Page 57 of Something in Between

I pick up my glass of green tea, leaving a ring of condensation on the table. “Well, now I guess I havetwothings to apologize for.” I put down the glass without taking a sip.

Kayla looks out the window. “Nah.”

Honesty is the best thing sometimes. If you’re never honest with someone, then you’re pretending to be perfect all the time. That’s what people expect from me, and I don’t want to be that girl anymore. I’m tired of it, of having too much pride.

But I don’t know how to start, and because she knows me so well, Kayla talks first. She says that her dad served her mom divorce papers, so it’s official. They’re definitely not getting back together.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her.

“It’s okay. At least they’re not yelling at each other all the time anymore. The house is peaceful for a change. And now that Dad has to see us on the weekends, we actually end up spending more time with him.”

“How’s Dylan? Is he back?”

“Yeah, and he told me I shouldn’t worry about groupies or anything. Not that he would cheat on me, but also that when they’re on the road all they do is eat at vegan restaurants and do yoga. They don’t party that much. That’s not what they’re about. It’s the music. I guess some rock bands really are different.”

“I guess so. He is a nice guy, and he adores you.”

“Yeah,” she says happily. “He told me not to quit cheer and keep going so we can kick butt at Nationals. But we’re not here to talk about me. What’s up, Jas? What’s wrong?”

My phone buzzes.

“You’ve got a text,” she says, sipping her tea. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

I sigh and glance down at my phone. It’s Royce again.

royceb: Hey, did you get my text?

royceb: Are you at practice or something?

royceb: Why aren’t you picking up your phone?

royceb: I don’t get it. Are we fighting over politics?

royceb: Or did I do something wrong?

I shove the phone deep into my purse.

“Out with it,” Kayla says.

I’m finding it difficult to get any words out. It’s like there’s this awful lump in my throat paralyzing my neck muscles.

“Jasmine?” Kayla says. “What’s really wrong? Is it Royce? Did something happen?”

“Yes. But it’s not just Royce.” I have to start at the beginning. “I can trust you, right?”

“Of course you can. Duh!”

“Okay, okay, I know. But this is hard for me to say. You know the day Mrs. Garcia came to the gym during cheer?”

Kayla nods, waiting patiently.

“She gave me a letter telling me about the National Scholarship. But when I went home and told my parents, I found out that our visas expired years ago. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the scholarship at first—I didn’t know what to say. We’ve been living here without documentation the whole time I’ve been in high school. That’s why my Dad wouldn’t let me get my driver’s permit. That’s why we don’t go back to the Philippines to visit family anymore. I’m not an American, Kayla. I’m not here legally.”

Her face pales.

“But that’s not all. Royce’s dad is Congressman Blakely, the house majority leader. He hates illegal aliens and just killed the big reform bill that would have let my family stay in the US.”

Kayla is now so pale that she’s the same shade as the napkin.

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