Hope is a waking dream.
—ARISTOTLE
LOS ANGELES PRIVATE schools have their proms later than public schools, so a week later, Royce picks me up to take me to his prom. Spring has come in full bloom in the city. The purple jacaranda trees are bursting with color, and the smell of orange blossoms fills the air. A few days before, we went to my prom, hanging out with the cheer team and triple-dating with Kayla and Dylan, Lo and Julian. It was fun and low-key, at the ballroom of the local Hyatt. We all went to Denny’s after. I know Royce’s prom is going to be a much bigger deal.
The Eastlake Prep prom has a 1920s Jazz Age theme, à la The Great Gatsby. Royce showed me the dance bids when they arrived earlier. The gilded invitations are gorgeous, with black backgrounds, gold art deco designs, and bold white lettering. The thing is, though, that the location is secret. We’re supposed to meet at his school, then they’ll let us know where to go for the prom.
I’m expecting big yellow school buses to be lined up in front of Eastlake Prep to take us to the secret location, but instead there are rows of limousines and smaller, older luxury cars that are taking students and driving away.
For an early graduation present, Millie said she would buy my prom dress. She took Mom, Kayla, and me all over Beverly Hills in search of the perfect dress. I don’t even think looking for my wedding dress someday will be such a big deal. It took hours, but finally I found the perfect gown.
Now I’m looking at my reflection in the tinted window of a posh black Bentley that’s about to take Royce and I to the dance. The dress’s white beaded bodice and sequins sparkle under the streetlights. I shift a little to check the asymmetrical hemline, which is just long enough to feel formal but short enough to show a little leg. I feel like a jazz-age Cinderella.
“You look very beautiful tonight, Jas,” Royce says, a serious look on his face. His hands are shaking a bit when he slips the corsage over my wrist.
I want to make fun of him for being so formal, but I take pity on the boy and just say thank-you. “You don’t look too bad either,” I tell him with a smile.
In his black tux with gold cuff links, he’s the picture of dashing, and it reminds me of the National Scholar dinner, which already seems like a lifetime ago. He opens the door and helps me inside the Bentley, and the driver follows some of the other cars onto the freeway toward downtown Los Angeles.
* * *
Royce and I are standing on the rooftop of the Standard Hotel and looking over the gorgeous, twinkling city lights in the distance. We’re taking a break from dancing. I’ve met a bunch of people he’s friendly with, who seem nice enough, and seemed happy to meet me. I wonder if he just doesn’t give anyone a chance to be his friend. He’s drinking punch, but I’m sipping a glass of water. That’s the only downside of a white gown. You have to be careful when you eat or drink anything, and you have to be super careful about sitting down anywhere.
“Remember the night in D.C.?” Royce asks.
“Of course I do,” I say, smiling. “I wasn’t so sure about you then.”
“What? You didn’t fall in love with me immediately?” He puts hands to his chest as if I’m giving him a heart attack. “Wasn’t I the best-looking guy there?”
He’s a little peacocky about his looks, which is endearing. “Perhaps,” I say airily. “But it took me a long time to fall in love with you—a whole night.” One of the best nights of my life.
Royce takes my hand and I know he’s remembering too. “Sometimes I think about who I should thank that we met. God? Destiny? My uncle for getting in a car accident on Topanga?”
“That’s terrible!” I playfully slap him on the arm, then pull him close. “I’m sorry I’m so difficult sometimes.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Royce says, leaning his chin on my shoulder. We’re so close, I can feel his breath against my neck. “You helped me figure out what I want in life. You give me courage to be who I am.”
I start to choke up. His words make me want to cry.
“Oh man,” he says. “My goal was definitely not to make my girlfriend cry on my prom night.”
“Shush,” I say. “Just kiss me.”
* * *
Sunday night, Royce’s dad is in town and we’re supposed to have dinner with his family. I arrive early at the restaurant, since Dad was able to drive me—he had an errand on this side of town. I sit by the chairs in front of the hostess’s desk and wait. A few minutes later, I hear a familiar voice and cringe. It’s Mason, and he has a smug grin on his face.
“Well, if it isn’t my fellow valedictorian,” he says. Royce must have told him. “What, don’t look so surprised. Just because I don’t look like a nerd...”
“Did you give a speech?”
“No, I actually missed my own graduation. I was passed out from a party the night before. My parents were so pissed.” He laughs as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.
He’s such a tool. “How’s USC?” I ask.
“Boring as paint. But the girls are hot. You could give them a run for their money though. What are you doing with my brother anyway? Aren’t you bored yet? Did you know he didn’t learn to read until fourth grade?”
“Why are you so mean to him?” I say, utterly disgusted. What on earth is wrong with this guy? “Royce is your brother.”
“You serious? That idiot is related to me?” he says, getting up to say hello to his parents who’ve just entered the restaurant. “Sit next to me at the table,” he says, as if I would ever do such a thing.
* * *
I stay quiet at dinner. I’m a little shy around Royce’s family after everything that happened with the private bill and the news leak. It’s awkward, but everyone is being polite. Except Mason, who keeps leering at me or laughing obnoxiously in my direction. I can tell that Royce is about to lose it, but is trying to keep the peace.
Mr. Blakely keeps boasting about Royce attending Stanford, and Royce reminds him that I got in too.
Congressman Blakely cuts off a huge chunk of meat from his prime rib. “Never hear anything negative about Stanford, do you. The place is a dream. We’ll get you set up in a real nice apartment too,” he tells Royce.
“I want to live in the dorms, Dad, like everyone else,” says Royce.
“You’re getting him a better place than mine?” Mason frowns.
“Your place is nice,” Debra says. “You’re practically on campus.”
“It’s so slummy in downtown LA,” Mason complains. “I’m getting really tired of that apartment.”
“You’d better not be,” Congressman Blakely says. “We pay good money for your tuition and residence.”
Mason winks at me. “I’m trying hard. But all the foreigners around campus really drag the whole area down.”
Debra looks horrified. “Mason, your grandfather was from Mexico City. And diversity has always been a strength of LA’s.”
“Nice PR, Mom. You sound like some bleeding heart,” Mason snickers.
I get up to go use the restroom. “Excuse me,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
Congressman Blakely ignores me. “Mason, did you hear back from Columbia for next year?”
I find a bench near the restrooms and sit for a few minutes, thinking about how I wish I could go somewhere alone with Royce. Just when I’m about to head back, I run into Royce looking for me.
“Let’s go,” he says, as if he’s read my mind.
“You’re walking out on your family dinner?” I ask, shocked.
He doesn’t answer; he just takes my hand, and we walk out of the restaurant and don’t look back.
* * *
The Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier spins in rotating neon pinwheels of greens, blues, purples, and reds against the night sky. You can’t see the alternating red and yellow buckets. You can’t see the people in them, though you can hear everyone’s ecstatic screams from below. The wheel flashes from a pinwheel into a star, pulsating over the ocean, lighting up the tides like the water really is glowing.
Royce and I are sitting on the beach together, still wearing our fancy dinner clothes, staring at the neon. Even though I’m glad we’ve escaped Mason’s toxic company, I worry. What will Royce’s parents think of me for walking out like that? Maybe I shouldn’t hold on to him just because I can. I have to let him go.
It’s not hot or cold here. No breeze at all. Just the sound of the ocean and a sort of stillness, except for all the happenings on the pier.
“I love this place,” Royce says. “There’s something about the Ferris wheel and the ocean right next to each other.” He smiles at me. “Reminds me of when I was little.”
“Yeah, you’ve told me lots of times,” I say, teasing a little.
“I guess I have. But I don’t think I’ve told you why. See, my parents weren’t wrapped up in politics then. Dad was a businessman. He knew politicians, but his focus was more on raising our family. And Mason... There was a time when he wasn’t like that. It might be hard to believe, but he was all right. I see that Ferris wheel, and I remember good times.”
The froth of a wave washes toward us but falls short.
“It’s special, that’s for sure,” he says. “But you’re even more special to me. I want you to know that you’re the love of my life.” His arm around me tightens.
I should let him go, I think, my stomach twisting as my heart beats loudly in my chest. I’m being selfish, holding him to me. But I can’t. “I love you too,” I say, holding him closer.
“So we have to talk about the future,” he says.
“What future?”
“I brought you here so you can understand that there’s a part of me that loves my father even though he isn’t the best father. The part of me that loves my brother, even if he can be a turd.”
I lean my head on Royce’s shoulder. “I do understand. I like your Ferris-wheel story.”
“Me too,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to Mason at dinner. I just didn’t want to blow it up.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“I was glad you were there. But I’m more glad that you’re here now,” he says.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” I say, feeling happier now that we’re alone together.
And then, I’m stunned. Royce stands up and pulls me to stand too. “I was going to do this at prom the other day, but I was too nervous.” He brushes the sand off his pants, then gets down on one knee. He’s holding a little box, and he opens it to show me a diamond ring. “Before she died, my grandmother gave this to me to give to the person I love,” he says. “Jasmine, I love you. More than anything.”
My heart flies out of my chest. It’s spinning around in the neon of the Ferris wheel. It sails from there through the darkness above the clouds.
“Royce! What are you doing!”
“I want you to stay with me always. Will you marry me?”
Now my breath is completely taken away. I’m literally on the verge of passing out. My legs have never felt anything like this. My stomach. My chest. My throat.
“We’re both eighteen now,” he says, knee still in the sand. “We’re in love. And this way you can stay here in America. We can be married and go to Stanford together. You’ll be eligible for all those grants and loans. I want to be with you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. What do you say?” He grins, happy, so beautiful to my eyes.
My heart is in my throat. I don’t know what to say. We’re so young, and we’re still so unsure of ourselves, of who we are, who we’re meant to be. What would our families think? And what would happen to my family? Would they be able to stay if I married him?
I know I love him. I can’t sleep at night unless he tells me good-night. I think about him all the time, about his happiness. I can’t imagine life without him. I know why he’s doing this—because he can offer this from the depths of his big, generous heart. He knows this can save me, can fix all our problems. I’ll find a way, he promised. I’m not letting you go. If I were in his place, if I was the one who could do this for him, I would do exactly the same thing he’s doing now.
“Babe,” he says. “Um, I don’t want to rush you, but my knee is starting to hurt.”
I’m on the verge of laughter or tears. I love him so much.
“Say something,” he says. “Before my leg cramps.”
“But how? When?”
“I don’t know. We elope. Right away. Within a day or two.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay. What?” he asks.
“Okay, I will. Yes, Royce, I will marry you, yes,” I say, and I pull him up to stand. We’re crying and laughing.
Royce shakily puts the ring on my finger and we kiss with all those neon lights spinning like luminescent flowers through the night sky.
I love him so much.
I’m going to marry him tomorrow. We’ll be husband and wife, and I’ll be able to stay in the country.
Everything’s going to be all right, isn’t it? It has to be.