Something Inbetween. Литагент HarperCollins USD

God, Jas, I’m so sorry. Is she okay? Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “I was embarrassed. I know I shouldn’t be, but I just... Ugh. And I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you as much as I should have been. I told myself you were busy with Dylan and you didn’t need me. But I’m here now. Tell me what’s going on with you too.”

      Kayla sighs. Tears are building up in her eyes. “I just thought you didn’t care. You’ve been totally MIA for the last few weeks. Things have gotten so bad at home. Dad’s gone, and Mom spends as much time out of the house as possible. And I’m stuck watching Brian on the weekends. I hate everything. I just want my life to go back to normal.”

      I feel the same way, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I hug Kayla until she’s done crying. Then I go to one of the stalls to get a wad of toilet paper so she can wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

      “How’s Dylan?” I ask. Talking about boys always makes Kayla feel better. She instantly lights up.

      “He’s good.” She sniffles. “I really like him. He’s not like any other guy I’ve dated. He’s really chill and easy to hang out with. I just...feel like I can totally be myself around him.”

      “That’s amazing,” I say, feeling wistful. It’s not as if Royce and I have been in contact lately. We sort of lost the thread—okay, fine, I dropped it. I’ll probably never see him again.

      “What are you going to do on your trip?” Kayla asks.

      “There’s a tour of the Capitol, and there’s this fancy reception for the National Scholars. And I’m supposed to meet the president, I guess.”

      “The president?” She wipes her nose, then throws the tissue away. “Wow, Jas, that’s huge. How fancy is this dinner? What are you going to wear?”

      “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that yet.”

      Kayla pulls me up from the bench. “We have to get out of here,” she says. “We’re going shopping!”

      * * *

      By Wednesday afternoon, I’ve got my bags completely packed. I stuffed a little blue glass bottle inside my suitcase so I can scoop up some dirt from the capital to add to my collection.

      We’re on the way to the airport. My brothers stayed home with one of Mom’s friends. Dad and Lola Cherry are along for the ride. Lola Cherry is in her seventies, wearing large Jackie O glasses, and has the demeanor of someone who was quite the looker in her youth. She dyes her hair black and wears bright red lipstick, but like the typical Filipino matron, lives in comfortable housedresses and flip-flops.

      I’ve been sort of dreading this moment when I leave them. It’s the first time I’ll be on my own anywhere, and I know how Mom can be. She’s worried and talking a hundred miles an hour. “You need to be careful out there. Washington, D.C., is filled with strange old men. You keep them away from you. Button up your blouse. And no makeup.”

      “A chaperone is picking me up at the airport,” I say, nibbling my nails. “You’re overreacting.”

      “I don’t know this chaperone,” Mom says.

      “Me either,” Dad says. “He could be a space alien for all I know.”

      “Daddy,” I say. “Just stop. You’re being silly. And it’s a girl.”

      Lola Cherry sits in the backseat, snickering. “If you were smart, Jasmine, you would take me along,” she says.

      “Why? So you can flirt with all the old congressmen?” Dad says.

      Lola clicks her tongue. “I don’t flirt,” she says. “I don’t have to say a thing. They’ll come to me because of my beauty. They’ll take me to dinner on the town. I want to see this Washington, D.C., nightlife.”

      I laugh. I should probably take Lola Cherry—she’d probably have more fun than me.

      “Lola Cherry!” Mom says. “You’re not helping. These people have no scruples.”

      “I know,” Lola says, winking at me.

      I grin back.

      “Ay,” Mom says. “I knew we shouldn’t have let you come with us.”

      “So you can keep torturing your daughter on your own?”

      “I’m not torturing her,” Mom says. “She needs to hear these things.”

      “Mom,” I say. “I’ll be fine. It’s perfectly safe. This is a huge award. There’s a ton of security. Nothing will happen to me! Quit worrying. And you know what? That reform bill is going to pass the House. I can feel it. Everything will be okay.” My heart begins to beat faster, as I think about everything that’s at stake.

      “That bill better pass,” Dad says. “Or the UFO is going to pick us up and take us away.”

      “Dad, quit with the space alien jokes,” I sigh.

      “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired of them already.”

      Mom joins in. “We’re all getting tired of them.”

      Finally, Dad pulls up to the drop-off area at the airport. We say our goodbyes and Mom actually cries, which makes me cry too. Lola gives me a hug and tells me to put in a good word to any congressmen or senators who look like movie stars.

      “If any look like Elvis, get their phone number for me,” she says.

      I hug her tightly. I love my crazy family. I wish my brothers were here. “I love you so much,” I tell Lola.

      Mom complains right away. “What about me?”

      “Stop,” I say, kissing her cheek. “You know how much I love you. We’re practically the same person. I’m going to be fine. I’m going to meet the president of the United States.” I kiss Dad goodbye too.

      Lola’s eyes brighten. “You didn’t say you were going to meet the president! He’s the best-looking of all!”

      “I told all of you,” I growl. “You just don’t listen! I’m going to be late for the plane. I love you!” I add, and run off into the terminal and to the security checkpoint.

       10

      There was nothing but land; not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made.

      —WILLA CATHER, MY ÁNTONIA

      “MS. DE LOS SANTOS?” asks a young African American woman with straightened hair cut in a cute bob outside the terminal at Dulles International Airport. She’s holding a sign with my name on it.

      “That’s me,” I say, with a big smile.

      “Suzanne Roberts,” she says, shaking my hand. “National Scholarship Recognition Program Hostess and Department of Education Liaison. Right this way. You’ll be meeting some of the other students shortly.”

      For being so young, Suzanne is all business. Her skirt and coat are a deep royal blue and her blouse is white. She’s perfectly put together. Not a wrinkle anywhere on her clothes or a hair out of place. There’s an insignia on her uniform for the program that looks like a blend with the presidential seal. I note the way she holds herself. The way she walks. She talks as if she graduated from some etiquette school in Switzerland where they teach you how to carry yourself with poise. She has a constant smile that seems real and not polished at all. She’s instantly likable. I want to be like her someday and tell her so.

      “You’re sweet, thanks. I hear your essay and self-assessment was a particularly great read for the committee. Congratulations.”

      “Thanks so much—it’s so nice to hear that. Are you on the selection committee?” I ask as we walk through the terminal.