Something in Between (31 page)

42

For unlike my mother, I did not believe I could be anything I wanted to be. I could only be me.

—AMY TAN,
THE JOY LUCK CLUB

IT'S FINALLY APRIL
1. D-Day. Acceptance day, when all the colleges send emails telling us our fates. I've been admitted to two colleges so far: Northwestern and Pomona. But neither can offer me financial aid because of my legal status. So every time I click on an email and read that I've been accepted into a school, I don't jump around joyously, since not one of them has determined that I'm eligible for any kind of tuition assistance.

That doesn't mean I don't feel some kind of momentary exhilaration. I feel proud of myself for getting this far. But it already feels like I'm missing out, like these acceptances aren't meant for me, but for someone else worthy of attending those colleges. Some other person with my name.

I'm starting to feel like I'm not the real Jasmine de los Santos. I'm her doppelgänger. The one who isn't American, the one who didn't become a National Scholar.

Then I see the one I've been waiting for. The one I want. An email from Stanford's Admissions office. This is heavy. Even more important to me than the National Scholarship letter.

I click on the email and it opens.

Oh my God.

I don't believe it. “I got into Stanford!” I yell. The letter says they will be sending financial aid information in the next mailing, which brings me a crazy burst of hope, but who knows what that means exactly. Maybe they're just sending me the forms to fill out. The letter doesn't mention that I've been awarded any financial aid.

Mom has been packing boxes. She gives me a sad sort of hug and is very subdued in her response. “I'm very proud of you. I only wish I could say that you would definitely be able to go in the fall.”

“If we could only stay... This would be a great opportunity. Best of all of them.”
And Royce is going to Stanford too
, I can't help but think. We could be together like we've been talking about.

“Let me see that,” Dad says. He's just come in to grab another box. He's been stacking them in the garage.

I show him the letter, waiting while he reads for himself.

Dear Jasmine:

I take great pleasure in offering you admission to Stanford University. Congratulations! We know that you will bring something original and extraordinary to the intellectual community of our campus. We look forward to having you as a part of Stanford. We hope you accept!

You clearly have the intellectual energy, discipline and imagination to flourish at Stanford. Your distinguished academic and extracurricular achievements captured our attention as we read through nearly 20,000 applications.

Tell your family and friends and take the time to learn more about us as you make your decision. Please thank those teachers and counselors who have been your allies, who recommended you. They are in your cheering section and have played a part in this good news.

Our warmest wishes,

Joseph M. Bellow

Dean of Admissions

Dad hands it back. “Great, Jas. Is there a college you didn't get into?”

“Lots, Daddy, but only because I didn't apply to them,” I say happily. My heart is beating hard. I want to go to Stanford so bad. More than anything, I mean, aside from staying in America,
this
is what I want. “But I want to go here. This is my dream.”

“I know, sweetheart, I wish I could tell you that you can,” he says, waiting for Mom to tape a box. He says to her, “You going to take all day? I could take a nap while I wait.”

“Maybe you should,” Mom says. “You're too cranky.”

Dad grumbles.

All I can think of is going to Stanford and everything it means, all the doors that are going to be open for me. This is everything I've been dreaming of since I first thought about going to college. What if I wasn't deported? What could I do then? What would my life look like? My stomach hurts with the possibilities.

Dad shakes his head at Mom for getting the tape tangled.

“But we don't have to leave yet,” I say stubbornly. “Can't we wait to see if Mr. Alvarado finds anything from the judge about our visa extension?”

“Neneng,”
he says. “We're selling the house. We'll have to be out of here no matter what. There will be nowhere for us to live.”

“But even if we sell the house we can move somewhere else. We can all live in Oakland or something. You can be closer to me.”

Danny and Isko are passing through. “The A's are cool,” Danny says. “And the Raiders.”

“Since when did you get so interested in football?” Dad asks, shrugging his shoulders. “Forget about sports. Use your brain, like your sister.” He taps the letter, which I'm still holding. “Why are you so in denial?”

My comeback is fiery. “Why do you give up so easily?”

“We've had this discussion,” Dad says. “Besides, how can we afford it?”

“Stanford is supposed to be need-blind even to international students,” I say, smacking Danny in the head with the letter for still smirking at me. “I'm going to fill out the financial aid forms when they arrive.”

“You'll be wasting your time,” Dad says.

“You're so negative, Daddy,” I say. “This is why you should watch sports. It's not over until time is out. I still have hope. If not for all of us, at least for me.”

Dad seems a little hurt by my comment, but Danny is suddenly excited. He starts jabbering about an NHL game he was watching on television. “I've seen the Los Angeles Kings down two goals come back and score three in the last minute to win.”

Dad gives Danny a look. “Why don't you go finish packing your room?”

I pat Danny on the head. “Thanks, Dan,” I say. This is one of the rare moments he's come to my defense. My brothers may be quiet about deportation and show a kind of excitement for the adventure, but I know they would be happier staying here. That's how cool they are. They may act selfish, but really they just want to please Mom and Dad. It's just in our genes.

* * *

Millie is almost as happy for me as Royce is. She's glowing as she reads the letter. I've propped her up on a bunch of her pillows so she can breathe better. It doesn't sound like she's improved that much, but she doesn't have to breathe with the oxygen supplement all the time.

“This is the most beautiful news,” she says. “A lifelong dream is being fulfilled with one letter. Isn't that amazing, how that happens?”

“I'm excited,” I admit. “I keep having this feeling that I can actually go. But so much has to happen for it to become a reality. Every day, I wake up thinking about how, if the money doesn't come, I can still hide out somewhere and secretly attend all my classes. I'm such a nerd. I love going to school that much.”

Millie laughs. “That would certainly be adventurous. But to be homeless on top of everything else would be far too difficult.”

“I guess,” I say, giving up the fantasy.

“But it doesn't mean you don't keep fighting, Jasmine. We experience certain things that change us for a reason. It's not what happens to us that matters. What matters is how we react to it.”

43

Hope is a waking dream.

—ARISTOTLE

LOS ANGELES PRIVATE
schools have their proms later than public schools, so a week later, Royce picks me up to take me to his prom. Spring has come in full bloom in the city. The purple jacaranda trees are bursting with color, and the smell of orange blossoms fills the air. A few days before, we went to my prom, hanging out with the cheer team and triple-dating with Kayla and Dylan, Lo and Julian. It was fun and low-key, at the ballroom of the local Hyatt. We all went to Denny's after. I know Royce's prom is going to be a much bigger deal.

The Eastlake Prep prom has a 1920s Jazz Age theme, à la
The Great Gatsby
. Royce showed me the dance bids when they arrived earlier. The gilded invitations are gorgeous, with black backgrounds, gold art deco designs, and bold white lettering. The thing is, though, that the location is secret. We're supposed to meet at his school, then they'll let us know where to go for the prom.

I'm expecting big yellow school buses to be lined up in front of Eastlake Prep to take us to the secret location, but instead there are rows of limousines and smaller, older luxury cars that are taking students and driving away.

For an early graduation present, Millie said she would buy my prom dress. She took Mom, Kayla, and me all over Beverly Hills in search of the perfect dress. I don't even think looking for my wedding dress someday will be such a big deal. It took hours, but finally I found the perfect gown.

Now I'm looking at my reflection in the tinted window of a posh black Bentley that's about to take Royce and I to the dance. The dress's white beaded bodice and sequins sparkle under the streetlights. I shift a little to check the asymmetrical hemline, which is just long enough to feel formal but short enough to show a little leg. I feel like a jazz-age Cinderella.

“You look very beautiful tonight, Jas,” Royce says, a serious look on his face. His hands are shaking a bit when he slips the corsage over my wrist.

I want to make fun of him for being so formal, but I take pity on the boy and just say thank-you. “You don't look too bad either,” I tell him with a smile.

In his black tux with gold cuff links, he's the picture of dashing, and it reminds me of the National Scholar dinner, which already seems like a lifetime ago. He opens the door and helps me inside the Bentley, and the driver follows some of the other cars onto the freeway toward downtown Los Angeles.

* * *

Royce and I are standing on the rooftop of the Standard Hotel and looking over the gorgeous, twinkling city lights in the distance. We're taking a break from dancing. I've met a bunch of people he's friendly with, who seem nice enough, and seemed happy to meet me. I wonder if he just doesn't give anyone a chance to be his friend. He's drinking punch, but I'm sipping a glass of water. That's the only downside of a white gown. You have to be careful when you eat or drink anything, and you have to be super careful about sitting down
anywhere
.

“Remember the night in D.C.?” Royce asks.

“Of course I do,” I say, smiling. “I wasn't so sure about you then.”

“What? You didn't fall in love with me immediately?” He puts hands to his chest as if I'm giving him a heart attack. “Wasn't I the best-looking guy there?”

He's a little peacocky about his looks, which is endearing. “Perhaps,” I say airily. “But it took me a long time to fall in love with you—a whole night.” One of the best nights of my life.

Royce takes my hand and I know he's remembering too. “Sometimes I think about who I should thank that we met. God? Destiny? My uncle for getting in a car accident on Topanga?”

“That's terrible!” I playfully slap him on the arm, then pull him close. “I'm sorry I'm so difficult sometimes.”

“There's nothing to apologize for,” Royce says, leaning his chin on my shoulder. We're so close, I can feel his breath against my neck. “You helped me figure out what I want in life. You give me courage to be who I am.”

I start to choke up. His words make me want to cry.

“Oh man,” he says. “My goal was definitely not to make my girlfriend cry on my prom night.”

“Shush,” I say. “Just kiss me.”

* * *

Sunday night, Royce's dad is in town and we're supposed to have dinner with his family. I arrive early at the restaurant, since Dad was able to drive me—he had an errand on this side of town. I sit by the chairs in front of the hostess's desk and wait. A few minutes later, I hear a familiar voice and cringe. It's Mason, and he has a smug grin on his face.

“Well, if it isn't my fellow valedictorian,” he says. Royce must have told him. “What, don't look so surprised. Just because I don't look like a nerd...”

“Did you give a speech?”

“No, I actually missed my own graduation. I was passed out from a party the night before. My parents were so pissed.” He laughs as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

He's such a tool. “How's USC?” I ask.

“Boring as paint. But the girls are hot. You could give them a run for their money though. What are you doing with my brother anyway? Aren't you bored yet? Did you know he didn't learn to read until fourth grade?”

“Why are you so mean to him?” I say, utterly disgusted. What on earth is wrong with this guy? “Royce is your brother.”

“You serious? That idiot is related to me?” he says, getting up to say hello to his parents who've just entered the restaurant. “Sit next to me at the table,” he says, as if I would ever do such a thing.

* * *

I stay quiet at dinner. I'm a little shy around Royce's family after everything that happened with the private bill and the news leak. It's awkward, but everyone is being polite. Except Mason, who keeps leering at me or laughing obnoxiously in my direction. I can tell that Royce is about to lose it, but is trying to keep the peace.

Mr. Blakely keeps boasting about Royce attending Stanford, and Royce reminds him that I got in too.

Congressman Blakely cuts off a huge chunk of meat from his prime rib. “Never hear anything negative about Stanford, do you. The place is a dream. We'll get you set up in a real nice apartment too,” he tells Royce.

“I want to live in the dorms, Dad, like everyone else,” says Royce.

“You're getting him a better place than mine?” Mason frowns.

“Your place is nice,” Debra says. “You're practically on campus.”

“It's so slummy in downtown LA,” Mason complains. “I'm getting really tired of that apartment.”

“You'd better not be,” Congressman Blakely says. “We pay good money for your tuition and residence.”

Mason winks at me. “I'm trying hard. But all the foreigners around campus really drag the whole area down.”

Debra looks horrified. “Mason, your grandfather was from Mexico City. And diversity has always been a strength of LA's.”

“Nice PR, Mom. You sound like some bleeding heart,” Mason snickers.

I get up to go use the restroom. “Excuse me,” I say. “I'll be right back.”

Congressman Blakely ignores me. “Mason, did you hear back from Columbia for next year?”

I find a bench near the restrooms and sit for a few minutes, thinking about how I wish I could go somewhere alone with Royce. Just when I'm about to head back, I run into Royce looking for me.

“Let's go,” he says, as if he's read my mind.

“You're walking out on your family dinner?” I ask, shocked.

He doesn't answer; he just takes my hand, and we walk out of the restaurant and don't look back.

* * *

The Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier spins in rotating neon pinwheels of greens, blues, purples, and reds against the night sky. You can't see the alternating red and yellow buckets. You can't see the people in them, though you can hear everyone's ecstatic screams from below. The wheel flashes from a pinwheel into a star, pulsating over the ocean, lighting up the tides like the water really is glowing.

Royce and I are sitting on the beach together, still wearing our fancy dinner clothes, staring at the neon. Even though I'm glad we've escaped Mason's toxic company, I worry. What will Royce's parents think of me for walking out like that? Maybe I shouldn't hold on to him just because I can. I have to let him go.

It's not hot or cold here. No breeze at all. Just the sound of the ocean and a sort of stillness, except for all the happenings on the pier.

“I love this place,” Royce says. “There's something about the Ferris wheel and the ocean right next to each other.” He smiles at me. “Reminds me of when I was little.”

“Yeah, you've told me lots of times,” I say, teasing a little.

“I guess I have. But I don't think I've told you why. See, my parents weren't wrapped up in politics then. Dad was a businessman. He knew politicians, but his focus was more on raising our family. And Mason... There was a time when he wasn't like that. It might be hard to believe, but he was all right. I see that Ferris wheel, and I remember good times.”

The froth of a wave washes toward us but falls short.

“It's special, that's for sure,” he says. “But you're even more special to me. I want you to know that you're the love of my life.” His arm around me tightens.

I should let him go
, I think, my stomach twisting as my heart beats loudly in my chest. I'm being selfish, holding him to me. But I can't. “I love you too,” I say, holding him closer.

“So we have to talk about the future,” he says.

“What future?”

“I brought you here so you can understand that there's a part of me that loves my father even though he isn't the best father. The part of me that loves my brother, even if he can be a turd.”

I lean my head on Royce's shoulder. “I do understand. I like your Ferris-wheel story.”

“Me too,” he says. “I'm sorry I didn't say anything to Mason at dinner. I just didn't want to blow it up.”

“It's okay,” I say.

“I was glad you were there. But I'm more glad that you're here now,” he says.

“I don't want to be anywhere else,” I say, feeling happier now that we're alone together.

And then, I'm stunned. Royce stands up and pulls me to stand too. “I was going to do this at prom the other day, but I was too nervous.” He brushes the sand off his pants, then gets down on one knee. He's holding a little box, and he opens it to show me a diamond ring. “Before she died, my grandmother gave this to me to give to the person I love,” he says. “Jasmine, I love you. More than anything.”

My heart flies out of my chest. It's spinning around in the neon of the Ferris wheel. It sails from there through the darkness above the clouds.

“Royce! What are you doing!”

“I want you to stay with me always. Will you marry me?”

Now my breath is completely taken away. I'm literally on the verge of passing out. My legs have never felt anything like this. My stomach. My chest. My throat.

“We're both eighteen now,” he says, knee still in the sand. “We're in love. And this way you can stay here in America. We can be married and go to Stanford together. You'll be eligible for all those grants and loans. I want to be with you. I don't know what I'd do without you. What do you say?” He grins, happy, so beautiful to my eyes.

My heart is in my throat. I don't know what to say. We're so young, and we're still so unsure of ourselves, of who we are, who we're meant to be. What would our families think? And what would happen to my family? Would they be able to stay if I married him?

I know I love him. I can't sleep at night unless he tells me good-night. I think about him all the time, about his happiness. I can't imagine life without him. I know why he's doing this—because he can offer this from the depths of his big, generous heart. He knows this can save me, can fix all our problems.
I'll find a way
, he promised.
I'm not letting you go
. If I were in his place, if I was the one who could do this for him, I would do exactly the same thing he's doing now.

“Babe,” he says. “Um, I don't want to rush you, but my knee is starting to hurt.”

I'm on the verge of laughter or tears. I love him so much.

“Say something,” he says. “Before my leg cramps.”

“But how? When?”

“I don't know. We elope. Right away. Within a day or two.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay. What?” he asks.

“Okay, I will. Yes, Royce, I will marry you, yes,” I say, and I pull him up to stand. We're crying and laughing.

Royce shakily puts the ring on my finger and we kiss with all those neon lights spinning like luminescent flowers through the night sky.

I love him so much.

I'm going to marry him tomorrow. We'll be husband and wife, and I'll be able to stay in the country.

Everything's going to be all right, isn't it? It has to be.