Page 133 of Something in Between

“SHUT UP!” Mason screams. “THIS IS NOT ABOUT DAD!”

But Royce keeps on talking. “I know you think Dad doesn’t love you. So you take it out on everybody else. I’m telling you right now, Dad hurts for you. He’s just no good at communicating with us.”

Mason looks like he wants to murder his little brother. His fists are balled. He grabs Royce with one of his hands and raises his fist. “Shut up!” he says, beginning to choke up. “Just shut up!”

“I won’t,” Royce says. “I love you, Mason. If you need to beat me to feel better, just do it.” He’s crying and I’m crying too.

“Stop it,” Mason croaks, pushing Royce’s chest so he has to take a step back to balance himself.

“The only person you’re hurting is yourself,” Royce says. “You’ll slip deeper into someone you’re not if you don’t stop. You don’t even like yourself.”

Mason looks like he’s about to throw another punch, but he ends up shoving Royce into the side of the house and stumbling into the rain. I run over to help Royce up, and when he gets to his feet he runs after his older brother. Kayla and I follow behind him.

The rain is coming down in sheets. Mason has collapsed onto the front lawn, having completely broken down. Royce gets down on the ground and puts an arm around him.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Mason says, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Royce says. “It’s going to be okay.” Holding his big brother in his arms, he squints into the rain. “Jas, help me?”

“Of course.” I run to him.

* * *

Kayla and I are standing in the foyer of Congressman Blakely’s house. Mason has just been taken away by his mother into another room. In a low voice, Royce tells his father what happened at Kayla’s house. He doesn’t hesitate to describe how Mason admitted to sabotaging the private bill.

“He did that?” Congressman Blakely asks calmly.

Royce nods. He’s done with his story.

Congressman Blakely grimaces with disappointment. “Anything else?”

“No, sir,” Royce says.

The congressman thinks for a moment. “Get your friends home,” he says.

“Right.” Royce turns and sees me standing next to Kayla. Our eyes meet, and it’s like he’s seeing me for the first time since I ran away from him at the courthouse. He furrows his brows and faces the congressman again. There’s a look of determination on his face, as if he just remembered something. “Dad?”

Mr. Blakely turns around. He looks at his son vacantly. “What is it?”

Royce seems especially brave right now. I don’t know what it is, but the way he’s standing there he looks like he’s matured five years in the course of five hours.

“Will you call the judge now? And confirm the visa extension for Jasmine’s family? For me?”

Mr. Blakely looks at his son and nods. He takes out his cell phone and dials.

47

We never know how high we are

Till we are called to rise;

And then, if we are true to plan,

Our statures touch the skies.

—EMILY DICKINSON

IT’S THE MIDDLEof April, and by the end of the month I have to let Stanford know whether I’m enrolling in the fall. Since I never received any financial aid confirmation in the mail, last Monday I asked the dean of students, whom I’d met at the National Scholar dinner, if he could help find out what was going on. He advised leaving a message for the financial aid office asking about my package.

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