Something in Between (17 page)

He's not laughing. “So what is it, then?” A pause, until it's like he puts two and two together. “Wait, it's because I disagreed with you about immigration reform, right? You don't agree with my dad, so you're mad at me?”

“I wish that was all it is,” I say.

He stares at me, really looks at me, and I know tears are running down my cheeks because I can feel them. “I don't understand why the bill not passing would make you so upset. Weren't you born in America?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head no. My throat is so tight I can't answer.

He looks right into my eyes. “Okay, so you weren't born here. Why do you think I would care about that? Even if you're not American, it doesn't change how I feel about you.”

“Really?” I ask, finding my voice at last and wiping my tears with my sleeve. “What if I told you I was undocumented?
Illegal
.”

“You're...” Royce trails off.

I turn away, not wanting to see the look on his face. “See? You think
I'm
a criminal now, right? That we're nothing but a bunch of thieves? That we'll peek in your window at night, threatening to steal all of your mom's precious artwork?”

“I never said I liked my mom's art collection,” he says mildly. “You can steal it.”

I hate that he tries to make me laugh when I'm upset, but I love it too. He puts a hand on my arm gently, as if to let me know he doesn't want me to go, that he has more to say. I stand there, refusing to face him, but not running away either.

“My parents didn't tell me until I got the National Scholarship,” I say. “I never knew we were illegal aliens until a couple months ago.”

He steps closer to me. “Jas, I'm so sorry.”

“I can't accept the award. I don't have a social security number. I can't get a driver's license. I don't know what's going to happen to us. I didn't want to tell you because I was embarrassed, and I was scared you'd tell your dad.”

“I would never do anything to hurt you or your family,” Royce says urgently. “You have to believe that. I like you, Jas. I don't care what you are. I don't care about any of that.”

I sniff and wipe my eyes again with my sleeve. He's saying all the right things, and I want to believe him, but I'm too overwhelmed by my admission. I feel like a cracked egg, raw and vulnerable.

He looks right into my eyes, and I can see the hurt I feel reflected in his. He looks completely miserable. “Jas, I just want to be with you. I'm sorry I said those stupid things about that bill. If I'd known you were having trouble like that, I would have tried to help. My dad is the one who believes those things, but that's him, not me. I don't even know why I said that to you. I was just trying to sound smart. I'm an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot,” I say automatically.

“I'm so sorry the bill didn't pass. I didn't know it was so important to you. Is your family okay? What are you guys going to do?” He has both hands on my shoulders now.

I tear up again. “I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen.”

“What about us?” he asks roughly.

“Us?”

“I haven't changed my mind about you. But it sounds like you have. Are we good?” he asks, so sadly that I want to say yes, that everything's okay, that nothing's the matter.

But I can't. It's too much. I'm too exposed, dying of shame that he knows the truth about my reduced legal situation. I feel so much for him, but somehow, I'm furious too, at his dad, at his family, at his whole background that's so different than mine. I pull away. “I don't know. I need time to think. Can we take a break? I just need some space right now.”

He releases me, his hands going slack at his sides, his face blank. “Uh-huh. Well, how long do you need?”

“I don't know. There's so much going on. Family stuff we have to figure out.” I'm flooded with emotion, and I just need time to myself, time to breathe.

“Right.” He kicks the pebbles on the ground.

We stare at each other, not quite believing what is happening. Are we breaking up? Is this the end of us?

Finally he says, “I'll be in Aspen over Christmas. I promise not to bother you until I get back. Can we talk then?”

I nod.

“And if you decide you don't want to see me anymore I'll leave you alone, don't worry,” he says, his voice so low I have to strain to hear him.

I don't want him to leave me alone, I don't want to break up, and I want to tell him that this is all a mistake, I don't want him to go, I don't want it to be over. But the words don't come, and somehow I nod my head.

“Good luck at Regionals.” He turns away then, and I watch him leave, his shoulders slumped, hands jammed in his pockets, and it feels like I've broken his heart instead of the other way around. Maybe it is.

Becoming Illegal

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

—EMMA LAZARUS'S POEM,
INSCRIBED ON THE STATUE OF LIBERTY

19

If you find someone you love in your life, then hang on to that love.

—PRINCESS DIANA

A FEW DAYS LATER
, the other girls are singing and shouting cheers on the bus to the Anaheim Convention Center. We're on our way to compete in the Regional competition, which is right before Christmas. I keep thinking about Royce, checking my phone, hoping he'll text me, though I know he won't. Why do I need him to give in first? I just do.

There's plenty of room, so we're all spread out on the bus. Kayla leans over the back of my seat. “Are you nervous?”

I take my headphones out of my ears. “A little, I guess.”

“I know you're upset about Royce,” she says. I told her what happened, how I asked him for space.

I look at Kayla like I'm about to roll my eyes at her. “No I'm not,” I say. “Who's Royce?”

“You're a terrible liar, Jas. You always have been,” Kayla laughs. She gets up and moves into the seat next to me, putting her head on my shoulder. “I'm going to give you a piece of advice that you've given me more than once this year. So listen up.”

“All right,” I say. “I'm listening.”

“Cheer is a mental game just as much as a physical one. You have to clear your mind. Focus on the team. Concentrate on your body,” Kayla says.

I look down at my phone again. “I know. That's what I say all the time.”

“Well, you're obviously not taking your own advice right now. You're all torn up about him. Come on, talk to me. You have to get it out before the competition.”

I shake my head. “I'm fine. This isn't about Royce.” But she knows me too well and she's right, I am a terrible liar. I hate that Royce and I aren't talking, even though I'm the reason we're not.

“Your family, then? What's going on with the immigration stuff?”

“I really, really don't want to talk about that right now—that's the last thing I want to think about before the competition.” I need to put it out of my head, but I'm nervous and panicky and she can tell. Looking behind my seat, I see that the girls nearby are watching us, probably wondering what's going on. “I'm not ready for the whole squad to know.”

Kayla throws up her hands. “Fine.
Fine.
Don't say I didn't try to help...”

She goes to the back of the bus to hang out with some of the other girls.

I need to stop thinking about Royce and my own situation and focus on our performance. I put my headphones back in and try to psych myself up and prepare, to visualize nailing every stunt, hitting every landing. But my mind won't clear, and I'm edgy and distracted.

After the bus pulls up to the convention center, Coach Davis checks us in for the Medium Varsity Division I Group while we change into our uniforms and fix our hair.

The morning flies by. We watch a few teams compete, some of them good enough to make us worry a little, but we know we've got this. Then we stretch for twenty minutes and do warm-ups before the team is called up to compete. Coach Davis asks me to give the girls a pep talk as the competition organizers cue up our music. The girls gather around me, and I look at them, wondering what they would think if they knew I was an undocumented immigrant. Would they care? Would they look at me differently? Would they pity me?

Gathering the girls into a big huddle, I give my speech. “You've all been working so hard toward this moment. Your tucks are tight. Your moves are sharp. We're going to win this thing and we're going on to Nationals!”

Coach Davis signals me to call the girls to the mats.

“Positions!” I shout, and we all run out to the floor, bouncing and cheering, before taking our places.

This is our moment. Our chance to qualify for Nationals.

The music starts up. We begin our tumbling routine followed by our stunts. I plaster a smile on my face, but my rhythm is off, like I'm moving in slow motion.

The bright lights are shining on us and I imagine that everyone looking at me knows my terrible secret. And I remember the hurt look on Royce's face when I told him to leave me alone.

My bases start to pop me up for a simple toe-touch basket toss, but I mistime their movements and begin to jump before they've released me, sending all of us off balance. On the way down, I try to correct my positioning but I've already screwed everything up and come crashing down on my back spotter. It's Anabel, and she picks me up right away. Everyone gets back on the routine like nothing has happened, but I know I've cost our team qualifying for Nationals. I finish the rest of the routine without starting to cry, but once the music is over, I run to the bathroom and lock the stall door.

I can't believe I've let them all down. I'm petrified of having people see me like this. I can't have them know how close I am to crying right now.

I'm sitting in the stall trying to get control of my emotions when someone knocks on the door. “Jasmine?” Kayla asks. “Is that you?”

Trying to hold back my tears, because I don't want her to hear, I gasp an uneasy “Yeah, I'm here.”

“Are you going to let me in? Or am I going to have to knock down this door?”

I unlatch the lock, still sitting on top of the toilet in my cheer uniform.

“You can't blame yourself,” Kayla says. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not on a stupid basket toss,” I say. “It's such an easy move.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself. We got
second
place. That's not bad. Come out, they're about to give us our trophies. We need you out there.”

She's right. I can't hide in here while my team accepts our second-place trophy. I swallow my tears and my pride and get up. “Okay,” I say to Kayla. “Let's do this.”

The team is waiting for me and we all ascend the podium together. The judges hand us our trophy. I smile and wave to the crowd along with the rest of the girls. I know we're all disappointed, no one more than me, but at least we tried.

Sometimes, it's all you can do.

We link hands and bow, and watch as the first-place team receives a trophy taller than their coach.

Coming in second means no Nationals for us. Everything I was aiming for, that I had been so sure of three months ago, has completely fallen apart.

My cheer career is over. This was my last chance at glory, and I blew it.

* * *

On the way home, I think of the other good thing in my life that I wrecked. When I first met Royce, I thought he was a total player. He was so confident when we met, and no one that rich and handsome isn't a player, right?

But when he told me about Carrie, he also told me about other girls. Sure, he's had a number of girlfriends. (Six. But who's counting? Me.) But he claimed that four of them were girls who walked home with him between grades two through seven. He said they only held hands. No kisses. No actual dates. Because each one walked with him at least twice, he counted them as girlfriends.

That one made me laugh.

The fifth one was a “real” girlfriend, but they only went out for a month.

So I guess he didn't have as much experience with girls as I thought.

It's Christmas vacation, and I can't get him out of my mind as I go between reading trashy novels, trying to get over losing at Regionals, and helping Mom with her work. She started working at Millie's old firm the other day.

I told Royce I needed time to figure out my own life, but all I can do is think of him in Aspen. He's probably at some ski resort with those beautiful European girls who know how to snowboard down giant mountains. He probably won't be lonely for long.

He hasn't texted or called, but maybe that's because he's keeping his promise. It's still early during winter break, and I'm hoping he'll break down and text me. I'm stubborn. I don't want to be the one to break down first. So I help Mom, babysit my brothers, and decorate the house for Christmas. Kayla tries to cheer me up, and we spend afternoons baking cookies and shopping for presents.

I miss him though. I miss telling him about my life and hearing about his.

Instead, I fill out my Stanford application, and I send them the same essay I wrote for the National Scholarship but tweaked a little to answer their question. Maybe I'm delusional, but I want to hold on to some kind of hope that the future I want is still out there and within reach. I can't lose my focus like I did at Regionals. I have to stay in the game.

Mom's started working for Millie, and while she was nervous at first, she's much more confident now. They have her working data entry, and she practices her typing skills when she's not at the office. At least we're not as worried about money anymore.

* * *

I turn eighteen in the middle of Christmas break. Both Royce and I have birthdays within a week of each other, and now we won't be celebrating together like we'd planned. I end up deciding to just have a quiet birthday celebration with my family.

I should have known I wouldn't get away with that. The night before my actual birthday, Kayla and the team surprise me and take me out to CPK, where we get large barbecue pizzas and Chinese chicken salads. They put candles on the molten chocolate cake and sing “Happy Birthday” really loudly. It's a fun night, and I'm glad I have my friends. For a while, I'm able to forget my problems.

At home on the day, Mom decorates the house with party favors in silver and white, my favorite colors, and Dad lets me blast my favorite music over the TV's sound system. I sit next to Lola Cherry at the kitchen table, watching Mom put the finishing touches on lunch. I've specially requested
lumpia
and pancit. It's my birthday, and I figure I can eat what I want.

“What did you get me for my birthday?” I ask Lola Cherry.

“Same as last year,” Lola says like she's bored.

“You're going to hit my brothers with your cane?”

“No. Though they need it.”

“Hey!” Danny yells. “I didn't do anything!”

Lola whacks him on the tush with her cane faster than a bolt from the blue. “Don't yell at your Lola,” she says.

“I wasn't.” Danny rubs his rear, then steps into the safe zone, one cane's length away. I laugh, feeling warm all over.

“Where's your brother?” she asks.

“Why?” Danny says.

“Because he needs one now. It should always be even.”

“Isko!” Danny yells in mad laughter.

I laugh as I go answer the door. It's Millie. She hugs me and hands me a present. “Happy birthday,” she says. “It's just a little something.”

I open the gift to find a leather-bound picture album with gold filigree. “It's gorgeous—thank you so much! Come meet some of my family.”

I take her elbow and lead her into the kitchen to meet Lola, but there's no introduction needed. It's as if they're continuing a conversation from another life. How do old women do this? Put them into a room, and they're like sisters.

“I can't believe these knuckleheads,” Lola says to her. “They're just like my grandchildren in Manila. Always causing trouble.” Then she looks at me, though my brothers are laughing and dancing just out of cane's reach. “Especially this one.”

“What did
I
do?” I laugh.

“I understand.” Millie sits down. “Who keeps this younger generation in line if not us? I always keep something close, just to threaten them.”

My brothers laugh. They're still dancing out of Lola's reach.

“Here,” Lola starts to hand her cane to Millie, though we all know she's pretending.

Millie is clearly an expert at this and holds out her hand as if about to take Lola's cane. “You want me to take a swat at 'em?”

“My hand's getting tired,” Lola says, and just like that both women are laughing hysterically.

“You know, when I was your age,” Millie says to me, “I had a relative like Lola Cherry.”

“Was she as beautiful?” Lola says.

Both women start laughing again.

“No,” Millie says, “and it was a he. Uncle George resembled a potato, but he could snap your rear hide faster than a buffalo stampede.”

“I like him,” Lola says. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

Millie bursts into laughter and holds out her hand as if she's going to address that in a moment. “The thing is,” she says through her giggles, “he was blind!”

Both women roar. As they do, I set the table and Mom puts the lumpia and pancit in the center along with plates of boiled pork and vegetables.

“That's good aim for a blind man,” Lola says in amazement.

“It was,” Millie says. “And he did have a brother. He was blind too. They had contests to see how many of us they could whack on birthdays and holidays.”

Just when I think both women are done laughing, Lola says, “I changed my mind. I don't want either of them for a boyfriend. I need a man to see all of my beauty.”

Mom hands me a hot plate as the two women howl. “Millie should come keep Lola Cherry company more often,” she says with a smile.

Royce never even had the chance to meet Millie or Lola Cherry, I realize, and I bet he'd like both of them. I kept him separate from my friends, my family, not only because I wanted to be alone with him, but also because I was worried about him getting to know everything about me. I was keeping him at arm's length. But I wish now that I'd been much more open from the beginning.

I
like you, Jas. I don't care what you are. I just want to be with you.

If he doesn't care where I'm from or what I am, why can't I do the same for him?

* * *

It's Christmas Eve when my parents finally hear back from an immigration lawyer. Dad thinks the fees will be too expensive, and even though I was able to get a few fee waivers for my college applications, I still cost my parents more money this month than I normally would. No one told me how expensive applying to colleges would be. It's crazy how everyone expects you to go to the best colleges but then no one tells you how to get there.