Page 108 of Something in Between

Royce smiles at me proudly, and I’m tickled to have impressed his father.

“Are you continuing with cheer?” Debra asks.

I chew on a steamed green bean. “Thinking about it. I do want to compete at the collegiate level. It might help me focus overall. Keep me healthy. But I guess that depends on whether I make the team.”

Mrs. Blakely sips her wine. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“At any rate,” Congressman Blakely says, lowering his voice. “I did finally talk to the judge about an extension of you know what... I have a pretty good feeling.”

I’m quietly elated, but I don’t understand why he has to be so secretive about the extension. It’s not like any of his party leadership are hiding in the planters next to the dining tables.

Royce prods his dad for more information. “What did he say?”

Congressman Blakely takes a big stab of his steak. “I’m not going to talk exact details. Let’s just say I turned up the pressure and if he doesn’t take care of this right away, he won’t have my continued support when he’s up for reelection.” He takes a drink of lemon water. “It’s all about favors, son. Sometimes you have to put your foot down so these guys don’t continue to balk when you need something done.”

“Is that what you did with the immigration reform bill?” Royce asks.

Mr. Blakely appears agitated. “We’re not going to talk about that right now either.”

Still, Royce doesn’t give up. “I just thought, since you’re helping Jasmine, you might want to explain why you basically killed the bill that would have helped her family in the first place.”

I kick Royce under the table. I’m kind of impressed, but I’m also wondering why he’s doing this all of a sudden. I don’t want Congressman Blakely to think I’m ungrateful and stop helping us.

The congressman sets down his fork rather hard. He talks with his hands, gesticulating forcefully. “Son, I don’thaveto explain anything to you. I’m not going to talk about that here, or anywhere in public for that matter. So drop it, okay? This isn’t the place. You sure are aggravating enough to make a good investigative journalist.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Blakely suddenly says, waving out the window. “It’s Mason! I told him to try and join us if he could.”

Royce reaches for my hand under the table. I squeeze his reassuringly.

“I see there are still aliens among us,” Mason says when he arrives, and my stomach immediately drops.

“Come on, Mason,” Royce says, raising his voice. “Why do you have to be that way? It’s not funny.”

Mason gives me a little smile. “Ease up, little brother. She’s a smart girl. She knows I’m kidding.”

“That’s enough, Mason,” the congressman says.

Dinner continues, awkward and tense. Royce squeezes my hand under the table, a small comfort.

* * *

A week later, I see that Royce has left me a voice mail. He rarely calls, since we text all the time, so I know there must be big news. I hold the phone close to my ear as I walk home, trying to block out the noise with my hand.

“The judge is allowing your family a temporary visa!” he says. “I think it’s for a year. Maybe more. Isn’t this great? It’s a first step. Dad says his office has been gathering some great letters from officials, including one from the commission that looked at your essay for National Scholar. Things are pulling together. I would have waited to tell you in person, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible. Call me today. I want to see you when I can. We need to celebrate!”

I feel this weight lift off my shoulders. When I get home, I start dancing around the house. It’s a victory we desperately needed. I run into the living room and throw my arms around Daddy. I tell him and Mom the good news.

“Wait. Is this a sure thing?” Mom asks.

“Royce says so. I don’t know why he would be wrong.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dad says darkly. “Until then, mission is not aborted. We still need to prepare to leave.”

“Daddy! Why do you have to be so negative? Come on.”

Mom stands there with a hand over her mouth, shocked by the news. I don’t think she ever believed the political plan would work.

“Did you hear me, Mommy?” I ask. “We got our extension! One, maybe two years! It’s a start, right?”

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