Page 83 of Something in Between

Coach Davis continues, “When one of us hurts, all of us feel some kind of pain. When Chelsea lost her brother to cancer, didn’t we all rally?”

“We raised $20,000,” Deandra says.

Coach Davis doesn’t stop there. “When Denise came down with meningitis, weren’t we all there in the hospital? I saw all of you at her bedside.”

“We do it because we love each other,” Kayla says, glancing at me. Both Chelsea and Denise graduated last year, but we still keep in touch.

“That’s right. We do,” Coach Davis says. “Girls, something else has happened. Right now your captain needs you. I want to say I have never met someone who has been such a good citizen as Jasmine de los Santos. And neither have you. But she’s been carrying a heavy burden for a while now. It’s a sensitive issue and requires that she can trust each and every one of you not to take it out of this practice. Can you do that?”

Each of the girls nods. Lexie walks up to me and puts her arm around my shoulders, her braids brushing against my neck. “You could have said something, Jas.”

“I know,” I say, trying to hold back the tears.

“Jasmine only just discovered her family is undocumented, and right now, there’s no way for them to stay in this country legally, not with the current laws in place. How she kept this from all of us, I don’t know. This news has devastated her family, and she needs our support. So before we start doing anything today, we know what we need to do.”

Tears stream down my cheeks as everyone stands together. They come up one by one, and in twos and threes and hold me in their arms. They tell me that they will all carry my pain. “We love you,” Kayla says. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

I swallow every tear.

“Thank you. I can’t say enough how your support makes me feel.”

As all the girls gather around me, Coach speaks again. “I also have another announcement. It’s why I originally called you to this meeting. The team that beat us out at Regionals. Foothill High School. They’ve been disqualified.”

“Yes!” Deandra shouts.

Kayla puts her hands on her hips. “Why?”

“Apparently they were working with a choreographer months before the season started. Someone reported them last week.”

“What does that mean for us?” I ask, hoping against hope that the news is good.

“Since our squad came in second place,” Coach explains, “they’ve bumped us up to first. We’re going to Nationals.”

I feel like I’m going to cry again. We’re going to Nationals after all!

* * *

The next day I visit Millie to thank her for encouraging me to come clean with everyone who matters in my life. She’s genuinely happy to see me. This, of course, makes me beam, but I’m also worried about her. She didn’t sound so good on the phone when she asked me to come visit her next time I had a chance. She said she had something to show me.

“Jasmine! What are you doing here?”

“You said to drop by if I was in the area. I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, come in, come in. Of course I did. It’s good to see you.” She looks past me. “Is anyone with you? I’m not feeling too well. And I’m sure I don’t look like a dream either.”

She’s wearing a nightgown during the middle of the day. Is her heart okay? Did she have a bout of pancreatitis again? Is her son taking care of her?

“No. My boyfriend dropped me off. He lives near you. I told him I’d take a bus home.” Royce had a family obligation and was sorry he couldn’t drive me home after my visit with Millie. I’d told him he was my boyfriend, not my driver, and not to worry about it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Millie says, opening the door wider for me to enter. “He could have come in too. As long as he doesn’t mind an old lady in a night shift.”

“It’s all right. He had to run to a meeting with his father. The only time he sees his dad is duringmeetings.” After Millie closes the door, I give her a hug, smelling her vanilla perfume. “I’m sorry. Should I have called?”

“No, honey. It’s nice to have someone drop by for a change. You know, there was a time people always dropped by. But now, because of all this technology, everyone texts or calls or emails, or sends a message some other way to say ‘I’m on my way!’ No, this is nice. How often are you surprised by a visit anymore? Come into the kitchen with me.”

She sets out a plate of cookies. “Tea?” she asks.

“Water’s fine, and I can get it,” I tell her, finding a pitcher of water in the fridge and pouring myself a cup.

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