Something in Between

  Royce smiles at me proudly, and I’m tickled to have impressed his father.

  “Are you continuing with cheer?” Debra asks.

  I chew on a steamed green bean. “Thinking about it. I do want to compete at the collegiate level. It might help me focus overall. Keep me healthy. But I guess that depends on whether I make the team.”

  Mrs. Blakely sips her wine. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  “At any rate,” Congressman Blakely says, lowering his voice. “I did finally talk to the judge about an extension of you know what... I have a pretty good feeling.”

  I’m quietly elated, but I don’t understand why he has to be so secretive about the extension. It’s not like any of his party leadership are hiding in the planters next to the dining tables.

  Royce prods his dad for more information. “What did he say?”

  Congressman Blakely takes a big stab of his steak. “I’m not going to talk exact details. Let’s just say I turned up the pressure and if he doesn’t take care of this right away, he won’t have my continued support when he’s up for reelection.” He takes a drink of lemon water. “It’s all about favors, son. Sometimes you have to put your foot down so these guys don’t continue to balk when you need something done.”

  “Is that what you did with the immigration reform bill?” Royce asks.

  Mr. Blakely appears agitated. “We’re not going to talk about that right now either.”

  Still, Royce doesn’t give up. “I just thought, since you’re helping Jasmine, you might want to explain why you basically killed the bill that would have helped her family in the first place.”

  I kick Royce under the table. I’m kind of impressed, but I’m also wondering why he’s doing this all of a sudden. I don’t want Congressman Blakely to think I’m ungrateful and stop helping us.

  The congressman sets down his fork rather hard. He talks with his hands, gesticulating forcefully. “Son, I don’t have to explain anything to you. I’m not going to talk about that here, or anywhere in public for that matter. So drop it, okay? This isn’t the place. You sure are aggravating enough to make a good investigative journalist.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Blakely suddenly says, waving out the window. “It’s Mason! I told him to try and join us if he could.”

  Royce reaches for my hand under the table. I squeeze his reassuringly.

  “I see there are still aliens among us,” Mason says when he arrives, and my stomach immediately drops.

  “Come on, Mason,” Royce says, raising his voice. “Why do you have to be that way? It’s not funny.”

  Mason gives me a little smile. “Ease up, little brother. She’s a smart girl. She knows I’m kidding.”

  “That’s enough, Mason,” the congressman says.

  Dinner continues, awkward and tense. Royce squeezes my hand under the table, a small comfort.

  * * *

  A week later, I see that Royce has left me a voice mail. He rarely calls, since we text all the time, so I know there must be big news. I hold the phone close to my ear as I walk home, trying to block out the noise with my hand.

  “The judge is allowing your family a temporary visa!” he says. “I think it’s for a year. Maybe more. Isn’t this great? It’s a first step. Dad says his office has been gathering some great letters from officials, including one from the commission that looked at your essay for National Scholar. Things are pulling together. I would have waited to tell you in person, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible. Call me today. I want to see you when I can. We need to celebrate!”

  I feel this weight lift off my shoulders. When I get home, I start dancing around the house. It’s a victory we desperately needed. I run into the living room and throw my arms around Daddy. I tell him and Mom the good news.

  “Wait. Is this a sure thing?” Mom asks.

  “Royce says so. I don’t know why he would be wrong.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dad says darkly. “Until then, mission is not aborted. We still need to prepare to leave.”

  “Daddy! Why do you have to be so negative? Come on.”

  Mom stands there with a hand over her mouth, shocked by the news. I don’t think she ever believed the political plan would work.

  “Did you hear me, Mommy?” I ask. “We got our extension! One, maybe two years! It’s a start, right?”

  “Yes, it is neneng,” she says. “This is good news. Great news! But what about the bill? That’s what we really need. There was all this talk, but we haven’t heard anything in weeks.”

  I think about the dinner the other night. Congressman Blakely was acting so strange. What was wrong with talking publicly about the private bill? Everyone would know about us soon enough. What’s wrong if people find out that his party sometimes does support immigrants? Wouldn’t that be a good thing?

  It’s not like my brothers and I made those decisions to come here. We just live with them. It’s not our fault that we love America, that we want to stay in the only country we know.

  It’s not our fault that we aren’t carrying green cards in our pockets.

  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’l
l 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.”