Page 42 of Something in Between

We’re all equals in here. The president doesn’t care about private schools or public schools or where we come from. He cares thatwecare, that we’re trying our best, making something of our lives, and most of all, that we’re not giving up, even if threatened with obstacles completely out of our control.

If only I could convince the entire Congress of those things too.

* * *

Like clockwork, after I get my cell phone back, I get a text from Royce.

royceb: how did it go with the Big Man?

royceb: did he know your name? I love when he does that.

jasmindls: Yes he did and I have a new crush, sorry.

royceb: huh, I might have to do something drastic then.

royceb: and the Secret Service ain’t no joke.

jasmindls: Don’t worry I’ll visit you in prison.

royceb: will you bake me a cake with a file in it?

jasmindls: Better. I’ll jump out of the cake.

royceb: now you’re talking.

jasmindls: Like Marilyn Monroe and JFK.

royceb: she baked him a cake?

jasmindls: No she sang him happy birthday. In a tight dress.

royceb: uh huh, I could live with that.

jasmindls: Perv.

royceb: You started it!

jasmindls: Let’s get going then!

jasmindls: Your two hours start now. Where should we meet?

* * *

At the restaurant there’s a view of the street from the table, which is surrounded by potted trees with little lights in them twinkling everywhere. Royce arrives while I’m sipping water from a glass. He picked the place, told me to meet him there. He asks if I like his choice and I tell him I do.

“It’s like Titania’s garden, don’t you think? With all the lights?” he says.

“FromMidsummer Night’s Dream. Yes. Exactly. You’re such a romantic,” I tease.

He smiles broadly, not at all embarrassed, and I like him even more than I did already. “So is it safe to let the president live?” he says, scooting so that he’s next to me in the banquette.

“Why not? He seems like a nice guy,” I say. “And anyway, he’s already married.”

He slings an arm over the seat, his hand dangling over my shoulder. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. So what did you think of the Oval Office?”

I mull my answer as I move closer to him as well. So this is what attraction means—wanting to be as near as possible. “It was...” I say, pausing, not able to think of the right word. “Presidential.”

He cracks a grin and gives my shoulder a squeeze, then lets his hand stay there. “What’s your family like? Are they anything like you?”

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