Page 107 of Something in Between

“How’s Mason?”

“That’s over,” she says. “I don’t even know why I dated that jerk.”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mason. I went out with him because he kept calling, and I was tired of waiting around while Dylan toured with his band. You know how bored I get,” she says, putting her hands around her mug.

“Try long-distance when you have to go to the Philippines.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I guessthatrelationship is over.”

Meaning Royce and me.

“No, we’re not over,” I say, offended.

“Oh. I just assumed that since the Philippines is so far away...”

“You shouldn’t assume,” I say. “Look, Kayla. Why are we here? What do you want?”

Kayla takes a breath. “I want my friend back. I wanted to tell you I’m so sorry about what happened with our brothers. Brian’s been acting out since our parents split, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I really thought he was just joking. I was horrified when it happened, and I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t face you.”

I understand how that feels.

“I miss you, Jas. You’re my oldest friend,” she says, her eyes watery.

“I miss you too, K,” I say, close to tears as well. It’s been such an emotional year.

Because no matter how mad she and I get at each other, we bounce back. I can forgive Brian for what he did to Danny, I guess. And we’re not going to let an idiot like Mason get in the way. But next time she wants to hook up with a guy, I’m going to make her screen him through me first, and I tell her so.

“I don’t want to meet another guy,” she says. “I miss Dylan. I made such a huge mistake. Do you think he’ll ever talk to me again?”

“Why not?” I say, thinking of everything Royce and I have been through, and how no relationship is perfect all the time. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

35

The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity.

—AMELIA EARHART

IT’S MID-MARCH ANDwe don’t hear anything about a new visa, or about the private bill other than Royce telling me that his father’s staff is working on it. Except for our relationship, which is growing deeper every day, everything else seems to be up in the air. I’m starting to think maybe Dad was right for not being optimistic about the process. If we do end up having to move back to Manila, Dad says his cousins have a house we can rent-to-own.

Mom starts organizing every room. We all help. A lot of our things will be sold at a yard sale to help raise travel expenses. We just can’t afford to move all our things. Mom says we’ll get new furniture in the Philippines. We’ll truly start over. She’s already window-shopping online, setting placeholders for the furniture she’s going to buy. She’s not as sad when she does this. Somehow I think there’s a kind of peace, a calm in the storm when she confronts Dad on the budget for all the furniture. Of course he’s more concerned with our house and if and when it sells.

Although immersing themselves in the business of moving helps my parents get their minds off the deportation, I get sad when they talk about selling the house. It’s the only place I can remember living. When I think of home, I don’t think of the Philippines or even America. I think of our house.

* * *

Even if my whole family is readying for the worst, I still have hope for the bill. I try not to constantly pester Congressman Blakely about the process. One night, at a dinner with Royce’s mother and father at a restaurant in Beverly Hills near Tiffany’s, I ask, “Are these things hard to draft?”

“No harder than any other bill,” he says, looking around. “But let’s not talk about that here.”

His wife gives him a look. I don’t know what it means, other than we change the subject to both Royce’s acceptance and my interest in attending Stanford. I won’t find out whether I’m in until April. I try not to think about it too much. Even if I can stay and Stanford does admit me—two really bigifs—I’ll still have to figure out a way to pay my tuition. Stanford says it’s need-blind even when it comes to international students, but who knows if that’s really true? As my dad says, you never know. I can’t depend on anything.

“So you applied there too,” Mrs. Blakely says. “What are you hoping to study?”

“Political science, I think,” I say. “I’ve been thinking I might go to law school.”

Mr. Blakely beams. “An excellent choice!”

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