Not So Princess Jasmine, Volume 1: From The Bright Lights Series

By Darian Wigfall

It's 2020. Surrounding the news of her best friend DeShaun being shot, 11-year-old Jasmine is learning what it means to live in a Black body in St. Louis, Missouri -- which some consider to be a microcosm of the United States and the epicenter of a new Civil Rights movement.

Jasmine struggles with being called names and picked on within he

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aspire Publishing Hub, LLC
• Release date: Mar 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9781962611732

Book preview

9781962611732-cover.jpg

Not So Princess Jasmine

From The Bright Lights Series

Volume 1

Darian Wigfall

Not So Princess Jasmine

Copyright © 2024 by Darian Wigfall

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN

978-1-962611-72-5 (Paperback)

978-1-962611-73-2 (eBook)

978-1-962611-71-8 (Hardcover)

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 1

The pain was unbearable. Still, the sensation Jasmine Green felt in her toes wasn’t nearly as painful as the sting of Jacob Taylor’s words. He had been teasing her about being black, again. It wasn’t anything new, but recovering from a recurring wound never got easier.

Jasmine sat against a wall-length mirror, the planks of a white-pine floor stretching out in front of her as she sat with her legs forming a capital P. She had just lost a toenail in ballet class, but her mind was still on the friction between her friend DeShaun and her classmate Jacob. She didn’t want DeShaun to be forced into sharing the prize money from an art contest he’d just won in a tie with Jacob Taylor, who she knew didn’t have an artistic bone in his body, nor did he need the money. Jasmine wanted to get to the bottom of the situation. She decided to try digging up some background information from Jacob’s sister, Susan, who was also in ballet class with Jasmine and at that moment happened to be standing directly in front of Jasmine with her back turned. She was close enough for Jasmine to kick her, which Jasmine considered but chose not to do. Susan was mesmerized by her cell phone as Jasmine stood up and addressed her back.

Dance was tough today, huh? Jasmine asked, trying to break the ice.

Sure was! I’m beat. Wait. Did I see you limping earlier? Susan asked, finally looking away from her screen and turning toward Jasmine.

Yeah, I’m OK. I just broke a toenail, Jasmine remarked.

Susan looked down at Jasmine, who was putting her pointe shoes and leg warmers in her ballet bag on the floor.

Ouch! Yeah, I’ve done that, too. I guess it’s just part of the ‘sacrifice we make for dance,’ Susan said, keeping her phone in hand while holding her index and middle fingers up as finger quotes around the phrase that their instructor used each time the class groaned about another tough exercise or long rehearsal.

I guess so, Jasmine said, laughing.

How’s your brother, Jacob? I heard he won the junior artist contest at Precision, Jasmine said, steering the conversation.

Yeah, I don’t know. Our parents made him do that. I didn’t think he was that good, though. Our mom is the real artist, Susan responded.

Jasmine finished packing her bag and stood up. She stood six inches shorter than Susan, whose long, slender frame was the ideal in the ballet world.

Oh, gotcha. Well, that’s pretty amazing that he won. I just wanted to congratulate you and the family on his win since I wasn’t at the award ceremony, Jasmine said.

Jacob wasn’t, either, Susan chuckled back as she looked back down at her phone.

Well, I’m gonna go home and take care of this toe, Jasmine said as she started out of the dance studio.

As she left the studio, Jasmine thought to herself, "If Jacob wasn’t even a good artist in his sister’s eyes, how could he win an art contest?"

She wanted to find out more about Jacob’s ability but knew it would be difficult to find out if her suspicions were right by talking to his sister. As Jasmine hopped into her parents’ minivan— the royal blue paint shining brightly in the December sun—she started to think of a new strategy. If she couldn’t get the information she wanted from Susan, maybe Jacob’s friends could lead her in the right direction.

When Jasmine got home, all she could think about was Jacob Taylor and how he had to have cheated to win the contest. She sat in her dad’s recliner and turned on the TV. It was still turned to the news, which she assumed was what her father was watching earlier. Jasmine was about to change the channel, when breaking news came on. The reporter said, Last night, a firefight broke out between rival gangs at the corner of Tucker and Washington Avenues, near the Precision Art Studio. Five teenagers were killed and one eleven-year-old boy was critically wounded. For the safety of the boy who was shot and the safety of his family, we are protecting the identity of boy. Several gang members were arrested in relation to the shooting, including known gang leader Tony Styles, a twenty-five-year-old man also known as Tony Hustle. We’ll have the full story at eleven o’clock.

As soon as Jasmine heard the report, she ran straight to her room and grabbed her phone out of her ballet bag to call the Henrys’ house to find out whether DeShaun was OK. She knew he was at the studio the night before, and she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Each time the phone rang, Jasmine got more and more worried. It rang for what seemed like forever, but no one answered. She hung up and decided to go the art studio after school on Monday to find out what happened.

Monday morning came, and Jasmine went to school like usual, which was anything but normal. Her classes were a blur of chalkboards, teachers’ faces, and the students’ maroon uniform polo shirts. At the end of the day, she hopped on the bus to Washington Avenue. Within a few minutes, the bus had arrived at the studio. Its hydraulics hissed as it lowered down to the curb to let Jasmine off. It rumbled off, picking up speed.

Jasmine entered the gallery. It was a large room with one large middle dividing wall. Each side of the middle wall had different exhibits on it, and as Jasmine walked further into the building, she could see the student artwork hanging in the back. Looking around for anyone she could find, she spotted a man of average height and build wearing thick-rimmed glasses and his hair was cut low on the sides and combed over to the left standing on a ladder. He was adjusting the lights over a metal sculpture of an eight-foot rose.

Jasmine walked around the other end of the dividing wall and noticed some paintings she recognized from pictures DeShaun had posted to Instagram. She looked for signs of what had happened and saw DeShaun’s sketchbook. Jasmine picked it up, opening it carefully. As she began to look through the sketches, Jasmine heard footsteps behind her.

Can I help you? the man asked sternly.

Hi, I’m one of DeShaun Henry’s friends, Jasmine said, staring at the bronze rose behind him.

I’m the owner of the studio, Brad Williams, he said, extending his hand to Jasmine.

Jasmine shook his hand gently.

I’m Jasmine Green. So, DeShaun Henry. You know where he is? Jasmine asked anxiously.

Yes, I do. I found him last night after the shooting. I’m sure you’ve heard the bad news. It’s such a shame, Brad said.

No! What happened? Jasmine interrupted.

He was shot. He got hit by a stray bullet last night, Brad said in a somber tone.

What?! Jasmine shouted, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep her composure. Where is he now?

He’s at Barnes-Jewish Hospital. I found him lying on the sidewalk. I took him to the hospital and got him admitted. He’s in the intensive care unit right now, Brad said.

Before Brad could say another word, Jasmine was on her way out of the gallery, running toward the door as she yelled back, Thank you!

Jasmine headed back home so that