Page 102 of Something in Between

“Great, she’s in town. Let’s go.”

* * *

When Royce and I enter the Blakely house, Maria greets me. “Nice to see you, Jasmine,” she says. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been lately.”

“Where’s Mom?” Royce asks.

“She’s in the kitchen,” Maria says. “Is something wrong?”

Royce nods. He looks more determined than I’ve ever seen him. “It’s a long story. I’ll catch you up later.”

We hurry to the kitchen. Even though my family doesn’t have to leave the country right away, everything seems to have taken on a feeling of urgency. It’s like a timer has been set, and every ticking second means we’re closer to deportation.

“Mom. I need to talk to you,” Royce says as we enter the kitchen.

Mrs. Blakely is rinsing out a coffee cup. “I have a hair appointment in thirty minutes, Royce,” she says, smiling at me. “Hello, Jasmine. Congratulations on your cheerleading championship. Royce told me a few weeks ago.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

“Did I tell you I was a cheerleader at UCLA? Go Bruins! Unfortunately, I was never the captain. But look at you. Smart. Driven. I’m so proud of you.”

Is this the same woman I saw at Christmas? She’s not looking at me the way she did that day, like something Royce dragged inside from the street onto her spotless white carpet. She’s friendlier. Sweeter. She really does seem to like me. Was it all in my head, then? It must have been. I told Royce when I apologized that I was projecting my own insecurity onto her, and this is more proof of it.

“Thank you, Mrs. Blakely,” I say. “That’s really nice of you to say.”

“You can call me Debra,” she says, putting the cup away. “We all need to have dinner soon. Anyway, I’m off.”

“It’s important, Mom,” Royce says. “I need you.”

Debra stops in her tracks. “Okay. What is it?” She sets down her purse, waiting for Royce to continue.

He gets right to the point.

“Jasmine and her family are going to be deported. We have to help.”

33

There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.

—JOHN HOLMES

“WHEN MARIA’S VISA EXPIRED,” Mrs. Blakely says, “we had to help her get an extension, which is much harder to do once the date has passed. The government tends to frown on that, but we were able to make it happen.”

I’m at a coffeehouse with Royce and his mom. She’s meeting with us after her hair appointment. Her hair looks perfect. She’s listened to my story quietly and without judgment. For the first time, I feel a glimmer of hope, although there’s still more than a hint of desperation mixed with it.

She stirs some sugar substitute into her coffee. “These things can be a real headache, but in Maria’s case we were able to extend her stay for another five years.”

“Only five years?” Royce says, alarmed. “That’s not enough time for Jasmine to get a degree and go to grad school too. There has to be a solution that wouldn’t mean she’d need to get approvals through the immigration and American court system for the rest of her life.”

“And I can’t stay here without my family,” I say. “We all need to be able to stay.” I’m adamant about that point.

“Wait, Maria’s leaving after five years?” Royce asks.

Mrs. Blakely nods. “She wants to move back to the Philippines and be with her family.” She takes a drink. “Your father had to pull some strings to get her a new work visa.” She looks at me. “In your case though, you need something to stall the deportation. To file some kind of appeal. And you’ll need a judge on your side for that. I think it’s called a stay of deportation. After that, you’ll need to somehow be eligible to apply for green cards so you can become permanent residents. But I just can’t believe the judge wouldn’t look at your academic excellence as a reason to keep you and your family here in America.”

“It was a nightmare,” I say, feeling brave enough to speak my mind after hearing her supportive words. “He was definitely not on our side. He thought winning Nationals at cheer was silly. He made some comment about how America had enough cheerleaders.”

“I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Blakely says. “Some of these people think a woman’s place truly is in the gutter. They’ve spent years at the top and believe their power gives them the right to decide people’s fates. That theydeservethe power to say who stays and goes.”

---