Something in Between

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “What did you say he looks like again? Dark hair? Tan? Tall?” Kayla starts humming. She sits spread-legged on the grass and reaches for her toes. “He’s cute, right?”

  “You wouldn’t think so. He wears suits all the time.”

  Suddenly, I hear Royce’s voice from over my shoulder. “Not always.”

  I whip around with a gasp. I’m shocked to see him, but I also want to laugh a little. He’s wearing a navy blue blazer and jeans. No tie. His “casual” look. I’m elated to see him but scared to death too. I’m not ready to face him. My heart hammers in my throat even as my stomach drops.

  Apparently I have no choice but to be ready as Kayla gets to her feet while I stand there gaping. “I’ll tell Coach you’ll be a couple minutes late,” she says.

  “You don’t have to,” I say. “I’ll be there.”

  Kayla starts walking to the front of the gym as I turn to Royce. “What are you doing here?” I ask, in a rush, already feeling a little high from just the sight of him.

  Royce steps toward me. “I wanted to see you. You haven’t returned any of my texts or called me back since Sunday night. I would have come over earlier but with my tutoring schedule for finals I couldn’t get away until now. Why are you ignoring me?”

  “Well, you’ve seen me,” I say, choking on the words and taking a step away from him. “Feel better?” I know I’m being cruel to him, but it’s better this way. I can’t be with someone like him and he shouldn’t be with someone like me. I’m practically doing him a favor.

  “Come on, Jasmine. What’s going on? What did I do to piss you off?”

  “You didn’t do anything to piss me off. I’m just moving on,” I say, shrugging as if I’m so bored of this conversation.

  His face turns red. “Moving on? What’s that supposed to mean? Everything was going fine and then you just disappear? What the— Why? You owe me an explanation at least.”

  “I don’t owe you anything. Not everyone owes you something, Royce,” I snap, even though it hurts me to hurt him like this. The jagged twist in my stomach makes me feel so nauseous, I could vomit. But I don’t see how we can work things out. Whether Royce believes in what his father does or not doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too dangerous for me to be with him.

  He runs his fingers through his hair. “Look, if you hate my guts that’s fine. But it’s not like you to not say what’s on your mind. You’re not that kind of person. I know it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve never known who I really am,” I say. And whose fault is that? A million thoughts race across my mind. I should have told him. Or once I knew who his dad was and what he believed in, I should’ve stayed far, far away from him. I should have never gone to meet him after the dinner. I shouldn’t have let him kiss me.

  “Why are you saying this? I know you, Jasmine. You know me. Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, looking as stricken as I feel.

  But I have to do this. It’s better this way. Safer for me, and easier for him. He’ll forget about me, find someone else to read his favorite passages from the books he likes to, some other girl to lend quotes to.

  “Look, I’m going to be late for practice. I have to go,” I say, my voice deliberately cold.

  “Your friend just said she’d tell your coach you’d be late.”

  “Like you know who my friends are. You’ve never met any of them!” I yell, which makes me realize I’ve never seen his school, never met any of his friends either. Our entire world is made up only of each other. I never noticed before, because we never needed anyone else. I just wanted to be with him, and he with me. But now it bothers me. Was he hiding me or something?

  “I’d love to meet your friends. But you’ve never introduced me to any,” he says. He’s right. I haven’t, even when he spends the weekend hanging out with me in the Valley.

  “Well, I haven’t met any of your friends either!” I scowl.

  “That’s because I don’t have friends.”

  “Oh please.” My arms are crossed now and I’m fuming. He has tons of friends, and so many followers on Snapchat (six hundred and two to be exact).

  “I mean, yeah, I know a lot of guys, but we’re not close. I don’t have any close friends, okay? Satisfied?” His jaw is a stern line.

  “But you know everybody in D.C....all those kids...Carrie’s crew...” I’m convinced I’m right about this.

  “Yeah, I might know a lot of people, but that’s not the same as having friends. Jesus, do I have to go into detail as to how big a loser I am?”

  “You’re not a loser,” I say, because I hate when he puts himself down.

  “And you’re not just my girlfriend, Jasmine. You’re my best friend. The first real friend I’ve had. When you stopped talking to me, I just, I can’t...” He growls in annoyance and stuffs his hands back in in pockets. “Whatever! Forget it! Forget I said anything!” He pivots away, obviously embarrassed.

  Now he’s walking away and I’m the one running after him.

  “Royce!”

  When I catch up to him, his cheeks are red and his eyes are as glassy as mine.

  “Royce, I’m sorry,” I say, because I am. Because I suck, because I should have been honest with him from the start. I pride myself on being forthright, and yet I’ve been unable to tell this guy I really care about something fundamental about me.

  I was so worried about getting hurt, but now I know it hurts so much more to be the one causing pain.

  “About what?” he asks. “What are you sorry about?” His face is terrible, gray and angry.

  “I should have told you the truth about me, when we first met,” I say slowly.

  “What? Do you have a boyfriend? I should have known.” He looks like he wants to punch something.

  I laugh, it’s so absurd. “No!” I want to hug him. “I told you, you’re the only one.” The only one I’ve ever fallen for, the only one who makes me feel the way I do. He’s the only one for me, which is why it hurts so much that we can’t, that we shouldn’t, be together.

  He’s not laughing. “So what is it, then?” A pause, until it’s like he puts two and two together. “Wait, it’s because I disagreed with you about immigration reform, right? You don’t agree with my dad, so you’re mad at me?”

  “I wish that was all it is,” I say.

  He stares at me, really looks at me, and I know tears are running down my cheeks because I can feel them. “I don’t understand why the bill not passing would make you so upset. Weren’t you born in America?” he asks quietly.

  I shake my head no. My throat is so tight I can’t answer.

  He looks right into my eyes. “Okay, so you weren’t born here. Why do you think I would care about that? Even if you’re not American, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

  “Really?” I ask, finding my voice at last and wiping my tears with my sleeve. “What if I told you I was undocumented? Illegal.”

  “You’re...” Royce trails off.

  I turn away, not wanting to see the look on his face. “See? You think I’m a criminal now, right? That we’re nothing but a bunch of thieves? That we’ll peek in your window at night, threatening to steal all of your mom’s precious artwork?”

  “I never said I liked my mom’s art collection,” he says mildly. “You can steal it.”

  I hate that he tries to make me laugh when I’m upset, but I love it too. He puts a hand on my arm gently, as if to let me know he doesn’t want me to go, that he has more to say. I stand there, refusing to face him, but not running away either.

  “My parents didn’t tell me until I got the National Scholarship,” I say. “I never knew we were illegal aliens until a couple months ago.”

  He steps closer to me. “Jas, I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t accept the
award. I don’t have a social security number. I can’t get a driver’s license. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. I didn’t want to tell you because I was embarrassed, and I was scared you’d tell your dad.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt you or your family,” Royce says urgently. “You have to believe that. I like you, Jas. I don’t care what you are. I don’t care about any of that.”

  I sniff and wipe my eyes again with my sleeve. He’s saying all the right things, and I want to believe him, but I’m too overwhelmed by my admission. I feel like a cracked egg, raw and vulnerable.

  He looks right into my eyes, and I can see the hurt I feel reflected in his. He looks completely miserable. “Jas, I just want to be with you. I’m sorry I said those stupid things about that bill. If I’d known you were having trouble like that, I would have tried to help. My dad is the one who believes those things, but that’s him, not me. I don’t even know why I said that to you. I was just trying to sound smart. I’m an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” I say automatically.

  “I’m so sorry the bill didn’t pass. I didn’t know it was so important to you. Is your family okay? What are you guys going to do?” He has both hands on my shoulders now.

  I tear up again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “What about us?” he asks roughly.

  “Us?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind about you. But it sounds like you have. Are we good?” he asks, so sadly that I want to say yes, that everything’s okay, that nothing’s the matter.

  But I can’t. It’s too much. I’m too exposed, dying of shame that he knows the truth about my reduced legal situation. I feel so much for him, but somehow, I’m furious too, at his dad, at his family, at his whole background that’s so different than mine. I pull away. “I don’t know. I need time to think. Can we take a break? I just need some space right now.”

  He releases me, his hands going slack at his sides, his face blank. “Uh-huh. Well, how long do you need?”

  “I don’t know. There’s so much going on. Family stuff we have to figure out.” I’m flooded with emotion, and I just need time to myself, time to breathe.

  “Right.” He kicks the pebbles on the ground.

  We stare at each other, not quite believing what is happening. Are we breaking up? Is this the end of us?

  Finally he says, “I’ll be in Aspen over Christmas. I promise not to bother you until I get back. Can we talk then?”

  I nod.

  “And if you decide you don’t want to see me anymore I’ll leave you alone, don’t worry,” he says, his voice so low I have to strain to hear him.

  I don’t want him to leave me alone, I don’t want to break up, and I want to tell him that this is all a mistake, I don’t want him to go, I don’t want it to be over. But the words don’t come, and somehow I nod my head.

  “Good luck at Regionals.” He turns away then, and I watch him leave, his shoulders slumped, hands jammed in his pockets, and it feels like I’ve broken his heart instead of the other way around. Maybe it is.

  Becoming Illegal

  Give me your tired, your poor,

  Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

  The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

  Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:

  I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

  —EMMA LAZARUS’S POEM,

  INSCRIBED ON THE STATUE OF LIBERTY

  19

  If you find someone you love in your life, then hang on to that love.

  —PRINCESS DIANA

  A FEW DAYS LATER, the other girls are singing and shouting cheers on the bus to the Anaheim Convention Center. We’re on our way to compete in the Regional competition, which is right before Christmas. I keep thinking about Royce, checking my phone, hoping he’ll text me, though I know he won’t. Why do I need him to give in first? I just do.

  There’s plenty of room, so we’re all spread out on the bus. Kayla leans over the back of my seat. “Are you nervous?”

  I take my headphones out of my ears. “A little, I guess.”

  “I know you’re upset about Royce,” she says. I told her what happened, how I asked him for space.

  I look at Kayla like I’m about to roll my eyes at her. “No I’m not,” I say. “Who’s Royce?”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Jas. You always have been,” Kayla laughs. She gets up and moves into the seat next to me, putting her head on my shoulder. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice that you’ve given me more than once this year. So listen up.”

  “All right,” I say. “I’m listening.”

  “Cheer is a mental game just as much as a physical one. You have to clear your mind. Focus on the team. Concentrate on your body,” Kayla says.

  I look down at my phone again. “I know. That’s what I say all the time.”

  “Well, you’re obviously not taking your own advice right now. You’re all torn up about him. Come on, talk to me. You have to get it out before the competition.”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. This isn’t about Royce.” But she knows me too well and she’s right, I am a terrible liar. I hate that Royce and I aren’t talking, even though I’m the reason we’re not.

  “Your family, then? What’s going on with the immigration stuff?”

  “I really, really don’t want to talk about that right now—that’s the last thing I want to think about before the competition.” I need to put it out of my head, but I’m nervous and panicky and she can tell. Looking behind my seat, I see that the girls nearby are watching us, probably wondering what’s going on. “I’m not ready for the whole squad to know.”

  Kayla throws up her hands. “Fine. Fine. Don’t say I didn’t try to help...”

  She goes to the back of the bus to hang out with some of the other girls.

  I need to stop thinking about Royce and my own situation and focus on our performance. I put my headphones back in and try to psych myself up and prepare, to visualize nailing every stunt, hitting every landing. But my mind won’t clear, and I’m edgy and distracted.

  After the bus pulls up to the convention center, Coach Davis checks us in for the Medium Varsity Division I Group while we change into our uniforms and fix our hair.

  The morning flies by. We watch a few teams compete, some of them good enough to make us worry a little, but we know we’ve got this. Then we stretch for twenty minutes and do warm-ups before the team is called up to compete. Coach Davis asks me to give the girls a pep talk as the competition organizers cue up our music. The girls gather around me, and I look at them, wondering what they would think if they knew I was an undocumented immigrant. Would they care? Would they look at me differently? Would they pity me?

  Gathering the girls into a big huddle, I give my speech. “You’ve all been working so hard toward this moment. Your tucks are tight. Your moves are sharp. We’re going to win this thing and we’re going on to Nationals!”

  Coach Davis signals me to call the girls to the mats.

  “Positions!” I shout, and we all run out to the floor, bouncing and cheering, before taking our places.

  This is our moment. Our chance to qualify for Nationals.

  The music starts up. We begin our tumbling routine followed by our stunts. I plaster a smile on my face, but my rhythm is off, like I’m moving in slow motion.

  The bright lights are shining on us and I imagine that everyone looking at me knows my terrible secret. And I remember the hurt look on Royce’s face when I told him to leave me alone.

  My bases start to pop me up for a simple toe-touch basket toss, but I mistime their movements and begin to jump before they’ve released me, sending all of us off balance. On the way down, I try to correct my positioni
ng but I’ve already screwed everything up and come crashing down on my back spotter. It’s Anabel, and she picks me up right away. Everyone gets back on the routine like nothing has happened, but I know I’ve cost our team qualifying for Nationals. I finish the rest of the routine without starting to cry, but once the music is over, I run to the bathroom and lock the stall door.

  I can’t believe I’ve let them all down. I’m petrified of having people see me like this. I can’t have them know how close I am to crying right now.

  I’m sitting in the stall trying to get control of my emotions when someone knocks on the door. “Jasmine?” Kayla asks. “Is that you?”

  Trying to hold back my tears, because I don’t want her to hear, I gasp an uneasy “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Are you going to let me in? Or am I going to have to knock down this door?”

  I unlatch the lock, still sitting on top of the toilet in my cheer uniform.

  “You can’t blame yourself,” Kayla says. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  “Not on a stupid basket toss,” I say. “It’s such an easy move.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We got second place. That’s not bad. Come out, they’re about to give us our trophies. We need you out there.”

  She’s right. I can’t hide in here while my team accepts our second-place trophy. I swallow my tears and my pride and get up. “Okay,” I say to Kayla. “Let’s do this.”

  The team is waiting for me and we all ascend the podium together. The judges hand us our trophy. I smile and wave to the crowd along with the rest of the girls. I know we’re all disappointed, no one more than me, but at least we tried.

  Sometimes, it’s all you can do.

  We link hands and bow, and watch as the first-place team receives a trophy taller than their coach.

  Coming in second means no Nationals for us. Everything I was aiming for, that I had been so sure of three months ago, has completely fallen apart.

  My cheer career is over. This was my last chance at glory, and I blew it.