Something in Between by Melissa de La Cruz Read Free Book Online Page B

I’m breaking apart, shattering. Who am I? Where do I belong?
    I’m not American. I’m not a legal resident. I don’t even have a green card.
    I’m nothing. Nobody.
    Illegal.

6
    There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.
    â€”PAULO COELHO
    FRIDAY NIGHT. O ur football team lost again, but we cheered them on anyway. We change out of our cheer clothes at Kayla’s. She’s excited and nervous, bouncing up and down as she curls her lashes and puts on her lipstick. I’m edgy too, but I’m not ready to tell her what my parents told me the other day. I’m too embarrassed, and if I don’t tell anyone, maybe it won’t be true. To be honest, I just want to forget about it for a night. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt.
    Royce and I have been texting a little, and the other day he sent me a friend request on Snapchat and on Facebook. I accepted both. He hasn’t posted a new story on Snapchat, so I scroll throughhis FB feed again, impressed and annoyed at the same time. There are all these photos of him skiing in Mammoth with friends and boating in Newport with his family. When he smiles, his teeth are blindingly white, like an actor in a commercial. He’s way too handsome to be any good for anyone. Especially me.
    His life looks like a cooler version of a Ralph Lauren ad. I squint at a photo of his mother. She looks like a less bombastic Sofia Vergara.
    Is your mom Latina? I text him right then, out of the blue. Because I’m curious and jealous at the same time. Because just a few days ago, I thought I was just like him. Mixed race. Hyphenated American. But American .
    royceb: My grandfather is Mexican. Mom is Mexican-Italian. Why do you ask? My dad is Norwegian-German by the way. English-Irish too I think. Who knows? Aren’t we all just American?
    Not me, not anymore , I can’t help but think. Annoyed, I don’t text him back. What’s the point? He’s just some cute rich guy I’ll never see again. Let’s be serious. Guys like that don’t date girls like me. They only hook up with girls like me, and I’m not about to be anyone’s booty call. Not even for someone as cute as him...
    Besides, his dad is a congressman who thinks all undocumented immigrants should be deported. Frightening. Another reason to steer clear.
    Kayla comes out of the bathroom and sees me holding my phone. “Who’s that?” she asks, looking over my shoulder.
    â€œRemember I told you about that cute guy I met at the hospital the other day?”
    She perks up. “Yeah. Hey, you should invite him to the party!”
    I’d thought of that earlier, when he asked what I was doing this weekend, but decided against it. “No.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œHe lives on the other side of the city all the way in Bel-Air. By the time he gets here, the party will be over.” In truth, I was embarrassed about inviting a rich Westside kid over to the Valley. I look at all the photos on his FB page again. It confirms everything I assumed, from the way he dressed to the confident way he’d gotten my number. He’s a total player, and I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Besides, what if he thought the party was lame? That I was lame?
    â€œGod, Jas, you make it sound like Bel-Air is a different planet,” says Kayla with a sniff.
    Kayla drives us past Lo’s place. Cars are bunched in the driveway and along the curb; kids are milling on the streets. I told my parents I’d be staying the night at Kayla’s house. After the blowup at the dinner table on Wednesday, they let me sleep over without asking any questions. I’m glad I’m going to this party and doubly glad my parents have no idea where I am. I’m going to have fun—the kind of fun that I’m never allowed to have.
    I deserve to let my hair down. Maybe even meet a boy. ( But I’ve already met a boy , I