“You better,” he replies. “Or I will.”
“Daddy. I’ll take care of it.”
I decide to start with Lo before I talk to Kayla. She doesn’t live that far away. Deandra offers to drive me, and when we arrive Eric is standing outside their house. When he sees me, he darts around back. I admit I want to shove his head into a wall, but I know that’s not going to fix anything.
It just hurts that it’s Lo’s brother who attacked Danny. I always thought he was as nice as she is. But, then again, kids follow other kids—they’re not even thinking about what they’re doing or where their anger is coming from. That’s probably the problem. I’ll figure it out. Lo will tell her parents. Everything will work out.
Deandra promises to wait for me and I go to the door and knock. I’m actually happy that Lo answers.
“Jas! So great to see you. That rally was so awesome! You must really be proud. Is your family happy?”
“They are,” I say. “We just had a big celebration. Mom cooked for the squad.”
“Invite me to the next one. I love your Mom’s cooking. Hey, how’s the whole immigration thing? I’ve been meaning to call. Everything okay?” Lo asks. She opens the door farther. “You know, I’m being rude. Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
I don’t want to have this conversation with Lo. It hasn’t been that long since we’ve become closer friends again. Lo leads me to the living room, and I sit on the couch next to her. Eric starts walking past the doorway, but when he sees me he splits down the hallway. “God. He’s such a spaz,” Lo says. “He must be up to something.”
“Speaking of your brother...” I say.
“What about him?” Lo asks. She leans back on the couch, giving me a confused expression.
“Yeah. Isko says Eric and a few of his friends jumped Danny today. He came home completely beaten up and limping.”
“Jumped him? What? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I tell her what happened.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Jasmine. I’m going to beat him myself. Eric!” she yells. “Get in here!”
She turns to me. “I’ll go get him.”
“No, it’s okay. But will you talk to your parents? Tell them what happened?”
“Yeah, of course,” she says. “I’ll talk to them as soon as they’re home. Brian was supposed to come over tonight, but I’ll tell Dad to not let Eric have him over.”
“Thanks,” I say. “That helps.”
“Wait here. He needs to apologize.”
I shake my head. “That’s okay,” I say. “It’s Danny he should apologize to, but I’d give him a day or two to heal.”
“I can’t believe my brother! God! What a little jerk! I promise he’ll learn a big lesson from this one, especially when he has to go begging Danny’s forgiveness.”
“Thanks, Lo.”
“I’m sorry this happened, Jasmine. You know we’re not like that.”
I nod. I know.
* * *
On the way home, I text Kayla. No answer. Hey, I need to talk to you, I write, adding, Why did you leave? I don’t want to just show up at her house. For some reason, I don’t feel that’s the right move here. She could have left because she wanted to deal with her brother herself. Maybe she was embarrassed or ashamed. I would be. Maybe she didn’t think she was welcome at my house anymore, which would be a dumb thing to think, because Kayla will always be my best friend.
I text Royce too. I feel like a broken record.
I write, Hey, I kind of need you right now.
Unlike Kayla, he writes back to me right away.
royceb: I’m with my dad, can I call you later? I think I can see you tomorrow.
jasmindls: sure.
He didn’t even bother to ask what’s wrong. That isn’t like Royce. Why doesn’t he care?
I text Kayla again. I’m not mad at you. I just want to know what’s going on.
By the time Deandra drops me off at home, Kayla still hasn’t answered me. Inside, Danny is asleep on the couch, his head on Mom’s lap. All of the guests have left. What a celebration.
Dad looks at me. “Well?”
“Eric’s taken care of,” I say. “I’ll deal with Brian too. Don’t worry.”
Mom whispers, “Thank you, Jasmine.”
“You’re welcome. How is he?”
“He’ll be okay,” she says.
Mom continues to stroke Danny’s head. “I heard back from our lawyer. He called after you left. Mr. Alvarado got us a court date. It’s sooner than we all thought.”
* * *
Kayla doesn’t respond to my texts all weekend. It’s taken everything for me to not go to her house and pound on the door. Royce isn’t much better, even though we hang out on Saturday night and go to the mall. For a little while, it feels like everything is normal between us. He’s incensed about what happened to Danny, angry that he didn’t stay longer at the party and wasn’t able to help, and wants to go over there to beat up the little punks immediately.
I tell him I’m taking care of it. I don’t need him to fight my brother’s battles. But I do tell him one thing.
“They learned it from Mason,” I say. “To tell my brothers to go back to the island I mean. They thought it was funny.”
Royce puts his head in his hands. “Oh man,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to make him hurt.”
“Don’t,” I say. “I don’t want our families to have trouble. Just leave it.”
He drives me back to my house and gives me a brief kiss on the lips. We don’t make out like we usually do. I think he feels bad about the Mason connection and doesn’t know what to do about it. I can tell that’s not the only thing bothering him though, but when I ask him what it is, he brushes it off, says something about family pressure.
When he’s gone, I begin to worry that maybe “family pressure” means his parents want him to break up with me, an illegal alien. Could that be it? Or am I just paranoid? I wish he’d talk to me. But every time I try to reach out, he clams up.
I haven’t even told Royce that we have a court date for the deportation trial. If he can’t be bothered to tell me what’s up with him, why should I offer any information?
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, Lo’s parents have a meeting with my parents. It’s pretty civil. Eric starts tearing up when he has to apologize. Danny is hilarious, which almost makes me cry.
After Eric apologizes, Danny smugly crosses his arms and smiles. “It’s all right,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I know your friend put you up to it. But I actually have to thank you.”
Eric wrinkles his forehead. “Thank me?”
All of us at the table stare at him—Mom and Dad, Lo’s parents, me—waiting for what Danny will say next.
“Yeah,” Danny says. “The entire National High School Cheerleading Championship team kissed me. That ain’t ever gonna happen for you! So, yeah, forget about it.”
I think Eric was in awe after that. He left pretty wide-eyed. And Danny, though his face still looks like a bruised apple, is pretty much back to normal.
Monday night I’m sitting at the kitchen table, doing a set of difficult problems for Calculus, when I finally hear a text go off on my phone. It’s the music I assigned for Kayla.
Shoving away my homework, I pick up the phone with both hands and open up her text.
kaykayla: I heard brian planning the fight with his friends the other day. I didn’t believe him though. but don’t worry, it’s been taken care of. That’s why i left your party so quickly. I wanted to catch him before he went to my dad’s. I’m so sorry about danny. Is he ok?
I’m furious. How could she have known and not told me? How could she not say anything until now?
/>
jasmindls: Thanks for taking care of the problem. I wish you’d told me though. Danny’s okay. He’s a tough kid. What about you. What’s going on?
kaykayla: not much. dad has a new girlfriend. She’s a ho. See you at school.
See me at school? What’s that supposed to mean? Kayla suddenly feels like someone I don’t know. She’s shut me out, and I don’t know what to think. Even though her parents have split, Kayla seemed to have been doing okay lately. She applied to the Art Institute in Hollywood and CalArts to study dance next year, and she’s planning on getting a place of her own after graduation.
Dad’s not happy with her response either. He seems to have a sixth sense about everything.
“It’s been taken care of?” he asks. “What’s that supposed to mean? Did she take her brother out back and beat him with a switch?”
“That’s what I would have done,” Mom says, putting dishes into the dishwasher.
The plates and glasses clank against each other loudly. Dad sighs and rubs his temples. “We’ll have to tell school officials about what happened. Make doubly sure there’s no problem. It’ll keep others from copying. We can’t have our boys beaten up every week because of what some dumb kids hear from others. What’s wrong with these people?”
“I blame the parents,” Mom says. “Parents need to know where their children are and what they’re up to. They need to keep them busy.”
I don’t tell them I found out the attack on Danny was planned. That would send Dad over the edge. If he wants to go to the school and complain, that’s fine, but I’d rather not be in the middle of it.
How could Kayla not say anything to me about it? What was up with that? She’s been acting so shady lately. I’d gotten over my irrational jealousy—I know there’s nothing going on with her and Royce. She would never do that to me, and he never would either. I trust both of them. Yet I can’t help but notice that both of them have been sort of avoiding me.
What’s the deal?
29
Wine comes in at the mouth, and love comes in at the eye; that’s all we know for truth, Before we grow old and die.
—WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
BEFORE I HEAD off to school the next Monday, I examine Danny’s face. Even a week later, it’s still bruised from the fight. There’s a scab forming by his nose and mouth. Yellowish-blue shadows circle his eyes. I tell him I can cover it with makeup. He groans and squirms away from me.
I don’t blame him. He’s got a badge of courage.
As for myself, I’m feeling wounded too. At school, I walk with my head down. I focus on schoolwork. I start talking less, hanging around less. Kayla doesn’t have the same lunch period as me this semester and she’s not in any of my classes, plus we don’t have cheer practice anymore, so I don’t see her at all. I guess I could text her, but since she doesn’t text me, I don’t bother. I’m still mad at her brother for beating up mine. I can stand to give her the cold shoulder for a while.
Royce sends a few hello texts all week, but they read like lip service.
royceb: Hey, thinking of you. Everything OK?
I want to text back: “Everything is A-OK! I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be fine? Danny still has bruises and we’re all being called FOBs, it’s just great. Hooray! Our deportation defense hearing is coming up soon. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t pressured my parents to get a hearing so fast. We might all be kicked out of the country we love. Everything is super awesome, Royce! Don’t worry about me! I don’t miss you! Not at all! You don’t want to tell me what’s going on with you, so why should I tell you what’s up with me?”
But I don’t say anything.
I just retreat further into myself.
I look at my shoes when I walk the hallways. I don’t say hi to anybody. Almost everyone at school knows about my situation now. I know what they’re thinking when they see me.
Ha! You thought you were so smart, and now look at you. You suck. You’re no one. You’re nobody. You’re dirt! You’re not from here! Go home! Go back to Asia or wherever you’re from!
Except when I do look up once in a while, the faces I see are smiling at me. Friends say hi and stop and talk.
But when I’m alone again, I keep hearing the voices, the negative self-talk telling me that I’m worthless. I keep seeing my brother’s wounded face, and Mason’s sneer.
I miss my friends, but it seems they don’t miss me.
* * *
It’s almost the end of January and Kayla’s still avoiding me at school. When I do see her and bring up what happened between our brothers, she changes the topic or finds some excuse to go somewhere else. So I continue with my routine of going through the motions. Cheer is done as basketball season is over now. There’s still the occasional pep rally, but the tension between Kayla and I makes things awkward for the whole team.
The only peace I find is in doing well with my schoolwork. I meet with Mrs. Garcia again, and she tells me what she discovered concerning financial aid for students like me. Most elite colleges make admissions decisions without considering the applicant’s need for financial aid. Need-blind admissions, it’s called. The only schools that guarantee full financial aid to “international” (noncitizen) applicants are MIT, Harvard, Princeton, Yale and Amherst. A few, like Columbia and Stanford, are “need aware” for noncitizens, which means they’ll make an exception and provide aid for international students that they really want at their school.
“Basically, if they accept you, they’ll make every effort to ensure you can enroll in the fall,” she says.
It’s a ray of hope, but it’s not something I can count on. I have to get in first, and who knows if schools like that will want a student like me, National Scholar or not. I just feel like a burden. I’m glad I’d applied to a few of those colleges though, including Stanford. I guess I’ll find out in April.
* * *
I’m walking down the hall from Calculus to English later that week when Lo stops me.
“Jas. I know you and your family are hurting, but you don’t have to completely shut down. You can respond when other people talk to you.”
I feel awful. “Am I that bad?”
Lo nods. “You’re that bad. My brother hasn’t caused any more problems, has he?”
“No,” I say. “He sort of follows my brother around now once he found out that so many cheerleaders came to Danny’s rescue. It’s actually kind of funny.”
“Yeah. He doesn’t stop talking about that,” Lo says. “You hear about Kayla?”
“No. We’re sort of not talking right now,” I say. “I think she’s embarrassed about what her brother did.”
“I thought you guys were tight.”
“I thought so too. Do I even want to know what’s up with her?” I shift my heavy English textbook onto my other hip.
“Yeah...she and Dylan broke up. It was pretty messy. Happened a few days after my party, right before the band left on tour again.”
“Really?” I say, my heart sinking a little at the news. I feel bad they broke up and I can’t believe Kayla didn’t tell me. When she’s having boy problems, I’m always the first person she calls.
“Yeah, Dylan took it really hard. He even threatened to leave the band and skip the tour. Poor guy. Julian’s trying to sort of win his soul back.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why would they break up? She was so happy with him.”
“I heard she’s seeing somebody else,” Lo says. The passing period bell rings, sending all of the students scattering. “Hey, I gotta go. Please quit acting like a stranger. You’re not. You’re Jas, and you’re awesome,” she says, heading for a door at the end of the hallway.
If I’m so awesome, how come my best friend won’t confide in me and I can’t get my boyfriend to spend any time with me?
Like I said
, I don’t believe these two things are related, but together, they definitely bum me out.
* * *
Valentine’s Day is coming up, and as I’m walking home from school on Friday, Royce pulls up next to me. I used to be proud when he would drive up in his Range Rover and lean out the window, beckoning me to hop inside. It was almost like being in a cheesy teen movie, and I loved it. But now I know romantic movies are stupid. They make you think stuff like that is real, that the rich popular boy will fall for the poor outcast. But we all know the reality.
And the reality is, I know what’s happening between us now. Royce has been doing the slow fade. Letting me down easy. Not ghosting completely, but letting go little by little so that I’ll get the picture.
I got the picture.
Except, I’m so mad at the part of myself that’s happy to see him, annoyed that he still makes my heart pound.
He rolls down the window. “Hey, good-lookin’,” he says. “Need a ride?”
His tone makes me furious. I turn around and glare at him. I’m too mad to even say anything, so I turn away and walk faster, cutting through the neighborhood park. It’s a shortcut anyway.
He stops the engine and gets out. I can’t decide whether I want him to follow me or not. He runs to catch up. I walk faster and try to keep myself from looking at him. If I do, I know I’ll break down. I won’t be able to be mad at him for long. I never can, not when he shows up like this.
“Jas, talk to me. I’m sorry, okay? I know I haven’t been around. But I’m here now, aren’t I?” he says, directly blocking my path.
I shift my backpack up. It’s heavy with textbooks. I glare at him. “So what? You want a medal or something? For showing up to your relationship? You forget I don’t give out participation trophies.”
I run away from him again, but he catches me, making me stop at the edge of the playground. There are young schoolchildren running around and yelling while their tired mothers chat with each other on the park benches.
“Please hear me out. Jas? Please? Come on,” he says. “Don’t be mad.”
But I am mad, and I hate when people tell me not to be mad when I’m mad. Ugh, I hate him. I hate that he can make me feel so crazy.