Something in Between (28 page)

American Dream

I, too, am America.

—LANGSTON HUGHES

36

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.

—ALLEN GINSBERG, “AMERICA”

THE BOMB DROPS
at 8:37 a.m. during first period Calculus.

Royce sends an accusatory text.
DO YOU KNOW WHO DID THIS?

Did what?
I reply.

Oops, these...
he adds. He sends links to two
Politico
and
Fox News
articles.

I can't figure out what's going on. Is he mad at me? I click on the
Politico
article, GOP Fiasco: Majority Leader Blakely Backtracks After Criticism for Bill Favoring Illegal Immigrants.

My stomach drops as I read the article.

WASHINGTON, D.C.—A once popular U.S. representative has pulled out of writing a rare private bill seeking citizenship for a family of undocumented immigrants residing in Southern California.

U.S. Rep. Colin Blakely has been targeted by fellow lawmakers who discovered the representative's attempt to quietly write a bill that would grant citizenship to an entire family illegally in the U.S. from the Philippines.

Blakely denied the bill existed, and said there would be no rare private bill from him anytime soon. “These rumors about a private bill being written by my office will be stopped here and now,” said the congressman in Washington, D.C., early this morning. “While the U.S. is in need of immigration reform of some kind, this office won't support individual efforts with private bills.”

Politico
has learned that Congressman Blakely had personal interest in the family of five, who currently reside in Chatsworth, Calif. Sources say one of Blakely's sons is in a relationship with a member of the de los Santos family, who are illegally in the U.S. Blakely refused to answer any related questions. “My family is private when it comes to our personal life,” he said.

Blakely, one of the most powerful members of Congress, has been rumored to be losing his position within the party. He's been targeted by more extreme members for being too moderate. U.S. Rep. Mitt Schilling of Texas said, “Mr. Blakely went too far with attempting to draft a private bill. Once I found out, I called his office directly. We had words.” Schilling didn't elaborate on how he found out about the bill. He did say other congressmen supported the phone call to stop the bill.

“Why he's denying the whole thing is beyond me,” Schilling said. “We'll be getting to the bottom of this.”

Blakely said these rumors wouldn't affect his tenure as House Majority Leader. “I won't be stepping down anytime soon. I have a lot of work to do. We all do.”

Private bills are rare bills in the U.S. that are written in the support of granting individuals citizenship due to unique and insurmountable hardships...

I stop reading. I'm in shock. Just like that, the bill being drafted for my family's freedom has been swept away. Congressman Blakely has denied its entire existence. He's essentially lying to the whole world. Not to mention my family's name has been dragged through the mud as some kind of political pawn in the process.

I get another text from Royce.

royceb: My dad is in jeopardy of losing his position. You don't understand. These guys are cutthroat and they're going to use it to destroy him. They want Dad out.

I know Royce is freaking out about his dad being in trouble, but I can't feel anything beyond worry for my family and what's going to happen to us now. But I tell him to pick me up at lunch. We need to talk.

* * *

When Royce shows up, I can tell we're both silently building arguments in our heads as he drives. I know where he's going. He's decided to have it out at Stoney Point Park, an outcropping of natural rocks east of Topanga Canyon Boulevard. We have to have this talk or we're done—even if I don't end up moving to the Philippines, which now seems more and more likely.

We get out of the car and walk along the park. Finally Royce speaks first. “Did you do it? It doesn't make sense that anyone else would.”

I suddenly don't feel like walking. “Did I do what?”

“Leak the story.”

“What's wrong with you? Why would I do that? This is obviously
horrible
for my family.” Does he really think I would do such a thing? How can he? It's like I don't know him at all right now.

Also, is it wrong that I want to slap him?

“I don't know,” he says, frustrated. “To get attention, thinking it would somehow help generate sympathy for your family. Maybe the private-bill route wasn't going fast enough for you.” He runs his fingers through his hair.

“That's ridiculous,” I say. “The
Politico
article trashed my family in about five different ways. I didn't even bother with the one on
Fox News
. According to them we're worse than criminals.”

“I can't figure this out,” he says, making a poor attempt to hide his anger. “You know, if you would have just let me help you from the beginning, this wouldn't have happened. Now my dad is hated even more by Representative Schilling and his goon squad.”

I feel my face getting flushed. I hate yelling, so I try to stay calm, though my heart races. “Are you serious right now? All you care about is your dad? What about my family? What's going to happen to us? You think your father's career is going to end over this? It's a
blip
for him. But for me and my family? It'll change our entire
lives
.”

I want to throw something at him but there's nothing but rocks and I don't want to hurt him
that
badly. “I didn't do anything, Royce,” I say. “Remember, I'm the one who's going to get kicked out of the country.”

“You're right, you're right. I'm sorry, I'm upset, I wasn't thinking.”

“So it's over, isn't it? The private bill?” I want to cry but I'm also furious.

“It's dead,” he says dully. “Jas, this is politics. When things go south you have to abandon ship. My dad did what he had to do.” He rumples his hair in frustration. “I just don't understand how anyone found out. The only people who know about this are my family and yours.”

“It wasn't my family.”

“Well, it wasn't mine,” he says back.

“Are you embarrassed that the article exposed our relationship?” I ask angrily. The piece made us sound so tawdry, like I was only dating him so that I could get my hands on a green card. It made me feel dirty.

“No, of course not! I love you!” he yells.

“I love you too!” I yell back.

We're both red-faced. Royce bends his head down. “Jas, I'm so sorry. Of course it wasn't you. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm just scared right now.”

“Me too,” I say, going to him. “I'm sorry too.”

He curses emphatically.

“What do we do now?” I wail. I'm so angry about America and its toxic politics, its public servants who are supposed to help their constituents but only care about reelection.

“We'll figure it out,” he says. “You're not going anywhere.”

“You keep saying that, but it doesn't mean it's true.”

“I'll
make
it true,” he says.

We hold each other as if we'll never let go. Deportation is getting more real every day. Somehow I see beyond the Stoney Point rocks in front of us to a mirage of a coastline in the South China Sea, in Manila Bay.

Six thousand miles away from the one I love, and the one who loves me back.

37

Dare to live the life you have dreamed for yourself.
Go forward and make your dreams come true.

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON

JOURNALISTS SHOW UP
at our house for the next couple of days, but no one in our family talks to them so, after a while, they finally leave us alone. There are a few mean-spirited articles online, but soon some married senator is caught sending nude pictures of himself online to a few young female constituents, and the hungry news media moves on.

At school the next day, Kayla tells me she's called Dylan twenty times in the past forty-eight hours. “You really need to give it a rest,” I tell her. “Don't you think you're becoming a little obsessive?”

We're walking through a hallway between classes. I'm headed to English, which has been a total bore. Chaucer feels as foreign as America these days.

“I only left five messages yesterday,” Kayla says, sliding on some transparent vanilla glitter lip gloss. “I'm starting to think Mason was better than nothing.”

“Don't go there,” I say. “He's bad news and you know it.”

“I know.” She pops her lips. “But why won't Dylan forgive me?”

“People need time,” I say. “And you dumped him. What do you expect?”

“I thought I was doing him a favor breaking up with him since he was gone so much, you know, so he wouldn't have to miss me,” she says, heading toward Calculus. “I guess I just didn't want to be hurt and so I hurt him instead.”

I of all people understand that sentiment and tell her so.

Kayla stands by the open door to my class, she has a free period next and can hang around a little. “I miss him,” she says.

I squeeze her arm. “Maybe you can let him miss you a little more.”

“Why? Do I seem desperate?”

“A little,” I say, digging in my backpack for my homework. I can't figure out where I put it. “Okay, a lot.”

“So you want me to pull back?” she says. “Play chase the rabbit?”

“Yes, little bunny,” I say, finding my homework folded inside my math textbook as if I'm in grade school. I'm so disorganized lately. Although I think it's a good thing I've loosened up. I connect with people better. I don't get so worked up about small stuff.

“Just do me one favor,” she asks.

“I don't know,” I say, dropping my homework in the bin at the front of the room. “Depends.”

Kayla watches me. “What? You don't trust me?”

“Just tell me,” I say.

“Will you come with me to Lo's next get-together? I know she's having one this weekend. Bob Marley Lives is playing it.”

“Of course,” I say. “But you and Dylan really need to have a conversation before the party. Otherwise everything will be super awkward. And you won't be able to talk there that much.”

“How can I have a conversation if he won't speak to me?”

“Let me try,” I say. “I'll see what I can do. There's a chance he'll be open to talking. Right? Just don't get your hopes up. I mean, what if he's seeing someone?”

“We can fix that,” Kayla says, not accepting defeat. She twirls a lock of her curly hair and winks. “See you later.”

I say goodbye to Kayla, admiring her for never giving up on what she wants. I've always liked that about her. Then I realize, I could use some of that moxie too. And in my case, it won't just be the affections of a slacker rocker on the line.

It will be our whole life.

When I get home, I tell my dad we have to call our lawyer. I have a plan.

* * *

Mr. Alvarado's office hasn't changed. Not a photo has been moved on his wall. Half of them are still hanging crooked. Dad's reaction is the same as mine. He gazes at all the walls and squints disgustedly.

“Mr. Alvarado is Latino,” I say. “Why are you expecting Filipinos all over his walls?”

“He could hang a few more,” he says. “At least for while we're here. I wouldn't feel so small then.” As Mr. Alvarado enters the room, Dad grumbles audibly. Mom shushes him.

“So good to see you,” the lawyer says, greeting each of us. I wouldn't blame him for not being nice to Dad. “How are you getting along?”

“We're making plans to leave,” Dad says. “It's not very exciting.”

“Terrible news about that private bill,” Mr. Alvarado says. “I heard about that recently. I'm very sorry I couldn't do more.”

“Actually,” I say, surprised that I've spoken up, “there's been a development.”

“Oh?” he says. “Are you the spokesperson today?”

“Apparently so,” Dad says.

I know Dad doesn't want to be here. That's why he and Mom are happy to relinquish this role to me. “Well...” I take a breath, building up my courage. “While we were negotiating with Congressman Blakely about the private bill, he said he'd already gotten the judge in our case to grant us an extension, a visa or something, so that we could stay longer. Only thing is, once he pulled back on the bill, we have no idea what happened with the visa.”

Mr. Alvarado takes a moment. “Have you tried contacting Congressman Blakely, then?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “But his office says it's in our hands. They advised us to wait and not press the matter, actually.” I don't mention that the congressman is my boyfriend's dad. Mr. Blakely was sincerely apologetic but it was clear he was also rattled by the leak and there was nothing more he could or would do for my family.

“They said that? Politicians,” Mr. Alvarado says, shaking his head. “They duck and hide.”

“But the judge already agreed to the visa extension. We're not supposed to be deported, at least, not yet.”

“Tell me what you know,” he says.

I tell him everything I remember about the judge supposedly being pressured by Congressman Blakely to grant the stay of deportation.

Mr. Alvarado sits back, takes it all in. He coughs, clearing his throat. “I don't know if I can touch this,” he says, to our disappointment. “The judge may have already put a stop to this once Blakely backed out and denied the existence of the private bill. I don't see how you would still be entitled to that. I'm sorry. I don't think I can do anything for you.”

“Not even to call the judge to see if the visas were granted to us?” I ask, irritated.

“You chicken! You're a little hen!” Dad suddenly says.

Mr. Alvarado is shocked at Dad's words. “I don't know what you're talking about. I'm no chicken!”

“Liar! I see your feathers!” Dad points. “Right there! Under your collar!”

Mr. Alvarado, still shocked, straightens his shirt.

“Dad!” I say, turning to Mr. Alvarado. “Sir, you can see the stress this has caused. You've seen our family in the news. In fact, don't you think the media would be interested in our side of the story, especially when we tell them how our lawyer promised us a victory and encouraged us to ask for a deportation hearing? I think the exploitation of helpless immigrants for profit is a story that some news outlets would be glad to pursue.”

Mr. Alvarado's eyes seem to prickle. “Are you forcing my hand, little girl?” he says.

“Call it what you want,” I say. “You need to keep your reputation as a pro-immigrant crusader, and we need you to contact the judge and remind him to make good on his promise. You need to tell him you know all about the favors he owes Congressman Blakely, and that he better get us our visa or we'll go to the media and tell our side of the story, about how everyone has been in cahoots. They've been dying for us to talk to them. We've been quiet so far.”

“You would do that?” he says.

“We would,” I say. “It all depends though.”

“On what?” he says.

“On whether you do what's right. We're tired of being pawns.”

“And you would make me one?”

I smile sweetly.

* * *

When Dad and I get back to the car, Mom's shocked at how I handled the lawyer.

“Neneng,”
Dad says. “You almost sounded like a lawyer yourself.”

“Do you think he'll do something?” Mom says. “He seemed to start listening.”

“He has to,” I say. “Or we'll talk to those journalists who keep hounding us. They've been wanting us to talk.”

“Is that a good idea?” Mom asks.

“It would complicate things,” I admit. “But Mr. Alvarado doesn't know that.”

Dad starts laughing. “Maybe you should work in a casino, Jasmine. You're pretty good at gambling.”