Amanda gives her speech, but I can’t hear a word she’s saying. I keep going over mine in my head, it has to be perfect. It might be my last chance to make a difference in high school.
When Amanda finishes and Principal Lopez begins to introduce me, I feel an irrational desire to jump off the stage and run away. But I square my shoulders and make my way to the podium. After I readjust the microphone I gaze out again. This time I look at the graduates. Hundreds of familiar faces. Not a single graduate is unhappy. Some are obviously bored. Their parents appear far more anxious. They’re the ones who, like my parents, really understand how unpredictable the world can be.
I decide impulsively that I have to address that first. “There is so much uncertainty in the world,” I begin. “We graduates often don’t see this as young people. Especially today. To us, everything is attainable. We can do anything. Our choices don’t matter to us as long as we feel we’re moving forward. But our parents, especially mine, they’re the ones who really understand that there are obstacles on our path. We all must be prepared for sudden change.” I take a breath. People seem to be listening. Even Kayla, who’s sitting in the third row, along with my friends from math group, cheer, even the football players. Now I can begin my actual speech, the one I worked on so hard with Royce these last few bittersweet weeks.
“Dear graduates.” My voice is just above a whisper. I clear my throat and continue a little louder this time. “I want to tell you about hope during these uncertain times of change. Many of you know that not too long ago I found myself in a situation that appeared, especially to me, hopeless. I always thought I was a legal resident of this country, someone on the path to becoming American, but guess what—I wasn’t. My family was here illegally. For a while, I believed that I had lost everything. My future, my country. The barriers seemed insurmountable. Deportation loomed like a leviathan.
“We learned about Thomas Hobbes’s Leviathan in Mr. Maynard’s history class. Thank you, Mr. Maynard. We will miss your many references to the latest teen dystopian movies.”
The students chuckle a little. I feel lighter. I can get through this speech.
“Mr. Maynard, like every other teacher, taught us something about ourselves. For each of us, this is a little different. We’re all unique creatures. Though maybe some of you are more like monsters.”
I pause while the crowd laughs, especially the parents. Somehow, people are listening. My knees have stopped shaking. My voice sounds more confident.
“I promise I won’t give you a history lecture, but I want to quote a few of these bits from history, from Leviathan, which was written in 1651, more than a hundred years before our own Declaration of Independence. One of the things Hobbes believed in was a Kingdom of Darkness. He didn’t mean Hell though. He was talking about the darkness of ignorance. True knowledge, he thought, was light. Graduates, we must not be ignorant. What you—what all of us—have to do in the coming years is to seek the light of true knowledge for the good of society.
“In my case, when I found out that I was going to be deported because I wasn’t in America legally, I lost sight of who I was. I thought a piece of paper defined me, that I was a different person, lesser. But throughout this entire year, I’ve learned that who I was never changed. I let what the law said about me—that I, as a human being, was illegal, that I didn’t belong in the place I’d always known as my own home—change my own perception of who I am.
“When I sat down to write this graduation speech, I thought about how these things are supposed to be filled with advice. I thought, ‘Who am I to give my fellow students advice? What will I say?’ And I could come up with only one thing.
“No one—not the law, not a college admissions officer, not your friends, not your teachers or parents or any other people, can define who you are. The only person who can do that is you. Even though you can’t control the things that happen to you, you can control your perspective and your actions. There’s never a moment you can’t choose who you want to be.
“But we have to take that even further. Life isn’t only about figuring out what we need. We need to figure out how to help others too.
“We have to ask ourselves: What can we do to better ourselves and our country? What can we do to be remembered? Who do we want to be?” I ask, echoing Suzanne’s words during our trip to Washington, D.C. “Our Constitution has always been a living, breathing document capturing not just one moment of change in time, but an ongoing transformation taking place even today.
“As for me, I was lucky enough to be granted a stay of deportation and a temporary visa that will allow my family to apply for green cards and the chance to be citizens of this great nation. As a citizen, I’ll fight those individuals and companies who benefit from the backs of the most disenfranchised among us, who profit from deportations, detaining and imprisoning entire families in overcrowded detention centers within our borders, deliberately destroying the American dreams of millions of people every day.
“I urge you to find your passion. Follow the light of true knowledge. Find what inspires you. Find what makes you passionate, what helps you recognize the sense of justice already burning within your heart. Give voice to the voiceless, help to the helpless, be a haven for those who have no recourse, no resources. Keep fighting—for your own sakes, and for the future of our country. Thank you.”
The applause is deafening and the audience is on their feet, but I don’t really see or hear any of it. I’m too busy smiling at my family, at Royce, at Kayla, all my friends and teachers, everyone who has been there for me.
Even though this moment is supposed to be mine, it’s bigger than that, bigger than me. It’s not just about one undocumented immigrant, but for everyone with a dream and a will to succeed. I love my country, and I won’t stop until I count myself among its citizens.
50
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,
but by the moments that take our breath away.
—MAYA ANGELOU
THANK GOD NO one bought our house. Otherwise where would we have my graduation party? When Dad walks through the front door with some last-minute groceries, Bob Marley Lives has already sound-checked and is starting a set. Dylan is really rocking out. Julian’s vocals are scratchy and swoon-worthy.
“What is this noise?” Dad says.
I laugh. “It’s music!”
“These are your friends? Did they just get out of prison?”
“No, Daddy.” I hang on to him, which makes him soften. I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl. “Thanks for letting everyone come hang out.”
Royce arrives early. He’s beaming and partially hidden behind the second-largest bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen.
“Hi, baby,” I say, trying to kiss him without getting petals in my face.
“Am I late?” he asks.
“No, you’re right on time.”
Familiar faces fill the house. It seems like everyone I know is here. Coach Davis. Mrs. Garcia. My cheer girls. Lo and her posse. The student council. The math club. The California Scholarship Federation kids. A few guys from the football team.
Dad harrumphs. “Help your mother in the kitchen.”
Mom calls to me like clockwork. “Neneng! I need your help. You have to take these platters out to the table. You can’t let our guests starve. Haven’t I taught you any better?”
I wave to Dylan and Julian as I cross through the living room. My brothers rock out in front of the band while Kayla dances next to them. She thinks they’re hilarious, and I’m so happy to see her smiling and laughing. It seems like the past year has been so tense that often our laughter was forced. Not now. Not today.
I can’t think of anything I’m not grateful for.
The kitchen is filled with the usual mountain of food. Mom is teaching Mrs. Blakely how to stuff and roll lumpia
while Lola Cherry and Millie sit together, telling stories about their long, crazy lives. Olivia is rolling around the living room on her scooter, a little dangerous given the size of the room (tiny) and the crowd (large), but no one seems to mind. Mason is still in that rehab center in Utah.
The other day Mom found out from some friends in the hospital that the “big donor” who wanted all the undocumented workers fired was none other than Congressman Blakely. It’s funny—he was part of our crisis, but he fixed it too. Things come full circle. With Royce’s help, I was even able to put the book of stories together and print a few copies for the patients.
Not to mention, when I thank Congressman Blakely once again for what he did for my family, he mentions that he was able to sway the judge with Senator Lauren Silverton’s help. As a high-ranking Democrat, she pulled some strings of her own. “I get by with a little help from my friends,” he says with a wink.
I watch as Lola hooks him with her cane and pulls him over. “I have a question for you,” she demands.
Surprised, Congressman Blakely takes her hand. “Well, aren’t you a beauty?” he says.
Lola raises her eyebrows. “Why, thank you.”
“What do you want to talk about?” he asks. “Health Care? Social Security?”
“Why would I care about that?” Lola shrugs her shoulders like she’s confused. “I want to know about the other good-looking congressmen! Are any available?”
Millie laughs with Lola.
As he passes by the table, Dad pats Royce’s dad on the shoulder. “Be careful with that one. She’s worse than a teenager.”
Congressman Blakely looks helpless.
“What do you need help with, Mom?” I ask.
“Get that thing out of the refrigerator,” she waves.
I twist around to reach for the fridge. “What thing?”
“That thing!” she says.
“Ay!” I say. “You can never say what you mean.” I start to open the door, waiting for more instructions, when I see a small package labeled with my name on it. “What’s this?” I take it out. It’s light.
Mom comes over and hugs me. “Don’t you know what to do with a gift?”
I look around. Mom and Dad are smiling. The music is blasting. I tear open the package. Inside is a small box. I lift the lid to find a gold ring with a deep red stone. It’s a class ring. The center is engraved with the Stanford Tree.
“Mom! Dad!” I yell. “Thank you!”
I look at Royce sitting next to Lo’s friends. He winks at me. “Look on the inside,” he shouts out over the music. “I told them to engrave something.”
Following his directions, I find Stanford’s motto etched on the band: Die Luft der Freiheit weht. I’ve been spending all my free time reading up on as much about Stanford as I can. I’ve already memorized the translation by heart.
The wind of freedom blows.
“We had a little extra money when we started saving up to leave,” Dad says.
I start tearing up just as Kayla enters the room.
“Bawling again?” she laughs. “Pretty ring. Put it on already. Your brothers and I want you to join us.”
“That music,” Dad says. “We’re all going to be deaf.”
“I like it!” Lola Cherry yells.
“Me too,” says Debra.
Mom suddenly goes frantic. She runs over to the stove. “The lumpia is going to burn!”
“Come on,” Kayla says. “It’s finally time to celebrate. Let’s dance!”
* * *
But it’s Royce I want, and I walk over to him.
“Hey,” I say. “Dance with me?”
“Sure. We made it, Jas,” he says, his eyes soft. “We’re going to Stanford together. It’s like some kind of fairy tale, isn’t it?”
“So I’m Cinderella?” I ask. “And you’re supposed to be Prince Charming?”
He smiles. “Something like that...” He’s always been the softer one of the two of us, the more romantic one. We complement each other. He’s strong where I’m weak, and the other way around. “Yup, just like a fairy tale,” he says. “Except hopefully there aren’t any talking mice in our dorm rooms at Stanford.”
I move to slap him on the arm, but he catches my hand. His touch still sparks everything inside me.
Royce holds my fingers up to the light, admiring my class ring. I think about how shackled I felt all year, about how hard I had to fight to get here, about the inscription on the inside of the ring—the wind of freedom is blowing through me—and how it perfectly sums up this moment.
“You’re wrong, love. It’s not a fairy tale,” I say, leading him to join the party so we can dance together. “It’s better. It’s our life.”
* * * * *
Author Note
Dear Reader,
While Jasmine’s story of being a top student who discovers she is an illegal immigrant is not my story, it is very close to my heart and my experiences.
The National Scholarship Award in the book is a fictional creation, inspired by the Westinghouse Prize, the Presidential Scholarship and National Merit Scholarship programs. (In high school I won both the Presidential Scholarship and National Merit awards.)
My family moved to the United States in 1985, when I was thirteen years old. My father had a business/corporation visa that allows its owners to apply for a green card after three years. During this process, however, our family was scammed by a shady immigration attorney (and sadly, a friend of my father’s) who never filed our paperwork with the INS. My father decided to file the paperwork for adjustment of status on his own, without a lawyer’s help.
While we were waiting for approval, I was a senior in high school and applying to colleges. We were unsure if I would qualify for financial aid. My family was here legally, but we did not yet have our green cards either. My parents assured me that they would find a way to afford college no matter what, but we were hoping that I would qualify for financial aid.
Jasmine’s anxiety, ambition, and determination are based on my own high school memories, and her passionate love for her country is rooted in mine.
Like Jasmine, I was accepted to several elite colleges whose offer of acceptance did not include financial aid. I was starting to get very nervous, until the glorious letter arrived from Columbia University granting not only admission but an incredibly generous financial aid package. Because I was not eligible for the Pell Grant (a federal grant that covers the neediest students), the school offered a privately funded grant.
Columbia is one of a handful of schools in the nation that offers financial aid to its students regardless of their citizenship status. It is without a doubt the single most important factor that changed my life and made me who I am today. I am here because of the generosity of wealthy patrons at my private school that funded my education at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, and the equally generous and far-reaching policies of my alma mater.
I have my US citizenship today because of the help of friends connected to congressional leadership and because I fell in love with an American guy. I was over the age of twenty-one when my parents received their green cards, which put me once again in a legal gray area (this loophole is now closed, and people who were brought into this country as children but are adults when the approval comes through now also receive green cards).
After my husband and I married in 2002, I applied for a green card. However, when our approval came, we had moved from New York City to Los Angeles and never received the letter with the date of my interview. My file was marked “dead.” After I waited for a few more years and asked around for help, one of my best friends from college with ties to a local congressman asked the congressman if he could help pull my file. I was interviewed for my green card in the congressman’s office, the equivalent of being moved to t
he top of the VIP immigration line. Two years ago, I finally became an American citizen, after twenty-eight years in this country. I will be able to vote for the very first time in this presidential election.
I hope you find Jasmine’s story enlightening and moving, and that I have done justice to the story of the struggle so many millions of people experience in their journey to become American.
Thank you,
Melissa de la Cruz
Acknowledgments
I AM SO grateful to so many people, but will start with my editor, Natashya Wilson, who not only asked me to write this book but helped me shape it to the best it could be every step of the way. Thank you so much, Tash, from the bottom of my heart for the opportunity to tell this story and your loving care in bringing it to light.
Many thanks to the amazing team at Harlequin, including TS Ferguson, Lauren Smulski, Margaret Marbury, Shara Alexander, Evan Brown, Olivia Gissing, Amy Jones, Ashley McCallan, Rebecca Snoddon, Gigi Lau, Erin Craig, Reka Rubin, Suzanne Mitchell, Ingrid Dolan, Kristin Errico, and especially Siena Koncsol and Bryn Collier. I will never forget our dinner at Everest and the banner as big as McCormick Place at BEA.
Thank you so much to Michelle Tan, Jennifer Abidor, Joey Bartolomeo, Laura Brounstein, Chloe Chase, Jacqueline Deval, Danielle Kam, and everyone at Seventeen for all their enthusiasm and support. I’m so proud to launch your imprint!
During the writing of this book, I suffered a health crisis. I’m here today due to the incredible outpouring of love from my family and friends.
In my family, we never thank each other because the gratitude is lived in. Nevertheless, thank you to Mom, Aina, Chito, Steve, Christina, Nicholas, Joseph, Sebastian and Marie, and all our extended de la Cruz, Johnston, Ong, Gaisano, Torre, Ng and Lim families, especially Tita Odette, Tita Sony and Tito Badong, Tito Eddie and Tita Joji, Trina and Terence, Isabelle and Clark and Tina, Melanie, Mica and Maj.
Something in Between Page 36