Page 84 of Something in Between

We sit down at the kitchen table and eat sugar cookies. They’re the kind that come in a blue tin box. Do all grandmothers eat them? Mine did, and Lola Cherry does too.

I tell her my latest news, about the team going to Nationals and about how I finally started telling people about my undocumented status.

“Do you feel better now that everyone knows? Takes the pressure off, at least?” she asks, getting up to fetch more cookies.

“I guess. I don’t know.” I thought Millie was going to be happier for me, but she seems melancholy.

“Well, this is life, Jasmine. It’s filled with tough moments. There are going to be tougher times ahead too.”

Even though I don’t want to think about those times right now, I know she’s right. I need to prepare myself for the idea that we might not win Nationals. Or, even worse, that my family might lose the deportation trial.

“You said you had something to show me?” I ask.

“Oh, Jasmine,” Millie says, grabbing her side and doubling over in pain. It must the pancreatitis.

“Here. Come sit down on the couch,” I say, putting my arm around her shoulder.

She shakes her head. “No, no. The pain comes in waves. It’ll go away. I must have eaten something too fatty at breakfast.”

I hold her until she’s able to stand all the way upright again. She rummages in the kitchen drawers, looking for something.

While she goes through a stack of papers and documents, she asks me about our upcoming hearing. “Your mother hasn’t told me about a court date. Is there one?” Millie asks.

“Not yet,” I say. “I did some research, and the process used to take nearly two years in some cases. The lawyer thinks we will have an expedited date though, which is good, but also bad, because if we lose, we have to leave sooner. But Mom thinks we can’t live in fear, that we have to try and win legal status. We have to risk it.”

“She’s right, your mother,” she says. “Without risk, there’s no reward.” She walks back to the table and shows me a yellowed piece of paper.

“What is it?” I ask, trying to read the faded letters.

“It was my acceptance to architecture school,” she says. “I really wanted to become an architect instead of an engineer.”

“Why didn’t you?” I ask.

“I spent a summer working in Jean Prouvé’s office in Paris. It was one of the happiest times of my life. But when I returned to America, I was too scared to do what I loved, so I ended up doing something safer and more commercial. My father was a builder, and I had an engineering degree, so I knew the business already. I wanted to make beautiful structures, work for Richard Neutra and Frank Lloyd Wright. Instead, we put up some boring strip malls. It’s the biggest regret of my life.”

She takes the paper and folds it back into a square. “Whatever happens with the trial, go after what you want, Jasmine. Don’t wait for life to make the decision for you.”

26

Remember, no effort that we make to attain something beautiful is ever lost.

—HELEN KELLER

IN MID-JANUARY,two nights before I leave for Nationals, I’m supposed to hang out with Royce. But he cancels at the last minute.

“I’m sorry, Jas,” he says. “I have a dinner for my dad.”

He’s spending a lot of time with his dad lately. I want to ask him why he can’t bring a date. Or is it that he doesn’t want to bringme, that maybe I’m not good enough for this fancy benefit he’s going to? But I don’t say anything.

“It’s all right. I’ll see you when I get back,” I say.

“You’re going to kick ass,” he tells me. “I wish I could be there.”

I’m disappointed that I’m not going to see him, but don’t let it distract me like I did before. Winning Nationals won’t be easy—just like winning the deportation case won’t be easy. The case may be out of my hands, but how well I lead the team is something I control. I need to focus for my team, for our sisterhood. Millie’s right, I can’t let life distract me from what I want.

The plane ride to Florida the next day is filled with turbulence. I hold hands with Kayla, who hates airplanes, until we land in Orlando.

“You all right?” I ask.

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