32

The Guide says there is an art to flying...or rather a knack. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself to the ground and miss.

—DOUGLAS ADAMS

“WHAT DID I tell you about the lawyer?” Dad says as we all pile into the car. He’s the only one talking. Mom probably can’t say anything because she’ll break down in tears.

“Did you hear how he and the judge talked?” Dad asks himself. “They were golf buddies. I knew it soon as I walked into his office. Alvarado didn’t even try...”

“It wasn’t his fault,” I say.

Dad isn’t finished yet. “And who was that other man in the room? A lawyer? Or a hit man? Do we have to watch our backs now until we board the plane?”

Mom wipes her eyes. I’m crying too. Everything I’ve known is gone. Everything. This life has been an illusion. Something I thought I knew. I thought I understood how life works. School. Cheer. Boys. Family. Life. Right? No. Life gets pulled out from under you like some kind of slow death. I can’t even think about Royce and I being separated from each other. Not now. Not after everything we’ve been through.

That’s really what this is. Torture. I know I belong here, but the government doesn’t think I do. I may look like I belong in the Philippines, but they’ll know I’m a fraud too. I can’t even speak Tagalog or Ilocano. Neither country will want me.

“I don’t understand,” says Danny. His bruises are barely visible now. “Do we have to leave right now? Where are we going? We haven’t packed our games.”

“I don’t know,” I say to him. “We haven’t talked about it.”

Dad pulls into traffic. “We’ll figure it out. We have family all over the Philippines. Someone will know of a place we can buy or rent. And there are bus driver jobs everywhere. I have a lot of experience. You’ll have a good education there. The colleges are good. You boys will like the schools.”

“We’ll get beat up for talking American,” Isko cries. “I don’t want to get beat up like Danny.”

“Shut up,” Danny says. “They like Americans over there. And when they find out cheerleaders kiss me, I’ll be the coolest kid at school.”

“But no cheerleaders kissed me,” Isko cries. “They’ll pick on me and cover me with spiders!”

“Will you boys quit?” Dad says.

Mom’s still not saying a word. I worry about her. I know that she’ll feel guilty for everything. Not telling me about our expired visas. Pushing to have a deportation hearing. Giving me false hope for college. America turns out to be a hopeless, wasted dream. I’m not a National Scholar, because I’m not a national.

It’s not just my future that I’ve lost. My past and present are about to get ripped away too. I’ll have to completely start over again.

“They’re just scared we might have to leave right away,” Mom says.

“It will be a few months before we have to go,” Dad says to the boys. “Our useless lawyer negotiated that we don’t have to leave until Jasmine graduates high school.” He turns to Mom. “I’m telling you, she’ll get into a top university in Manila, maybe even Ateneo. And you boys will really like it over there.”

I finally text Royce. I didn’t want to share the bad news until I had time to process it. Since we made up, we’ve been so solid.

But now I have to tell him.

He texts back immediately.

* * *

Royce is leaning against his car when we arrive home. I jump out and run into his arms. “I don’t want to go,” I say. I’m scared to cry again. Crying means defeat, and I’m not giving up.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. I’ve never heard him curse as much as he has today. “I can’t believe it. They’d turn you away because of some expired visa? What is that about? After everything you’ve done? You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“The law says we did,” I say shakily. “You should have seen the judge.”

My family crosses the lawn to go into the house. Mom and Dad wave at Royce. He acknowledges them. My brothers are joking around.

“You think I can get the cheerleaders to kiss me before we go?” asks Isko.

“I don’t know,” Danny says. “You have a monkey face.”

“Your brothers don’t seem to be taking it too bad,” Royce says.

“They don’t understand,” I say, leaning into his chest. “To them, everything’s a big adventure.”

Royce runs his hands up and down my arms. “It will be,” he says.

“No, it will be horrible.”

He squeezes my arms. “You can’t leave. There’s got to be something I can do.” He keeps saying that. He’s said for months that he can help me, but I won’t let him.

“The judge asked us if we knew anyone important in government,” I finally confess.

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

It’s like I lit a fire underneath him. “Okay. We need to move fast, then. Let’s go talk to my mom.”

“Your mom?” I ask. “Why?”

Royce is obviously surprised by this comment. He pulls away. “Because you’re my girlfriend. I thought we were over this thing you have with my family.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I say, but I guess I did. I think about the day I dropped off his Christmas gift. I left his house feeling like I could never impress her.

“But isn’t your dad the one we have to talk to? He’s the congressman.”

Royce smiles ruefully. “He definitely is. Except we have to win over Mom first. It’s just the way things work in my family.”

“Okay,” I say. I’m desperate, and he’s offering.

“Great, she’s in town. Let’s go.”

* * *

When Royce and I enter the Blakely house, Maria greets me. “Nice to see you, Jasmine,” she says. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been lately.”

“Where’s Mom?” Royce asks.

“She’s in the kitchen,” Maria says. “Is something wrong?”

Royce nods. He looks more determined than I’ve ever seen him. “It’s a long story. I’ll catch you up later.”

We hurry to the kitchen. Even though my family doesn’t have to leave the country right away, everything seems to have taken on a feeling of urgency. It’s like a timer has been set, and every ticking second means we’re closer to deportation.

“Mom. I need to talk to you,” Royce says as we enter the kitchen.

Mrs. Blakely is rinsing out a coffee cup. “I have a hair appointment in thirty minutes, Royce,” she says, smiling at me. “Hello, Jasmine. Congratulations on your cheerleading championship. Royce told me a few weeks ago.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

“Did I tell you I was a cheerleader at UCLA? Go Bruins! Unfortunately, I was never the captain. But look at you. Smart. Driven. I’m so proud of you.”

Is this the same woman I saw at Christmas? She’s not looking at me the way she did that day, like something Royce dragged inside from the street onto her spotless white carpet. She’s friendlier. Sweeter. She really does seem to like me. Was it all in my head, then? It must have been. I told Royce when I apologized that I was projecting my own insecurity onto her, and this is more proof of it.

“Thank you, Mrs. Blakely,” I say. “That’s really nice of you to say.”

“You can call me Debra,” she says, putting the cup away. “We all need to have dinner soon. Anyway, I’m off.”

“It’s important, Mom,” Royce says. “I need you.”

Debra stops in her tracks. “Okay. What is it?” She sets down her purse, waiting for Royce to continue.

He gets right to the point.

“Jasmine and her family are going to be deported. We have to help.”