Something in Between (30 page)

40

Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations.
I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.

—LOUISA MAY ALCOTT

ON MONDAY I
tell Kayla the good news. “Are you serious?” Kayla says, banging on the metal as she tries to pop open her gym locker. “I can go to the party?”

“I didn't actually hear it from Dylan. Julian asked. But Lo said it's fine.”

“Good enough for me,” she says, finally opening her locker and grabbing a brush to run through her hair.

“I figured it was,” I say. “Just do me a favor and stop calling him.”

“I did,” she says, pulling out some tangles. “He actually texted me once.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing really.”

“Come on, tell me,” I say, sitting on the locker room bench. “I'm just curious.”

“He said he misses me.”

“You don't believe him?” I ask.

She puts her hair up and closes the locker. “It's hard to feel I deserve it. I put him through a lot of pain.”

“You don't have to deserve love,” I say to Kayla. “You just get it.”

Kayla and I head outside toward the parking lot. “Will he even talk to me at the party?”

“It doesn't really matter, because you're getting a chance.
You
have to talk to
him
. You can't expect him to do all the work,” I say. If anything, that's what I've learned from my own relationship. You've got to row the boat together.

* * *

Royce drives Kayla and me to Lo's party. I tell him he has to because Kayla likes to drink, so she shouldn't be driving herself or anyone home. Also, if the party goes south for her, let's say, if she trashes a lamp or a guitar because of Dylan, then we need to be able to pull her out of there. Royce sort of thinks it's all funny, but I want him there with me. Kayla tells her family that she's spending the night at my place.

“Have to keep my options open,” Kayla says in the car. “Hey, Royce, how come we never hang out with
your
friends?”

Whoa, where did that come from? Why is she attacking him all of a sudden? I'm about to defend him when Royce answers her.

“I don't have many,” he says with a shrug. “I don't like a lot of people.”

“Oh,” Kayla says. “So how's Mason?”

“Don't even go there,” I say.

“I was just curious.” Kayla applies a dark layer of lipstick. She looks great. All pink. Dress, nails, everything. If ever there was a color meant for her, dark pink's the one.

“He's fine,” Royce says, steering around a corner. “He's back at school.”

“It's okay,” Kayla reassures me. “I'm over what's-his-name.”

“Just try to have fun,” I say.

“I will,” she says. Kayla turns her attention to Royce again. “No, I'm serious, how come you never bring any friends over? Embarrassed to take your Filipino girlfriend from the Valley around your rich white private school buddies?” she says, slurring her words a little.

“For your information, I'm taking Jasmine to prom,” says Royce, sounding highly irritated.

“Kayla,” I say, suddenly realizing what's going on and why she's so abrasive. “You've been drinking.”

“How d'you know?” she says.

“Listen to what you're saying! You're also starting to slur. What did you have?”

“Half a glass of Dad's favorite bourbon. I drank it just before I left.” She smiles.

“Oh God,” I say. “You need to slow down. Be nice. Or at least play nice.”

“It's all right, Jas,” Royce says, accelerating as the light changes. He looks at Kayla, sitting in the backseat, through the rearview mirror. “I can handle it.”

“Don't you sound grown-up?” Kayla laughs. “Big Royce, ready for college. No more school uniforms.”

“Hey, you don't get to talk to him that way! And I sure am glad you're not driving,” I say to her. “Kayla, get it together. I'm worried about you. Don't act like this.” I'm starting to have a bad feeling about tonight.

* * *

The party is Lo's biggest shindig yet. There are so many people in her house, we have to squeeze our way through. Honestly, I don't know where her parents are all the time. There's no way I could ever have these at my house without my entire family being there too.

In the living room, members from Bob Marley Lives are rocking out to The Clouds, a band who has traveled from out of town this morning to open for this gig. The lead singer has a sincere, melodic voice, and Lo whispers that he's recently solo-toured Australia, backpacking through the countryside for a whole year. I wish I could feel that adventurous about the possibility of moving back to Manila.

When Kayla sees Dylan, she runs straight to the bathroom.

“I'll be right back,” I tell Royce, and head after her. I knock on the bathroom door. “It's Jasmine. Let me in.”

The door pops open. Kayla is pale, drunk. “Why am I here?” she asks. I slip in, and she closes the door behind me. “I already threw up. Do you have some gum? No, wait.” I hold back her hair as she throws up into the toilet again, then flushes. I knew this was going to happen.

I hold out some toilet paper for her to wipe her mouth. “You drank more than you said, didn't you?”

She catches her breath. “It was a pretty full glass.” She heaves again, groans. “Maybe I should go home. I feel awful. I probably look terrible too.”

“You can do that. We'll take you home—or to my house.” I rub her back. “Or, we can go out there and get some water and hope you start feeling better. What do you say? You don't have to face Dylan if you don't want to. Come on. You done yakking?”

“I think so,” she says, still breathing hard. “Okay. Let's do this... No, wait,” she says, turning toward the toilet, heaving again.

When we finally return to the party, Royce is doing his usual, leaning against a doorway, watching everyone. God, he is sexy—and he's mine. What I did to deserve him, I don't know, but I thank the gods all the same. He smiles at me, then takes one look at Kayla and raises his eyebrow.

“That bad?” Kayla asks. She looks like she's about to fall over.

We go to the kitchen and I give her a glass of water. “You'll feel better soon,” I say. “Drink the whole thing.”

As Kayla sips out of the glass, Dylan walks over. “Hi,” he says. “You okay?”

Kayla stares at the bottom of her glass. She can barely pay attention.

Dylan looks her up and down. “Is she drunk?”

“Pretty much,” Royce says.

Dylan glances at Royce. “Your brother make her this way?” he says. “She hardly drank this much before. She wouldn't even share a beer with me most of the time.”

“Look, man, I didn't have anything to do with it,” Royce says.

“Right, sure,” Dylan says, putting his arm around Kayla. “You need to lie down,” he tells her. “Come on.” He leads her to the nearest couch and tells the two guys sitting there to move.

“Thank you, baby,” Kayla says, propped up against the couch pillows.

I turn to Royce. “I guess she's in good hands.”

Royce doesn't look happy though. “What's his problem?” He cocks his head in Dylan's direction.

“Let it go,” I say, not wanting him to fight with my friends.

Dylan glances toward us. “You got a problem?” he asks Royce.

“No, Dylan, he doesn't,” I say, pulling him away.

But Royce responds. “I'm not Mason,” he says loudly. “You know, just because my dad is who he is, doesn't mean I'm a jerk.”

“It's not like that,” I whisper fiercely, wishing he wouldn't raise his voice. “He was just hurt by her. Your brother's an easy target.”

“I don't care!” Royce says. “I'm not my brother.”

Dylan and a couple of others have noticed Royce's outburst. They come over.

“Everything okay, Jas?” Dylan asks.

“Of course she's fine—she's my girlfriend,” Royce answers angrily. “What's it to you?”

“Well, Jas is my friend too, and it just so happens that I've got a problem with people like you,” Dylan says, brushing his long blond hair out of his eyes.

Royce steps toward Dylan and pushes up his shirtsleeves. “And who are people like me?” He's tense, and there's a dangerous glint in his dark eyes.

I'm anxious to keep them from attacking each other. I don't want Royce to fight with my friends even if I'm proud of him for standing up for himself.

“Why don't you just get out of here,” Dylan says. “You're bothering people.”

“Dylan! Don't be rude!” I say. “Stop it! Both of you!”

“You have a problem with me? You don't even know me!” Royce says, jabbing a finger toward Dylan.

“Royce,” I plead. I know I can't do anything about Dylan, but I can try to get Royce to calm down before the evening is ruined. “Stop. What are you trying to prove?”

“Man. You're just a fake,” Dylan says, then nods toward me. “The minute Jas is shipped off to the Philippines you'll forget all about her. Guys like you are all the same.”

That does it. Royce takes a swing at Dylan, who takes the hit and throws one back, connecting with the right side of Royce's face, sending him to the floor. I scream at them to stop, but Royce wipes his chin, gets up, and charges Dylan with a waist tackle.

“Stop!” I keep yelling. It always seems romantic in movies when guys fight over girls, or for their honor. But this is just stupid. I'm mad at them both for letting it get out of hand.

As they go crashing into a bookshelf I hover around Kayla. I try to cover her in case they come flying our way. “Royce!” I scream. “Dylan! STOP!” No one listens. The two are tumbling over each other. Royce lands a punch, then Dylan rolls on top and gets his own punches in.

By the time Lo rushes into the room, Dylan and Royce are on their feet again, except other guys at the party are holding them both back. I'm mortified. I can't even look at Royce.

“Screw you guys,” Royce spits. “Let me go.”

“Yeah, let him go so he can run home to Beverly Hills,” Dylan says, bleeding from his nose.

Royce's mouth drips blood from a cut. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“I'm with you,” Dylan says. “Let's finish this.”

Lo, fuming, gets in both their faces. “Are you losers done? The only one who's going to finish this is me, right now. I'll kick you both out.”

“Man, let me go,” Royce says, jerking against the guys tightening their grips on him.

“Let him go,” Dylan says. “He messed up my jacket! I'm going to kill him!”

“Come get me, then!” Royce says, taunting him. “I'm right here!”

I've never seen Lo angrier. She's whirling and screaming at both of them. “I said shut up! I'm not letting either one of you idiots ruin this party. You want to fight? Go down to Stoney Point! I don't want any fighting here. I expected better from you, Dylan!”

Royce is breathing heavily. Dylan too.

Lo gets into Dylan's face. “You're done. Got it?”

Dylan starts to complain, but she cuts him off. “Enough!” she says. “You gonna chill? Do you really want to leave your band hanging? Or embarrass yourself any further?”

Dylan thinks for a moment. He looks down, as if considering his options. “Yeah. I'm done. Sorry, Lo.”

After a nod from Lo, the boys holding Dylan let go. She moves over to Royce. “What about you, pretty boy? Done with your temper tantrum? I think you owe each other an apology.”

“An
apology
?” Royce says.

Lo doesn't move. “Yeah,” she says. “Apologize to each other for fighting. What? Is that more difficult than throwing fists? Too complicated for you guys?”

It looks like Royce wants to punch her too for a second. Then he looks at me. With my gaze, I plead with him to let it go and do what Lo says, for me. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I'm cool. Sorry for making a mess of your party.” He looks at me. “Sorry, Jas.”

When he looks at me, I know what this is about, why he was so ready to fight. He's angry about everything—the deportation trial, the leaked
Politico
article, but most of all, he's angry about the reality of losing me and not being able to do anything about it.

The guys holding on let go. Royce stretches his shoulders a little and wipes the blood off his mouth. He walks up to Dylan, who turns wary eyes on him. “Sorry,” Royce says, and it almost sounds like he means it.

“Yeah, man,” Dylan says. “Sorry too. We're cool.”

“Yeah, no worries,” says Royce.

They briefly shake hands and miraculously, it seems everything is settled and no one is mad anymore. As quickly as it started, it's over. I'll never understand boys.

Just then Kayla wakes up. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

41

I'm an immigrant and I will stay an immigrant forever.

—JUNOT DIAZ

I GET KAYLA
some more water and make sure she's okay, then I go look for Royce. I find him outside, sitting with Dylan. Wait. What?

“Man, you gotta really get out there with your music, see the world,” Royce says, taking a long pull from his beer. “Ever been to Copenhagen? The music scene there is wild. You need to check it out.”

“Yeah, that sounds cool. We want to tour everywhere, even Canada.”

They both laugh as if this is a huge joke. It's so weird how boys practically want to kill each other one moment, then they're best friends the next.

“You guys having fun out here?” I ask drily, trying to sound annoyed.

“Hey, babe.” Royce looks up. “Here,” he says, tossing me his car keys.

He's way off, but I catch them anyway. “What do you want me to do with these?”

“You have to drive. I'm wasted. Both of us are.”

“Really?” I ask, trying not to freak out. What is he doing? He knows I can't drive!

Dylan holds up his beer. “We were getting to know each other. You know what, your boyfriend's pretty cool, Jas.”

“I can't believe you guys are so drunk. Your band is supposed to play,” I say, a little exasperated.

“Not to worry,” Dylan says. “I have the set partially memorized.”

“Partially?” I say, shaking my head, while Royce laughs his head off.

* * *

The music is a disaster. Doesn't matter. We're all having fun. Even the guys from The Clouds are having a great time, laughing it up. At first Julian was mad at Dylan and they had a few words. But Julian figures it's just a drunken jam session at this point, and though he normally doesn't drink and perform, he ends up tipping back several beers to join in the fun. Everyone takes things easy. Kayla's even up again after having slept things off. She's still slurring her words a little, but now she seems to be doing all right.

At one point Julian pauses at the microphone. The rest of the band stops playing. “Hey, everybody,” he says. “First off, I need a break from this terrible music we're playing.”

Everyone laughs at him. Lo shakes her head.

“More!” says Kayla.

“You'll get more,” Julian says. “But I wanted to give a big thanks to Dylan for showing both his strong and sensitive side in the same night.”

Royce is drunk as hell and lifts his beer. Dylan thumps his instrument and laughs.

These crazy boys. I'll miss them. Not just Royce.

Julian still isn't finished. “Finally, I want to say congratulations to all of you high school pukes who'll soon be getting on with the next phase of your life.” He takes a drink. Guzzles his beer actually, which slightly grosses me out. If this is what college is like I'll actually attend fewer parties, I tell myself. I'm enjoying the celebration, but having this much drama all the time is just too much. Julian continues, “Lo, thanks for all the kick backs. You're my number one. I love you. I'm looking forward to our many adventures. We'll probably be at some gnarly protests in the coming year.”

Lo smiles. She's beaming up at him. I'm so happy for her. This is what she wants, and she's going for it. Doesn't matter that it's not the same thing I would do for myself. This is her life. And she's happy.

“And one more thing,” Julian says. “This next song, though I promise you it is going to be a total mess, goes out to Jasmine de los Santos. Whether you leave or stay. We love you.”

They play me my favorite Bob Marley song, “Three Little Birds.” At the chorus, everyone sings along, “Every little thing is gonna be all right!”

* * *

I'm still high from the song they played. I love my friends. Kayla's less than half-awake. She and Dylan talked a little and partially made up, but I told him I wanted to bring her back to my house for the night. They can talk more tomorrow. Royce is completely awake, but there's no way he can drive his car. It's past midnight and he's downing water, sitting in the passenger seat next to me.

“You're really going to make me drive?” I blanch.

“You've driven this car,” he says. “What are you afraid of?” He's taught me a little in the parking lot by my school because he insisted I should really learn at some point. What if there's an emergency?

“Yeah, around the block a few times,” I say. “That's different!”

“You only have ten blocks to drive,” he says. “It's nothing. Then I'll sit in the car and sober up. You don't even have to wait with me. I won't drive until I feel totally fine.”

“No way, you can sleep on the couch and drive in the morning. I'll tell my parents we all just crashed.”

I guess I really do have to drive, then. The dashboard lights are on. Headlights too. I haven't even gotten my learner's permit. I'm not so scared about driving the car as I am about getting caught without a license. If I get caught, will I get deported even sooner? I really don't want to drive, but there's no way out of this. I'm definitely not calling any of our parents.

“Did I already start the car?” I ask.

“You already started the car,” Royce says, trying not to laugh at me. “You just need to drive.”

“Okay. Yeah. I can do this,” I say, taking a deep breath.

“Just drive,” Kayla says. “You'll do fine. It's only how far? Thirty miles?”

“It's like a mile,” I say. “Maybe two.”

I start to think that maybe I should just make them walk to my house, but there's no way Kayla will make it. Her eyes are half-closed.

“Oh yeah. By the way, what happened with Dylan?” Kayla asks. “Did he and I get back together?”

“I'm not sure,” I say. “But he was very nice to you.”

“Oh good,” Kayla says. “I should text him.”

I snatch Kayla's phone from her. “Not right now. You don't want to say something stupid. And I need you to help me pay attention.”

Royce knows I'm stalling. “Will you drive already?”

I take a breath. “Yes, Mr. Blakely.” I turn the wheel, give it some gas. My hands are trembling. Why am I so afraid? Everyone knows how to drive except for me. If there's ever anything I'm a big baby about, it's this, but Royce has been a patient teacher. He always points out we're not doing anything wrong, since I practice in a parking lot and I'm not driving on the road.

“You can go faster,” Royce says. “You're not even going ten miles an hour.”

“That's scary,” I say. “What if I lose control?”

“Oh my God. You're not the drunk one,” he says. “You really don't want us to drive.”

Still, I make the car crawl along. I
do not
want to crash a car that can be associated with Congressman Blakely. Knowing my luck, the whole awful thing would end up on the morning news.

“This could take hours,” Royce growls. “You can't go this slow, Jas.”

“I'm not going to go any faster,” I say. “I wasn't expecting this to be driver's education with a drunk instructor.”

“You should have your license already,” Royce complains.

“Well, I can't fix that at two in the morning. So help me out!”

Royce leans back in his seat. “I'll teach you some more this summer,” he says, forgetting or in denial that I have to leave after graduation, which is two months away.

“Why don't you just navigate,” I say.

Right then I look at the rearview mirror and see a police car flashing its lights at us. I slam on the brakes, terrified, my heart in my throat.

“What the hell?” Royce says. “He must be checking on Lo's party.”

I knew this was going to happen. Just like the last time.

Bye-bye, America. Bye-bye, life.

“Goddamn it! I told you I was going to screw up!” I'm terrified.

“Chill out, calm down. Pull over,” Royce says as the police cruiser makes a loud
bw-w-wip
. “You weren't drinking. You're fine.”

“I'm
fine
?” I say, pulling over. “I don't have a driver's license! My family could end up in a detention center. Who knows if I'll ever see
you
again?! Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Maybe I should do th' talking,” Kayla slurs.

“Shut up, Kayla,” Royce and I both say. Royce looks like he's sobering up, especially when he realizes what's at stake.

It feels like an eternity as the officer gets out of his car and walks up to the window. He knocks on it and I roll it down.

“Good evening,” he says, eyeing all of us.

I swallow my nerves. This can't be harder than performing in front of thousands at Nationals. “How are you, Officer? Busy night?”

“I'm fine,” he says cheerfully. “But your friends there don't look so hot.”

“They're not,” I say.

“How come? You all been drinking at that party down the street?”

Did the officer bust Lo's house? Is everyone at the party in trouble too?

“That's what they were doing,” I say. “I just stopped by to get them.”

“So you weren't drinking? Just your underage pals?” He looks at me closely. “Why, pray tell, were you driving so slow, then? You were twenty miles under the speed limit. You could have caused an accident.”

Just then Royce opens the door and throws up in the gutter. He hacks so hard I think it's going to wake up the entire neighborhood. This couldn't get any worse.

The police officer gets a whiff. He wrinkles up his nose.

“That's why,” I say. “I have three blocks to make it to the safe zone. Any false move, as you can see, will be a catastrophe to this leather interior, which will then be a catastrophe to my life. Look at this car. If anything happens to it, I'm dead meat.”

The officer takes a closer look. “You know, kids, I could take the two of you in for underage drinking.”

“Yes, sir,” Kayla and Royce say.

I can't imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Blakely would do when they found out their
good
son was in the drunk tank for the night. Kayla's parents wouldn't be too happy either, and mine would skin me alive just for being an accessory.

“You know you're lucky to have a friend like her,” the officer says, motioning to me. He holds up a finger. “You get one shot at life. Just one. And when you mess up, you need to think, ‘Am I taking advantage of my friends for my own selfish pleasure?'”

I can't believe he's not asking for my license or registration.

Royce is looking especially pale again. “Yes, Officer,” he gurgles.

“Looks like you need to go,” the officer says. “He's not looking so good. Get straight home. And for goodness' sakes, drive safely. This is a nice car.”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

The officer shakes his head and gets back in his car and drives away. Finally, I pull away from the curb.

Royce puts a comforting hand on my leg. “I'm sorry, Jas. I wasn't thinking.”

I shake my head. I'm still so scared that my heart is thumping. What does it matter anyway? We're being deported.

“It won't happen again,” he says. “I promise.”

It can't. It's too scary. I can't take any more risks like this. I don't think my heart can take it.