Page 29 of Something in Between

I applaud when the politician finishes his speech. He nods to us as he walks to a table to sit with his family.

The politician’s wife is wearing a long, gorgeous, sweeping black dress with a full skirt. I saw the same dress in Vogue this month. She’s styled her chestnut hair in a low chignon at the nape of her neck that makes her look like a First Lady. The couple is joined by a young man who glances my way. I recognize him from somewhere.

Oh my God.

How could I have not put two and two together? CongressmanBlakelywas the speaker. Duh. Royce’s dad. Mr. Anti-immigration. How did I not recognize his face? It’s not like I haven’t seen him all over the news since I first spotted him at the hospital.

And there’sRoyce.Looking incredibly handsome in a crisp black tuxedo. He scans the room and our eyes meet. It’s like I’m zapped by lightning—everything in me is on fire when he looks at me.

I have to look away. It’s too much. I feel almost ill from excitement.

My phone buzzes immediately. It’s a text from him.I need to go all the way to D.C. to see you?

Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here,I send, trying to seem casual.

My heart is racing. The shock of seeing him takes my breath away. I don’t know whether to stare a hole into the tablecloth or check out Royce again, but my decision is made up for me when the host announces that dinner is coming to a close and Suzanne comes to the table to sweep the group up for the next event on the itinerary. We’re scheduled for another meet and greet with more dignitaries for dessert. I follow Suzanne to an area where there are many black couches, chairs and small tables. Caterers come around with bottles of water and trays of tarts and tiny little cakes. I decline. I surreptitiously look for Royce but don’t see him anywhere. My hands are trembling and I tell myself to calm down. Why does he affect me so much?

I peek at my phone. Why not? Other honorees are. There’s a message from Kayla:I’m not the team captain while you’re gone? I feel like quitting.

Oh no. She can’t! I type back.I’m so sorry. I tried to tell coach it was the wrong choice. Don’t quit. We need you.

She doesn’t text back.

I send her another text and another, but she’s gone radio silent. I text her that I’ll call her when the reception is over.

I stuff the phone back in my purse. When I look up, Royce is standing in front of me, holding two glasses of champagne.

Oh.

My.

God.

He’s so incredibly handsome, and even more so in that tux. The sharp black lines of the jacket and his crisp white shirt look good with his dark hair, which he’s slicked back from his forehead. His brown eyes are warm and shining, and I forgot about that dimple on his cheek, which softens the striking edges of his face and makes him look like a mischievous boy. I remember the goofy selfie he took that’s still on my phone, and the Snapchats he sent of himself belly flopping into his pool and falling off a surfboard. He may look like the star of a teen soap opera, but he’s a goofball, like he doesn’t take anything too seriously.

The butterflies in my stomach relax. Being near him is enough to calm me down, it seems. It was the wait, the anticipation that was killing me. Still, it’s hard to breathe.

“For me?” I ask, taking the proffered flute with a smile, relieved that my voice sounds even. “Is this allowed?”

“If I say so,” he says. We clink glasses.

I take a small sip. It’s sweet and tart. I take a bigger sip.

Royce is looking at me so intensely, I feel nervous again. I’m not sure what to say to him. This is the problem when you text a lot but don’t see each other in real life. We met only once, so it’s weird. And there’s the whole thing with his dad thinking illegal immigrants are ruining this country—what if Royce thinks the same way? I really, really hope he doesn’t think the same way.

“How come you never mentioned that you’re a National Scholar?” he teases, a glint in his eye. “Congrats by the way.”

“Thanks. You too!” I say, assuming he’s here for the same reason I am.

He flushes, and I worry I’ve said the wrong thing—and it turns out I have.

“Oh, I’m not one of you guys. I’m just here with my dad.”

“Um, okay. That’s cool,” I say, to make up for my faux pas. I look down at my shoes.

But Royce seems nonplussed and just shrugs. “Yeah, it was a last-minute thing. My dad wanted me to go.” His smile disappears.

I look back up at him. “He forced you, huh?” I tease. “Hard life.”

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