Page 31 of Something in Between

I raise my glass. “We’re not blue bubbles on our phones anymore!”

He smiles, and when his cheeks flush, he looks even more handsome. It’s almost painful. My stomach is doing that thing again, and for a moment we’re just standing there, smiling at each other, as if we’re the only two people in the room. Everything else recedes and goes out of focus. There’s only him and my beating heart.

Royce finishes his drink and sets it on the nearest table. “So,” he says expectantly. “What are you doing after this?”

11

The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.

—COCO CHANEL

ROYCE HAS TOdo a little glad-handing for his parents but promises to meet me in the hotel lobby after the event, so I go back to find Suzanne. She introduces me to the person she’s talking to, who turns out to be the dean of students at Stanford University.

The dean is one of the more youngish bigwigs here, and he’s not wearing a tux, just a black jacket and no tie. He has a slightly disheveled, casual California air that makes me feel right at home. When he asks me about my academic interests, I tell him about the storytelling project I was working on at the hospital, and how I’m drawn to both law and medicine but haven’t made a choice just yet. I don’t mention that the project is over; I still plan to put that book together and get it to the patients somehow.

“Have you thought about where you’re going for college?” he asks.

“Actually, my first choice is Stanford,” I tell him, feeling shy.

He raises his glass. “Good girl. We’d be lucky to have you.” He reaches in his pocket and hands me his card. “If you have any questions about the school, let me know. Happy to answer them.”

I’m so giddy, I almost stutter my goodbye, and when he leaves, Suzanne tells me he was her professor, and one of the youngest deans at Stanford. “He’s brilliant—he could have made millions in Silicon Valley, but he’d rather teach and mentor students,” she says. “Not enough of those kind of people out there.”

I think deeply on what she says. For the longest time, I’ve thought of success as something that means financial wealth and social status. Something that I needed to earn for myself, and for my family. But here was someone who had chosen another path. Albeit, a prestigious one, but far less lucrative. Suzanne introduces me to a few more people, then the party begins to die down, and people head out of the ballroom.

“There’s usually an after-party for honorees somewhere,” Suzanne says. “It’s practically tradition. One of the local kids always hosts it. I’m sure you can ask around.”

“Thanks. I’m meeting someone in the lobby. Maybe we’ll end up there.”

“Great! Have fun—see you tomorrow,” she says with a cheerful wave.

I follow the crowd to the lobby, keeping an eye out for Royce.

Gorgeous oversize paintings of bright flowers hang on the shiny, deep red wood walls. A huge chandelier hangs over a mahogany baby grand piano being played by an older gentleman wearing a navy suit. He plays with so much passion and tenderness, it’s like he’s the only one in the room. He deserves to be playing in a concert hall, not a hotel lobby where everyone is treating his music like background noise.

I check my texts while I wait, then realize I’m just like everyone else who’s taking the music for granted.

Kayla still hasn’t responded. I call her. She doesn’t pick up, so I leave a voice mail. I really hope she’s okay. She can’t quit the team, I won’t let her.

Mom has texted a few times. I know she wants me to call, but I text her instead and say that the other girls in my room are going to sleep and I don’t want to bother them. I tell her I’ll call her tomorrow.

I don’t want to think of anyone but Royce right now. It’s hard to breathe again, just thinking of him. I’ve never been affected by someone’s presence so much, although he’s not even here and he’s making me feel this way. What is it about him?

Okay, so Ihavekissed boys. On the cheek. I played “I never” in sixth grade a couple of times, and I “went out” with Jarred Agovino for a month in junior high. We held hands. But ever since high school, I haven’t had time for boys and I’ve never had arealboyfriend. My parents used to say I couldn’t date until I was sixteen, but there wasn’t even a reason toforbidme to date. Nevertheless, Mom doesn’t need to know about Royce right now. No one needs to know about him. There’s nothing to know anyway. We’re just friends.Let’s see where this goes, I tell myself, trying for deep, calming breaths.

Royce finally arrives, and there’s a group of boys trailing him. They’re rambunctious, slapping each other on the back and laughing a little too loudly. The pianist gives them a sideways glance, then returns to caressing the keys.

When Royce sees me he walks right over and I swear his eyes light up. I can feel my heart pounding so hard in my chest.I get it now, I think.I get it. What all those sappy love songs and romantic movies are trying to say about love, trying to capture this kind of moment, this kind of feeling. I didn’t really understand before. No one’s ever made me feel this way. It’s like lightning, like everything is suddenly wonderful, like the world is actually the great place that Louis Armstrong sings about and life isn’t just a drudge of chores and routine.

Life can be magical.

When he’s standing in front of me, I have to crane my neck a little to look at him directly. I hadn’t realized how tall he was. I barely come up to his shoulders.

“Hey,” he says, shyly.

“Hey.” I smile. “Are these your friends?” I say, turning to look at the group.

“Nope,” he says tersely, his expression changing. He tries to move us away from them. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

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