Page 79 of Something in Between

“Not if I can help it,” Dad says.

I try to see if Royce is squirming as badly as I am, but he doesn’t seem to be. He’s smiling, going with the flow.

“Why did you move to the United States, Lola Cherry?” Royce asks.

“Ah. You want to hear this story?” Lola asks. Before Royce can respond, Lola leans toward the table, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. “In the Philippines, I used to... When I was around Jasmine’s age, I was quite a looker, just like her. If I do say so myself. There was one night I put on my best dress and snuck out of my family’s compound to go to a dance at a bar. There was a handsome man drinking whiskey, leaning against the bar, but he didn’t talk to anyone. Well, you know me, I couldn’t let him go through the whole night not talking to anyone, so I went up to him and asked him to dance. He agreed, but I was soon regretting my choice because he had two left feet!”

Royce seems enthralled by her story. I guess it is kind of funny. “What did you do? Did you ditch him? Did you whack him with your cane?”

Lola laughs. “I wish I’d had my cane then. I could have taught him a thing or two about rhythm. To answer your question—no, I didn’t abandon him. In fact, I discovered that he was Filipino, but he had been born in the United States. His reason for coming to the Philippines was to find a wife. And, well, how should I say this? He found me. So here I am.”

“You knew he was the one for you, just like that?” Royce asks. But he’s looking at me, not Lola, and I can feel myself blushing and smiling.

“Yes, I knew he was the one. Just like that.” Lola nods. “But enough about me,” she says, uncharacteristically. I can tell talking about her late husband is making her sad. She turns around in her seat, pointing her cane at Dad. “What are you doing about your citizenship problem?”

I’m glad she’s changed the subject, but not really sure I want to hear this argument.

“We came to a decision,” Mom says.

I’m surprised. “You did? How come I didn’t hear about this?”

“Because you’re never home,” Dad says. “Huh, Royce?”

Royce’s ears turn red and he chokes down the last of his Coke.

“What did you decide?” Lola asks, tapping the kitchen table with her cane. “If you’re going back to the Philippines, you can take me with you. I’d rather be buried there than here. I don’t like American cemeteries.”

“What’s wrong with the cemeteries?” Dad asks.

Mom interrupts. “We’re going to go through with the deportation hearing.”

“We are?” I ask. My stomach heaves.

“Might as well take our chances,” Mom says.

Royce and I catch each other’s gaze. I can’t tell which of us looks more anxious.

24

I’m inspired by failure. The process of defeat—picking yourself back up again is the hardest thing in the world.

—LOLO JONES

“YOU NEED TOspend more time doing schoolwork,” Mom says the next Saturday night as I’m getting ready to go to Lo’s for another kick back.

“Why? What’s the point?” I ask.

Even though our family has been through a lot together, I’m starting to get bitter about the possibilities for my future. The more research I do about the success of deportation trials, the angrier I get. It turns out Mr. Alvarado was being overly optimistic about our chances.

“Quit being so angry,” Mom says. “You weren’t born in America. You’re not entitled to its privileges.”

I can’t believe she just said that to me. If that’s really how she feels, then I don’t even want to be home right now.

“You don’t get it,” I say. “I put in my hard work. I did what you told me to do. And it won’t do any good—it won’t help us stay here. Now, I finally have something in my life that you didn’t pick out for me. You can’t control me for forever, Mom. I’m already eighteen.”

“You’re with that boy all the time,” she says. “It’s not good for you to be so serious with someone at this age.”

“Are you really going to start calling Royce‘that boy,’Mom?”

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