Lauren. You look like you wanted to ask."

Jasmine shook herself out of her stupor. "Oh yeah, of course, where are my manners? I'm Jasmine."

They began gathering all the scattered papers and makeup. Lauren's elegant fingers stopped on Jasmine's name tag from the coffee shop.

"Don't you need this?" she said, handing it back to her.

Jasmine's cheeks blushed when their fingers accidentally touched, but she didn't make much of an effort to move hers. Before she knew it, Jasmine's tiny grin had smeared across her face, and she found herself beaming with every tooth showing.

"Yeah, thanks," she finally replied.

Lauren squinted as she examined Jasmine's face a bit more closely. "Have we met before?"

"Um," Jasmine gulped. "Coffee shop."

"What?"

"Um, Frederick's Cafe. I, uh, I work there."

"Oh, right, right. Of course."

"Yeah," she droned, hoping to punctuate the awkward silence.

"Well, you've got such a beautiful smile, Jasmine. Really nice teeth."

"Thanks, I, um, had braces."

"They worked. So what's a pretty girl with a smile like that wasting her time in a coffee shop for?"

"Daddy doesn't pay all the bills." She didn't mean to, but Jasmine caught herself saying that while staring at the gaudy wedding band on Lauren's ring finger.

"Mm, shame," she muttered through pursed lips. She got up and continued walking. Jasmine got up and followed her.

"Um, hey, Lauren? I know I probably said this before but follow all your stuff. I tune into your makeup tutorials religiously."

"Good to hear." They were outside now. A black Aston Martin and a young driver were out on the curb, waiting for her with the back passenger door open. She got into the side closest to Jasmine and shut the door. As the driver began to inch forward, Lauren rolled down her window, with a white business card planted between her matte black fingernails.

"Come visit me at the office some time. You're pretty enough."

"Wow. Th-thank you, Lauren, oh my god."

"Don't thank me. Not yet, at least. Goodbye." She rolled the window back up and they took off, leaving Jasmine in the smoke waving her hand like a five year old watching her mommy go away. 

-END OF ACT 2-