What Happened To Melissa? Chapter 3 Ghosts of the Party

Chapter 3: Ghosts of the Party

Jasmine hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she did—curled up in the garage with Melissa’s journal clutched in her hands. When she woke, the light outside was gray and weak, early morning spilling through the slats of the garage door.

But she wasn’t ready to move.

The words from the journal still echoed in her mind.

“That night at Mia’s party… That’s when I knew. I didn’t belong.”

Jasmine closed her eyes—and the memory rushed back, full and vivid.

It was a Saturday night in April. Mia’s party had been the event. Her parents were out of town, the music was loud, and everyone who mattered was there. Jasmine remembered the lights strung across the backyard, the bass vibrating through her shoes, and the way people kept pulling her into selfies and conversations.

She’d felt seen. Wanted. Alive.

Somewhere near the kitchen, she’d locked eyes with Melissa.

She was standing stiffly near the drink table, wearing a navy hoodie and jeans—her go-to look, even for a party. She looked lost. Like she was holding her breath.

Jasmine remembered freezing for just a moment.

Melissa came?

They hadn’t talked in months. Not since early sophomore year. Jasmine had moved on—different classes, different friends. Melissa had faded into her own orbit. But still… seeing her there, alone, caught Jasmine off guard.

She had a drink in her hand. She could’ve walked over. Could’ve smiled. Could’ve said, “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming. You good?”

Instead, she looked away.

Not out of meanness. Just… convenience.

She’d been mid-laugh with Ava, and someone had called her name, and there were pictures to take and songs to dance to and too many people to impress.

When she looked back a few minutes later, Melissa was gone.

She hadn’t thought about it again.

Until now.

The memory of Melissa’s face in that moment—the flicker of hope, followed by the unmistakable drop in her eyes—made Jasmine wince. She hadn’t just ignored her. She’d confirmed her worst fear: that no one cared if she was there.

Jasmine sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. She remembered other things now too. Moments she’d brushed aside.

Like the day in freshman year when some boys in P.E. made jokes about Melissa’s arms. Jasmine hadn’t laughed—but she hadn’t said anything either.

Or the time Melissa dropped her tray in the cafeteria and everyone just… stared. Jasmine had looked away, pretending she didn’t see.

These weren’t acts of cruelty.

But they weren’t kindness either.

And sometimes silence is just another kind of wound.

Back inside the house, Jasmine moved slowly. Her heart felt heavy, but her mind was racing.

She needed to talk to someone.

But not just anyone.

She opened her phone and scrolled through her contacts, her thumb hovering.

She landed on Ms. Campbell, the school counselor.

Tapping her name, Jasmine typed a message:

Hi, it’s Jasmine Perez. I have Melissa’s journal. I didn’t mean to find it, but I think it matters. I think she was trying to say something… before she left. Can I talk to you?

She hit send before she could overthink it.

Then she went back to the journal, turned the page, and started reading again.