Page 125 of Something in Between

“I guess,” I say, giving up the fantasy.

“But it doesn’t mean you don’t keep fighting, Jasmine. We experience certain things that change us for a reason. It’s not what happens to us that matters. What matters is how we react to it.”

43

Hope is a waking dream.

—ARISTOTLE

LOS ANGELES PRIVATEschools have their proms later than public schools, so a week later, Royce picks me up to take me to his prom. Spring has come in full bloom in the city. The purple jacaranda trees are bursting with color, and the smell of orange blossoms fills the air. A few days before, we went to my prom, hanging out with the cheer team and triple-dating with Kayla and Dylan, Lo and Julian. It was fun and low-key, at the ballroom of the local Hyatt. We all went to Denny’s after. I know Royce’s prom is going to be a much bigger deal.

The Eastlake Prep prom has a 1920s Jazz Age theme, à laThe Great Gatsby. Royce showed me the dance bids when they arrived earlier. The gilded invitations are gorgeous, with black backgrounds, gold art deco designs, and bold white lettering. The thing is, though, that the location is secret. We’re supposed to meet at his school, then they’ll let us know where to go for the prom.

I’m expecting big yellow school buses to be lined up in front of Eastlake Prep to take us to the secret location, but instead there are rows of limousines and smaller, older luxury cars that are taking students and driving away.

For an early graduation present, Millie said she would buy my prom dress. She took Mom, Kayla, and me all over Beverly Hills in search of the perfect dress. I don’t even think looking for my wedding dress someday will be such a big deal. It took hours, but finally I found the perfect gown.

Now I’m looking at my reflection in the tinted window of a posh black Bentley that’s about to take Royce and I to the dance. The dress’s white beaded bodice and sequins sparkle under the streetlights. I shift a little to check the asymmetrical hemline, which is just long enough to feel formal but short enough to show a little leg. I feel like a jazz-age Cinderella.

“You look very beautiful tonight, Jas,” Royce says, a serious look on his face. His hands are shaking a bit when he slips the corsage over my wrist.

I want to make fun of him for being so formal, but I take pity on the boy and just say thank-you. “You don’t look too bad either,” I tell him with a smile.

In his black tux with gold cuff links, he’s the picture of dashing, and it reminds me of the National Scholar dinner, which already seems like a lifetime ago. He opens the door and helps me inside the Bentley, and the driver follows some of the other cars onto the freeway toward downtown Los Angeles.

* * *

Royce and I are standing on the rooftop of the Standard Hotel and looking over the gorgeous, twinkling city lights in the distance. We’re taking a break from dancing. I’ve met a bunch of people he’s friendly with, who seem nice enough, and seemed happy to meet me. I wonder if he just doesn’t give anyone a chance to be his friend. He’s drinking punch, but I’m sipping a glass of water. That’s the only downside of a white gown. You have to be careful when you eat or drink anything, and you have to be super careful about sitting downanywhere.

“Remember the night in D.C.?” Royce asks.

“Of course I do,” I say, smiling. “I wasn’t so sure about you then.”

“What? You didn’t fall in love with me immediately?” He puts hands to his chest as if I’m giving him a heart attack. “Wasn’t I the best-looking guy there?”

He’s a little peacocky about his looks, which is endearing. “Perhaps,” I say airily. “But it took me a long time to fall in love with you—a whole night.” One of the best nights of my life.

Royce takes my hand and I know he’s remembering too. “Sometimes I think about who I should thank that we met. God? Destiny? My uncle for getting in a car accident on Topanga?”

“That’s terrible!” I playfully slap him on the arm, then pull him close. “I’m sorry I’m so difficult sometimes.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Royce says, leaning his chin on my shoulder. We’re so close, I can feel his breath against my neck. “You helped me figure out what I want in life. You give me courage to be who I am.”

I start to choke up. His words make me want to cry.

“Oh man,” he says. “My goal was definitely not to make my girlfriend cry on my prom night.”

“Shush,” I say. “Just kiss me.”

* * *

Sunday night, Royce’s dad is in town and we’re supposed to have dinner with his family. I arrive early at the restaurant, since Dad was able to drive me—he had an errand on this side of town. I sit by the chairs in front of the hostess’s desk and wait. A few minutes later, I hear a familiar voice and cringe. It’s Mason, and he has a smug grin on his face.

“Well, if it isn’t my fellow valedictorian,” he says. Royce must have told him. “What, don’t look so surprised. Just because I don’t look like a nerd...”

“Did you give a speech?”

“No, I actually missed my own graduation. I was passed out from a party the night before. My parents were so pissed.” He laughs as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

---