I’m an immigrant and I will stay an immigrant forever.
—JUNOT DIAZ
I GET KAYLA some more water and make sure she’s okay, then I go look for Royce. I find him outside, sitting with Dylan. Wait. What?
“Man, you gotta really get out there with your music, see the world,” Royce says, taking a long pull from his beer. “Ever been to Copenhagen? The music scene there is wild. You need to check it out.”
“Yeah, that sounds cool. We want to tour everywhere, even Canada.”
They both laugh as if this is a huge joke. It’s so weird how boys practically want to kill each other one moment, then they’re best friends the next.
“You guys having fun out here?” I ask drily, trying to sound annoyed.
“Hey, babe.” Royce looks up. “Here,” he says, tossing me his car keys.
He’s way off, but I catch them anyway. “What do you want me to do with these?”
“You have to drive. I’m wasted. Both of us are.”
“Really?” I ask, trying not to freak out. What is he doing? He knows I can’t drive!
Dylan holds up his beer. “We were getting to know each other. You know what, your boyfriend’s pretty cool, Jas.”
“I can’t believe you guys are so drunk. Your band is supposed to play,” I say, a little exasperated.
“Not to worry,” Dylan says. “I have the set partially memorized.”
“Partially?” I say, shaking my head, while Royce laughs his head off.
* * *
The music is a disaster. Doesn’t matter. We’re all having fun. Even the guys from The Clouds are having a great time, laughing it up. At first Julian was mad at Dylan and they had a few words. But Julian figures it’s just a drunken jam session at this point, and though he normally doesn’t drink and perform, he ends up tipping back several beers to join in the fun. Everyone takes things easy. Kayla’s even up again after having slept things off. She’s still slurring her words a little, but now she seems to be doing all right.
At one point Julian pauses at the microphone. The rest of the band stops playing. “Hey, everybody,” he says. “First off, I need a break from this terrible music we’re playing.”
Everyone laughs at him. Lo shakes her head.
“More!” says Kayla.
“You’ll get more,” Julian says. “But I wanted to give a big thanks to Dylan for showing both his strong and sensitive side in the same night.”
Royce is drunk as hell and lifts his beer. Dylan thumps his instrument and laughs.
These crazy boys. I’ll miss them. Not just Royce.
Julian still isn’t finished. “Finally, I want to say congratulations to all of you high school pukes who’ll soon be getting on with the next phase of your life.” He takes a drink. Guzzles his beer actually, which slightly grosses me out. If this is what college is like I’ll actually attend fewer parties, I tell myself. I’m enjoying the celebration, but having this much drama all the time is just too much. Julian continues, “Lo, thanks for all the kick backs. You’re my number one. I love you. I’m looking forward to our many adventures. We’ll probably be at some gnarly protests in the coming year.”
Lo smiles. She’s beaming up at him. I’m so happy for her. This is what she wants, and she’s going for it. Doesn’t matter that it’s not the same thing I would do for myself. This is her life. And she’s happy.
“And one more thing,” Julian says. “This next song, though I promise you it is going to be a total mess, goes out to Jasmine de los Santos. Whether you leave or stay. We love you.”
They play me my favorite Bob Marley song, “Three Little Birds.” At the chorus, everyone sings along, “Every little thing is gonna be all right!”
* * *
I’m still high from the song they played. I love my friends. Kayla’s less than half-awake. She and Dylan talked a little and partially made up, but I told him I wanted to bring her back to my house for the night. They can talk more tomorrow. Royce is completely awake, but there’s no way he can drive his car. It’s past midnight and he’s downing water, sitting in the passenger seat next to me.
“You’re really going to make me drive?” I blanch.
“You’ve driven this car,” he says. “What are you afraid of?” He’s taught me a little in the parking lot by my school because he insisted I should really learn at some point. What if there’s an emergency?
“Yeah, around the block a few times,” I say. “That’s different!”
“You only have ten blocks to drive,” he says. “It’s nothing. Then I’ll sit in the car and sober up. You don’t even have to wait with me. I won’t drive until I feel totally fine.”
“No way, you can sleep on the couch and drive in the morning. I’ll tell my parents we all just crashed.”
I guess I really do have to drive, then. The dashboard lights are on. Headlights too. I haven’t even gotten my learner’s permit. I’m not so scared about driving the car as I am about getting caught without a license. If I get caught, will I get deported even sooner? I really don’t want to drive, but there’s no way out of this. I’m definitely not calling any of our parents.
“Did I already start the car?” I ask.
“You already started the car,” Royce says, trying not to laugh at me. “You just need to drive.”
“Okay. Yeah. I can do this,” I say, taking a deep breath.
“Just drive,” Kayla says. “You’ll do fine. It’s only how far? Thirty miles?”
“It’s like a mile,” I say. “Maybe two.”
I start to think that maybe I should just make them walk to my house, but there’s no way Kayla will make it. Her eyes are half-closed.
“Oh yeah. By the way, what happened with Dylan?” Kayla asks. “Did he and I get back together?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “But he was very nice to you.”
“Oh good,” Kayla says. “I should text him.”
I snatch Kayla’s phone from her. “Not right now. You don’t want to say something stupid. And I need you to help me pay attention.”
Royce knows I’m stalling. “Will you drive already?”
I take a breath. “Yes, Mr. Blakely.” I turn the wheel, give it some gas. My hands are trembling. Why am I so afraid? Everyone knows how to drive except for me. If there’s ever anything I’m a big baby about, it’s this, but Royce has been a patient teacher. He always points out we’re not doing anything wrong, since I practice in a parking lot and I’m not driving on the road.
“You can go faster,” Royce says. “You’re not even going ten miles an hour.”
“That’s scary,” I say. “What if I lose control?”
“Oh my God. You’re not the drunk one,” he says. “You really don’t want us to drive.”
Still, I make the car crawl along. I do not want to crash a car that can be associated with Congressman Blakely. Knowing my luck, the whole awful thing would end up on the morning news.
“This could take hours,” Royce growls. “You can’t go this slow, Jas.”
“I’m not going to go any faster,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting this to be driver’s education with a drunk instructor.”
“You should have your license already,” Royce complains.
“Well, I can’t fix that at two in the morning. So help me out!”
Royce leans back in his seat. “I’ll teach you some more this summer,” he says, forgetting or in denial that I have to leave after graduation, which is two months away.
“Why don’t you just navigate,” I say.
Right then I look at the rearview mirror and see a police car flashing its lights at us. I slam on the brakes, terrified, my heart in my throat.
“What the hell?” Royce says. “He must be checking on Lo’s party.”
I knew this was going to happen. Just like the last time.
Bye-bye, America. Bye-bye, life.
“Goddamn it! I told you I was going to screw up!” I’m terrified.
“Chill out, calm down. Pull over,” Royce says as the police cruiser makes a loud bw-w-wip. “You weren’t drinking. You’re fine.”
“I’m fine?” I say, pulling over. “I don’t have a driver’s license! My family could end up in a detention center. Who knows if I’ll ever see you again?! Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Maybe I should do th’ talking,” Kayla slurs.
“Shut up, Kayla,” Royce and I both say. Royce looks like he’s sobering up, especially when he realizes what’s at stake.
It feels like an eternity as the officer gets out of his car and walks up to the window. He knocks on it and I roll it down.
“Good evening,” he says, eyeing all of us.
I swallow my nerves. This can’t be harder than performing in front of thousands at Nationals. “How are you, Officer? Busy night?”
“I’m fine,” he says cheerfully. “But your friends there don’t look so hot.”
“They’re not,” I say.
“How come? You all been drinking at that party down the street?”
Did the officer bust Lo’s house? Is everyone at the party in trouble too?
“That’s what they were doing,” I say. “I just stopped by to get them.”
“So you weren’t drinking? Just your underage pals?” He looks at me closely. “Why, pray tell, were you driving so slow, then? You were twenty miles under the speed limit. You could have caused an accident.”
Just then Royce opens the door and throws up in the gutter. He hacks so hard I think it’s going to wake up the entire neighborhood. This couldn’t get any worse.
The police officer gets a whiff. He wrinkles up his nose.
“That’s why,” I say. “I have three blocks to make it to the safe zone. Any false move, as you can see, will be a catastrophe to this leather interior, which will then be a catastrophe to my life. Look at this car. If anything happens to it, I’m dead meat.”
The officer takes a closer look. “You know, kids, I could take the two of you in for underage drinking.”
“Yes, sir,” Kayla and Royce say.
I can’t imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Blakely would do when they found out their good son was in the drunk tank for the night. Kayla’s parents wouldn’t be too happy either, and mine would skin me alive just for being an accessory.
“You know you’re lucky to have a friend like her,” the officer says, motioning to me. He holds up a finger. “You get one shot at life. Just one. And when you mess up, you need to think, ‘Am I taking advantage of my friends for my own selfish pleasure?’”
I can’t believe he’s not asking for my license or registration.
Royce is looking especially pale again. “Yes, Officer,” he gurgles.
“Looks like you need to go,” the officer says. “He’s not looking so good. Get straight home. And for goodness’ sakes, drive safely. This is a nice car.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
The officer shakes his head and gets back in his car and drives away. Finally, I pull away from the curb.
Royce puts a comforting hand on my leg. “I’m sorry, Jas. I wasn’t thinking.”
I shake my head. I’m still so scared that my heart is thumping. What does it matter anyway? We’re being deported.
“It won’t happen again,” he says. “I promise.”
It can’t. It’s too scary. I can’t take any more risks like this. I don’t think my heart can take it.