My heart pounds. “Sorry, Mr. Brown. I’ve had a crazy week.”
“I don’t normally make calls,” he says. “We usually send out letters to award recipients, but I had some extra time and wanted to call you and let you know personally that you are receiving a full financial aid package from our university, should you choose to enroll.”
“I’m eligible for financial aid?” I whisper. “You know I’m not a citizen or a green-card holder?”
“Yes, we do,” he says, as if it’s not a big deal at all. “Stanford subscribes to a need-blind admissions policy, and as an international student, you’ve been awarded a patron grant by a Stanford alumni. There are only a few of them available.”
“Wait,” I say, catching my breath. “I don’t understand. What’s a patron grant?”
“It’s a rare grant, and in your case will pay for much of your education here at Stanford. Around the same time we received your financial aid application, our department also received a grant that was specifically designated for you. You’ve also received several other smaller private grants and scholarships to cover your tuition. We’ll be notifying you about all of those. Have you made a decision about attending Stanford? I know many students don’t accept admission until they’ve been able to figure out the financial situation.”
“I want to attend Stanford,” I say like an idiot.
“That’s wonderful news. You’ll need to contact Admissions to officially accept. The deadline is May first.”
“I’ll do it right away,” I say. “I’ll get right on it.”
Yet in the back of my mind, I’m still wondering whether I can go. There’s still the matter of being able to stay in the country after all. Royce’s dad called the judge and pressed for a delay of deportation and reminded him that we were supposed to get temporary visas, but as usual, we haven’t heard if it was granted or not.
“Congratulations, Jasmine. This is a wonderful opportunity. We’re so happy to have you at Stanford. Do you have any questions for me?”
I’m still in shock. “No... Yes. Just one question. If an alumni specified a grant for me, may I know who that person is?”
“Sure. I have that information right here...”
I can’t believe what’s happening. This news is so wonderful. It’s as if my dreams are slowly unfurling in a breeze, only they’re way up on a hill that I still have to climb. I’m so excited. At the same time, I’m feeling selfish again. If our visas don’t come through soon, I don’t know if I can ask my family to risk being thrown into a detainment center just because I want to attend Stanford so badly.
“Here it is,” Richard Brown says. “The patron is Amelia Florence Marsh. She graduated forty years ago. She was one of the first women to graduate with a chemistry degree from Stanford.”
When I call Millie to thank her, I’m glad to hear she’s breathing easier. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Did what?” she asks.
“Stanford. The grant?”
“I didn’t ask them to give it to you, Jasmine. Did they tell you that? I said I wanted them to choose an incoming female student who would use her education to give back to the world. The grant committee chose you. You earned it all on your own.”
Wow. I can’t believe it.
“I know you’re still unsure if can stay, but you know what? Now you know you’re truly good enough to go anywhere in the world. You have so many options. You just have to keep your eyes open to them.”
* * *
As I hang up the phone, Dad walks into the kitchen, looking for a box to pack.
I know I need to tread on gentle ground with him right now. “Stanford just called, Daddy. I’ve been awarded enough financial aid to attend all four years.”
I don’t tell him about Millie. It’ll make him think the award is pity money.
“That’s great,” Dad says. “Do they know you’re getting deported in June?”
“No! I can’t leave America. None of us can leave now! This isn’t just about me getting into Stanford. This is money to attend. This is everything. This is my future.”
“Tell that to the US government,” he says. “We skip out on deportation, and we could lose all our assets and sit in a detainment center playing solitaire for five years.”
I don’t say anything. He’s right. I can’t expect them to live under the pressure, especially since there’s a significant chance none of us may ever gain citizenship if we don’t follow the rules.
“It would be worse than bad,” he says. “You see those people who get kicked out? They have nothing. That’s where we would be if we took too many risks. I’m sure they can take away all that scholarship money too, along with everything we own.”
“But Royce’s dad called the judge and asked him to change his mind,” I insist. “We heard him talk to him on the phone. He said it would all work out.”
“Well, where’s our extension, then?” Dad finally finds a box. He picks it up and opens the folds. “It’s okay if we leave—we can eat Filipino food all the time.”
I give him a weak smile. “How do you deal with all of this, Dad?” I ask. “Us leaving. Without being too sad? Without shutting down?”
“Ah, Jasmine. My girl,” he says, beckoning me to come to him. When I go over, he holds me with his strong, fatherly arms. “This world is filled with families who don’t have wonderful daughters like mine.”
48
All happy families are alike.
—LEO TOLSTOY, ANNA KARENINA
ROYCE COMES OVER LATER. We still haven’t had a real chance to talk since everything that happened at the courthouse and at Kayla’s house, several weeks ago. I know that his family just sent Mason to rehab in Utah. They all went, and Royce just got back from the airport.
He’s tired and his eyes are red-rimmed, but from lack of sleep or crying I don’t know. It upsets me though. I hate when he’s sad, and I’m about to make him sadder.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. He’s going to be there for three months, Dad sprang for the full program. Mason’s already joking that he’s transferred to Circa Lodge instead of Columbia,” he says, naming one of the most expensive rehabilitation centers in the country.
We laugh together.
“Hey,” I say gently. “I got a grant to go to Stanford.”
“That’s awesome. Of course you did—you’re amazing.” His eyes are shining.
“If only the judge granted our temporary visas like he told your dad he would. I know your dad’s office is working on following up but we haven’t heard anything,” I say. “If only we could stay.”
He nods. “If only.”
“I have to return this to you,” I say, and remove the ring from my pocket. It seems wrong to keep wearing it. “I want you to know that you made me the happiest person in the world when you asked me to marry you.”
He nods again. He takes the ring and puts it away. His lips are trembling and I can’t stand it.
I put a hand on his face, feel the stubble there. “I will marry you one day, Royce Blakely. I promise.”
He puts a hand over my hand and smiles, sunshine through the rain. “You’re going to keep that promise.”
* * *
A few days later, at home, we’re all preparing for graduation. Dad buys my cap and gown and I try it on in the living room. It feels like everything is ending so quickly and I don’t know where I’m going to go next.
“I have to iron it,” I say.
“I don’t know,” Dad jokes. “It looks good all wrinkled.”
“We’ll iron it,” Mom says.
“What are you going to wear underneath it?” Lola Cherry says. Before I can answer, Lola is already talking again. “I remember this one girl. Lilibeth Bautista. She did
n’t wear anything. She was painted with words. She let all her favorite boys write their name in yellow paint anywhere they wanted.”
I burst out laughing. Mom’s horrified. “My daughter is not going to do that. Stop putting images inside her head, Lola Cherry.” She turns to me, looking me up and down. “You hear me? No boys are painting your treasure.”
“Why not?” Lola says. “Nobody will know except for Jasmine.”
“I don’t want to see Royce’s name anywhere either. You hear me?” my mom says.
I start laughing even harder at that. “No way!” Then I imagine what Royce would think if he did see his name written on my skin under my gown. It could be pretty sexy, put a smile back on his face. Thanks, Lola Cherry.
Dad doesn’t say anything until now. He pouts. “My graduation was never that exciting...”
Lola starts laughing. “See? Your father understands.”
“Anyway, enough about that. I need a new dress.”
“All right. But no funny business,” Dad says. “Mom will take you to buy one this week.”
I give him a big hug, because no matter what, no matter how old I get, I’m still Daddy’s favorite.
Suddenly, Lola whacks Dad in the leg with her cane.
He yelps and curses in Ilocano. “What was that for?”
“I want your attention,” she says.
“You could have just asked!” he says, rubbing his leg.
“I have an idea,” she says.
Dad looks very agitated. “I can see that. More like I can feel it.”
Mom and I giggle. I hope I get to do whatever I want when I’m older just because I can get away with it.
“That’s why you hit me?” Dad says. “No.”
Lola swings her cane again.
This time Dad gets up. “I’m going to take that from you. It’s not a weapon.”
“I know,” Lola says. “It’s an attention getter. Jasmine says that Royce’s dad called that judge and the visas were granted.”
“Yeah, we heard that before,” says Dad.
“Call him again. You can’t just sit around and wait! You need to remind people to do their jobs!”
“We have been calling, but there’s no news.”
“Call him again! Call until there is news.”
“She’s right,” I say. “Let’s keep calling.”
“Fine,” says Dad. “What can it hurt?”
* * *
A few days later, we get a message back from Mr. Alvarado telling us to show up at his office at 1:00 p.m. We’re ten minutes early. We’re all getting out of our car, wondering why he needs to see us.
“Why are we here?” Isko says.
“I don’t know,” Dad says. “Your sister got a message from this snake of a lawyer that requested the entire family arrive. I thought we should have hidden you children in the closet before we left.”
“What? Why?” Isko says.
Dad opens the car door. “This could be the moment they catch you.”
Isko gets out. “Who catches me?”
“ICE,” Dad says.
“Stop trying to scare them,” Mom says.
She gives Dad a sideways look. He goes quiet.
“What’s ICE?”
“US Immigration and Customs Enforcement,” I say. “They identify undocumented people and arrest them, even in churches.”
Isko ducks behind me. “They’re here?”
“Stop it,” Mom says. “Both of you. Jasmine, you know better.”
Dad laughs. “I’m just messing with you. This lawyer probably just wants to say his goodbyes and have us sign a final form.”
“Do we have to sign them too?” Isko asks.
No one answers him.
Mr. Alvarado greets us at the door. “I’m so glad all of you came. Have a seat.”
“Where do we sign our final papers?” Dad asks as we all find chairs. He sits closest to Mr. Alvarado’s desk. Mom is next to him. “Let’s get this over with.”
Mr. Alvarado sighs. “I’m afraid that’s not why you’re here, Mr. de los Santos.”
“Don’t tell me it’s gotten worse? We’re planning to leave in two weeks as required,” Dad says. Our house hasn’t sold yet but Lola Cherry will wire us the money when it does.
“There’s been a development,” Mr. Alvarado says.
“What kind?” Dad says angrily. “We’ve jumped through every possible hoop we could. What does Uncle Sam want now? Our savings? Do they want us to leave right now?”
Mom puts an arm on Dad’s leg to try to calm him.
Mr. Alvarado is holding a pen. He taps it on the desk. “I received a phone call from Judge Reynolds,” he says. Every one of us holds our breath. I feel like I’m at my first cheer competition ever, standing in front of an audience, scared to death.
It feels like the silence lasts forever. Then he says triumphantly, “Judge Reynolds has personally informed me that your deportation has been canceled.”
“Canceled?” Dad says.
Mom grabs Dad with one hand. The other she puts over her mouth. “Oh my God! What changed his mind?”
“If you choose to stay in America,” Mr. Alvarado continues, “your family will be allowed to live under temporary work visas until you get your employment-based immigration visas, which have also just been approved.”
“What?” I say, cheering happily. “I can’t believe it! We can stay! I can go to Stanford!”
“We can stay?” Isko says, jumping up.
For a second Danny doesn’t move, then he gets a big smile on his face and jumps up with Isko, nearly tackling him.
I’m trying to text Royce, Your dad did it!!! The judge reversed his decision!!! We don’t have to leave!! We can stay! And I’m going to Stanford! With you! Oh my God!!! I really can’t believe it. It feels like a dream.
Royce answers back: yes!!!!! i knew it!!! YES!!!!
I don’t really believe it, and it feels as if this great weight is lifted from my shoulders. I didn’t realize how much stress I was carrying until it was gone. I’m so thankful.
Mr. Alvarado tries to talk over our shouting. “If you play your cards right, within a few years your daughter can apply under a different visa that has to do with persons of exceptional ability. She will of course have to obtain an advanced degree. Considering the path she’s currently on, I don’t foresee any problems with that. In addition, these visas mean you will all be eligible to apply for green cards, and later on, citizenship.”
We’re hardly listening. We’re all jumping up and down cheering and hugging.
“And actually you do also have to sign some papers,” Mr. Alvarado says.
We’re still not listening.
“I told you this lawyer was going to pull through for us!” Dad says.
“I just can’t understand how this happened?” Mom cries.
But I know how it happened. I think about Congressman Blakely and the phone call Royce asked him to make after his fight with Mason. Royce did it for me, for his family, for himself. He always offered his help, and I’m glad I finally accepted it.
Mr. Alvarado sits back and shakes his head. He’s grinning like we’re the most insane people he’s ever met, but I don’t care what anyone thinks about us. The de los Santos family will always stick together.
49
When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful.
—MALALA YOUSAFZAI
IT’S JUNE, the month I thought I’d be dreading because it would mean having to leave America forever. But instead, my future, my glorious future, lies in front of me, as perfect as it was at the beginning of the year. Even more perfect, maybe, because it was even more hard-earned. The sun shines brightly over the hundreds o
f people packed into the stadium and on the field for my graduation. It’s a beautiful Southern California day, with a perfect cloudless sky and a comfortable seventy-five degrees.
A few days before, I’d attended Royce’s graduation and watched with pride as he took the top prize in Language Arts. His graduating class was much smaller than mine, and the ceremony was held at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. The girls all wore white dresses underneath their graduation robes, like the bunch of debutantes that they are. Royce spent the whole time texting me from the stage.
royceb: i’m so bored. glad i’m not giving a speech like you.
jasmindls: You look cute up there.
royceb: thanks you look cute from up here too.
Meaning he can see down my cleavage because I’m wearing the red dress I wore to Spago, naughty boy.
* * *
Now I’m sitting up on the stage at my graduation and going over the speech in my head. From where I’m sitting, I can see that the stadium is packed with everyone’s family and friends. I can barely make out my parents and brothers near the fifty-yard line. Royce is sitting with them, looking so handsome with his hair slicked back and wearing the tie I bought him with the Philippine flag on one side and the American flag on the other. When my phone buzzes, I remove it from the pocket of my gown as surreptitiously as I can. The ceremony hasn’t started yet—I feel safe doing this. It’s Royce, of course.
royceb: you look cute up there.
jasmindls: Wait till you see what’s under my gown.
royceb: man, you’re killing me.
royceb: my imagination has gone wild.
jasmindls: Good things come to boys who wait.
royceb: all right, now I’m not going to be able to listen to a word you say.
royceb: good luck, you’ll be great.
royceb: who knew public schools could have such cool speeches?
royceb: just kidding.
jasmindls: Yeah, public schools even have teachers! Imagine that!
I try not to laugh as I put away my phone. The ceremony’s starting, but I don’t pay attention to the opening remarks or anything. I’m still going over my speech, which is different from the one I’d planned to write in November. Very different. Plus, I’m not the only valedictorian up here. I’m sharing the honor with another senior, Amanda Hiller, who’s going to MIT for Robotics. If a bad bout of Valley fever hadn’t made her grades dip her junior year, I probably wouldn’t be standing next to her. After everything that’s happened this year, I’m fortunate to be here. I had almost taken it for granted.
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