Something in Between

  “Does anyone else know? Besides Kayla?” Royce asks.

  “I might tell Millie,” I say. “I’m not sure. What about you?”

  “I’m not telling anybody until we’re ready to make an announcement.”

  “An announcement?”

  “We’ll tell everyone and have a big reception somewhere.”

  “We will?” I try to imagine everyone being in one hall together after finding out what we did. My family glaring at his family. Our friends, wandering around confused. “I was sort of hoping we could just keep it on the down low for now,” I say. “Maybe make a few phone calls and a Facebook announcement.”

  “I doubt that would be good enough for my family,” he says. “They’ll want a huge party. Yours would too. Somewhere nice. Dinner. A full orchestra. Dancing. My dad would want to invite his friends, dignitaries. This would be pretty huge.”

  “It would?” I can’t imagine my family at such a fancy affair. Mom and Dad like to gamble during karaoke at the annual family Christmas party. Mom gets so annoyed if she doesn’t win. She’s pretty bored at any wedding where she can’t sing her heart out to “Can’t Help Falling In Love” and “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” What would she do with a bunch of politicians? Would she rope them into a thousand-dollar pool on karaoke?

  I don’t even want to think about telling anyone.

  My parents are going to kill me. Filipino girls from nice families aren’t supposed to elope. Everyone is going to think I’m pregnant, which is so untrue, especially as I’m still a virgin!

  “Don’t worry.” He squeezes my hand. “I’ll be there to keep you company.”

  “I know.” I smile.

  The Chatsworth courthouse is gray, rounded, almost like a prison, with half a dozen palm trees staggered outside the front steps. When I see the building I feel the magnitude of what’s about to happen. A secret marriage. Who doesn’t want this? Isn’t every girl’s dream to be married to someone so handsome and caring? More important, Royce is someone who appreciates me for who I am. He’s my best friend. He doesn’t care about what country I’m from or how my family is so different from his. He loves me for me.

  I glance at his profile as we walk up the steps, so proud that he’s mine. We’ll be married, and I’ll be able to stay in the country. Soon enough I’ll be an American citizen. Just like that, I’ll belong. I won’t be stuck between two countries and cultures anymore. I don’t know anything else except for America. Just this country. Just me being me. This country owes it to me. I smile at Royce.

  I should be happy. I try to keep smiling, but I can’t mask my feelings anymore. The closer I get to the front doors, the more I feel weighed down. I can barely breathe. I don’t understand what’s happening. I want to scream at myself. Keep smiling! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to you! Run in there and get married to your prince!

  At the same time, I’m horrified at my thoughts. This country owes it to me? Did I really just think that? Have I really been feeling this entitled all along? Just because I’m smart? That I believe I deserve to be American and so Royce is obligated to marry me?

  I start to wonder what I’ve really done for myself. I’ve been so off-putting, ramming my agenda down everyone’s throat, including Mr. Alvarado, who’s really just trying to do his job, Royce, my family, Kayla. Everyone. I’ve been so ambitious, so sure that I deserve to be here, that I’ve allowed Royce to throw his entire world into chaos. Am I really so selfish that I would allow our relationship to be defined by my legal status? Do I really want to keep this moment from my family, the people who have cared about me my whole life?

  Royce feels me come to a sudden stop at the top of the stairs.

  My hand drops away from his.

  “No,” I say.

  He stops too. “No, what?”

  “This isn’t the way to do it. There has to be another way.”

  Royce turns to me. “Jasmine. There is no other way. We have to do this.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not right, Royce.”

  “What are you talking about? We agreed to this. We agreed to get married. It’s the only way to keep you here. You’re going to be deported thousands of miles away if we don’t.”

  “The extension might still come through,” I say, struggling to hold on to hope.

  I know Royce wants to do this for me, but the time isn’t right. My family isn’t here and neither is his. And this isn’t the way I want us to start our official life together. We’re young. Way too young to make this kind of commitment.

  “We don’t know for sure yet that I have to leave,” I say desperately.

  “What do you mean? Of course we do,” he says urgently.

  “It will tear my family apart,” I say. “I can’t do this to them, or you.”

  “You’re not doing anything to me. I want to marry you,” he pleads.

  “I want it too, but we don’t really understand what we’re doing. Either of us. Don’t you see? This isn’t brave. This isn’t part of what I have to go through. This is a quick fix, a Band-Aid. All of this is going to explode if we go through with it. Can’t you see the pressure it will put on us? Our families are already stressed right now, and we need to keep them together. I have to go through this deportation with them. Not apart from them.”

  Royce takes my hand as if he’s going to pull me inside the courthouse, as if in his desperation to keep me here he’ll force me to marry him if he has to. “I don’t want to lose you,” he says, stricken. “Please, Jas.”

  “I don’t want to lose you either, but I’m scared that if we do this now, we’ll lose each other some other way later. I love you, Royce, but I can’t.” Tears are falling down my face, and my heart is breaking, but I know I’m doing the right thing.

  I try to turn away, but he still has my arm. His face is ashen.

  Kayla is in the distance coming toward us.

  “Babe,” I whisper. I love him so much and it’s why I can’t do this to him, to us. I know I’m doing the right thing. “Please let go.”

  Finally, he releases my arm. Then I run toward Kayla and beg her to take me far away from here, anywhere.

  46

  I didn’t get there by wishing for it or hoping for it, but by working for it.

  —ESTÉE LAUDER

  IT’S LATE. The thunderstorm outside dumps rain over the house. It sounds like marbles are falling on Kayla’s roof and around the patio out front.

  Her mom is gone for the weekend to some hotel hundreds of miles away in Avila where she can do a day spa and not feel like she’s in Los Angeles. Kayla and I are watching a movie about a young astronaut falling in love with a girl who works at a flower shop. Neither of us are really paying attention to the movie or to the rain.

  “I feel so bad for running out on Royce,” I say. “I think I ruined his life.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Kayla says. “You probably saved it. Jas, you’re both way too young.”

  I’m still heartbroken, thinking of the way he was looking at me at the courthouse earlier that day. “I never thought I’d be a runaway bride,” I say.

  “It’s not wrong to come to your senses,” Kayla says. “How many times over the past year have I had to wake up from something stupid I’ve done?”

  “I just wish I could make him understand.”

  Kayla doesn’t disagree.

  “What’s going to happen with you and Dylan?” I ask.

  She lets out a sigh. I can tell she’s not completely happy. Maybe we’ve both been impatient. “We’re just trying to be friends right now,” she says. She eats a mouthful of Doritos. Ever since cheer ended, we’ve both been on an awful junk-food binge. “We’re taking things slower,” she adds. “We’re working through the stuff that happened when I was with Mason. And I want to make sure he
supports my future in dance as much as I support his band. I don’t want to end up as his little groupie. We’re not like Julian and Lo. It’s like they’re thirty-year-olds. We’re barely grown-up enough to decide where to get takeout.”

  We both laugh. I tell her I think that’s probably Royce and me too.

  “Have you heard from him?” Kayla asks.

  “No.” His silence is deafening.

  “Have you tried texting?”

  “Only about a hundred times.” I check my phone again just in case. “I told him I was sorry, that I still love him.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” I put the phone on a coffee table.

  “Maybe you should tell him to come over?” she says.

  “I have. He hasn’t answered.”

  Just then something hits the window in the living room by where Kayla is sitting. The curtains are drawn, so we can’t see anything.

  “What was that?” I say.

  She gets up. “Could be your lover boy caught in the rain. I think I saw someone pass the window. He probably thinks my mom’s home so he doesn’t want to be too loud.”

  Kayla peeks out the curtains. “I can’t tell because of the rain. Whoever it is dresses nice. That has to be Royce’s coat. He’s pointing toward the front door. Maybe you should go out there so you lovebirds can make up.”

  My heart’s beating fast. I don’t care that he didn’t text me back all day and made me worried sick about him. I was having nightmare visions of him racing on Mulholland and getting in an accident. I’m so relieved he’s here. “I’ll just talk outside with him for a minute,” I say.

  “Take as long as you want,” she says, lying down. “I might take a nap.”

  I slip out the front door. The outside light isn’t on. A neighbor’s dog barks in the darkness. “Royce?” I say, not seeing him. “Where are you?”

  “Is that you, Jasmine? Where’s Kayla?”

  Wait a minute. I know this voice. It’s not Royce. “Mason? What are you doing here?”

  He steps out of the shadows like he’s been in a fight. His hair and coat are rain-soaked. He stumbles over a loose brick on the walkway. He’s obviously been drinking. “I came to see my girl.” He spits as the rain pours behind him. “Go get her now.”

  “She’s not your girl,” I say.

  “Jealous are you? I knew it.” Mason grins. “Come here, baby.”

  “Mason, stop it!” I say, when he tries to put his arms around me.

  “You think you’re too good for me, don’t you, National Scholar. But you’re just a mail-order bride and that’s all you are. I can’t believe my brother hasn’t seen through you. You should have been long gone by now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mason snickers. “After I sabotaged that private bill Dad was working on, I thought for sure you’d be on a boat back to China or wherever you’re from. Honestly, I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

  My anger boils up through my twisting gut. So do tears. I don’t say anything. I don’t do anything. I’m numb.

  “What did you say?” a voice asks from behind Mason. It’s hard to see in the rain, but I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

  Mason addresses the darkness. “Well, someone had to leak the story or her illegal family might have been allowed to stay here. Even Dad was on her side, and that’s just wrong, to put aside his political beliefs just for his family. No one should get what they want.”

  Suddenly, Royce, also soaked, is behind his brother, grabbing him by the shoulder. “THAT WAS YOU?” he yells. “YOU LEAKED IT?”

  “Surprise?” Mason laughs.

  Mason liked taking away my toys and making me cry, Royce said the other day. Is that what I am to Mason? A thing?

  When you’re privileged, your life becomes a collection of things. Nothing’s real. Not people, not their feelings.

  Sabotaging my family’s private immigration bill was a joke to him. My family’s life, my future, was just a toy to be played with.

  Royce punches Mason in the face but Mason ducks and hits Royce in the gut, sending him falling into the bushes.

  “Royce!” I scream. “Don’t hurt him!” I yell at Mason.

  “Come on! Get up! You’ve never beat me in a fight!” Mason says, dukes up.

  “Mason! What are you doing here?” Kayla says, appearing in the doorway. “Stop or I’ll call the police!”

  Royce gets up but this time he doesn’t swing or kick. Instead he speaks calmly to his brother. “This isn’t about me at all, is it? Or Jasmine. It’s about Dad. You leaked the article to get back at him. You’re using Jasmine to make a statement. You hate when anyone else gets attention from him.”

  “Spare me your five-cent therapy,” Mason says.

  “Mason, please. Dad loves you. I love you. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be this way.” I’ve never seen Royce look so destroyed. First I broke his heart at the courthouse and now this. I want to help but I don’t know how.

  Mason stumbles backward, still cursing at Royce.

  But Royce is adamant that Mason hear what he has to say. “I know you’ve been angry ever since he started spending all his time in Washington, but he still loves us.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mason says. “Want me to hit you again?”

  “I’m talking about your feelings about Dad,” Royce says.

  “Feel this!” Mason punches Royce again, who goes down hard.

  I start to help Royce but he waves me off and gets up again. “He loves you, Mason,” Royce says. “I know he does.”

  “SHUT UP!” Mason screams. “THIS IS NOT ABOUT DAD!”

  But Royce keeps on talking. “I know you think Dad doesn’t love you. So you take it out on everybody else. I’m telling you right now, Dad hurts for you. He’s just no good at communicating with us.”

  Mason looks like he wants to murder his little brother. His fists are balled. He grabs Royce with one of his hands and raises his fist. “Shut up!” he says, beginning to choke up. “Just shut up!”

  “I won’t,” Royce says. “I love you, Mason. If you need to beat me to feel better, just do it.” He’s crying and I’m crying too.

  “Stop it,” Mason croaks, pushing Royce’s chest so he has to take a step back to balance himself.

  “The only person you’re hurting is yourself,” Royce says. “You’ll slip deeper into someone you’re not if you don’t stop. You don’t even like yourself.”

  Mason looks like he’s about to throw another punch, but he ends up shoving Royce into the side of the house and stumbling into the rain. I run over to help Royce up, and when he gets to his feet he runs after his older brother. Kayla and I follow behind him.

  The rain is coming down in sheets. Mason has collapsed onto the front lawn, having completely broken down. Royce gets down on the ground and puts an arm around him.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Mason says, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Royce says. “It’s going to be okay.” Holding his big brother in his arms, he squints into the rain. “Jas, help me?”

  “Of course.” I run to him.

  * * *

  Kayla and I are standing in the foyer of Congressman Blakely’s house. Mason has just been taken away by his mother into another room. In a low voice, Royce tells his father what happened at Kayla’s house. He doesn’t hesitate to describe how Mason admitted to sabotaging the private bill.

  “He did that?” Congressman Blakely asks calmly.

  Royce nods. He’s done with his story.

  Congressman Blakely grimaces with disappointment. “Anything else?”

  “No, sir,” Royce says.

  The congressman thinks f
or a moment. “Get your friends home,” he says.

  “Right.” Royce turns and sees me standing next to Kayla. Our eyes meet, and it’s like he’s seeing me for the first time since I ran away from him at the courthouse. He furrows his brows and faces the congressman again. There’s a look of determination on his face, as if he just remembered something. “Dad?”

  Mr. Blakely turns around. He looks at his son vacantly. “What is it?”

  Royce seems especially brave right now. I don’t know what it is, but the way he’s standing there he looks like he’s matured five years in the course of five hours.

  “Will you call the judge now? And confirm the visa extension for Jasmine’s family? For me?”

  Mr. Blakely looks at his son and nods. He takes out his cell phone and dials.

  47

  We never know how high we are

  Till we are called to rise;

  And then, if we are true to plan,

  Our statures touch the skies.

  —EMILY DICKINSON

  IT’S THE MIDDLE of April, and by the end of the month I have to let Stanford know whether I’m enrolling in the fall. Since I never received any financial aid confirmation in the mail, last Monday I asked the dean of students, whom I’d met at the National Scholar dinner, if he could help find out what was going on. He advised leaving a message for the financial aid office asking about my package.

  When the phone rings, I figure I’ll let the message go to voice mail, but the phone stops ringing and Danny comes running into my room.

  “It’s for you,” he says.

  “Who would call the house phone?” I say.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “Some guy from Stanford.”

  “Stanford?” I drop the bracelets I’m holding and race for the kitchen counter.

  “Hello?” I say. “This is Jasmine de los Santos.”

  “Hi, Jasmine. This is Richard Brown from Stanford University’s Office of Financial Aid. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for a few days now.”