Литагент HarperCollins - Something Inbetween

Kayla turns on the ignition and rolls the windows down. “He was cute, right? Did he seem into me? Dylan?”

“Who can tell behind those aviator shades?” I say, teasing her on her “bad boy” taste. As she drives out of the lot and down the highway next to the school, I change the subject. Once Kayla gets going on boy-talk, she’ll never stop, and I want to bring up something more important. “Hey, your tumbling is looking really good,” I say.

Kayla rolls her eyes. “Thanks, but I don’t need false compliments.”

I search Kayla’s face for a hint of sarcasm, but I don’t see any. “I wasn’t being fake with you,” I say.

“It’s not about whether I can do the movements,” she says.

“Of course not. You’ve always been one of the best on the team.”

Idling at a stoplight, Kayla turns to me. “I don’t need you to make me feel better about myself, Jas. You could just ask what’s been going on with me. I feel like you barely exist outside of practice anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I really am. I know Kayla’s needed me and I’ve neglected her. “I’m a terrible friend.”

“You’re not. I know how important being the best is for you, so I understand that you need to work so hard. But don’t forget that I’m here for you too.”

I lean my head on Kayla’s shoulder. “Thanks, K. So what’s been going on with you? Are you still going out with that guy? What was his name? Jason?”

“Girl, we really do need to catch up. I only went on, like, two dates with him. If you can even count them as dates... On the last one, he took me to an arcade, then expected me to watch him play video games. I said I was going to the bathroom and ditched him to play mini golf next door with one of the guys who works at the arcade.”

We both start laughing at her story, and I know that Kayla has forgiven me for being so absent lately. “I know you’ve noticed that I’ve been missing my marks more than normal,” she continues. “But it’s not because of boys.”

I stay silent. I know Kayla well enough to understand that she’s not going to quit talking until she’s said everything she needs to get out. Talking is her way of processing things, while I tend to keep things bottled up inside until something’s bothering me so bad that I finally explode in tears.

“My parents are separating. Dad moved out last week. He’s living in his own apartment in Simi Valley.” She takes a deep breath and her upper lip quivers.

“Oh my God. What happened?” I ask, feeling the bottom drop out of my stomach. I knew things were bad at home, but not this bad. No matter how old you are, your parents getting divorced is still every kid’s nightmare. I feel awful for her.

Kayla shakes her head. “I don’t know. I think Dad had an affair, but they’re not saying anything. I guess Mom doesn’t want Brian and me to hate him for forever.” Her little brother is Danny’s age.

“Of course not. But that’s terrible.” I lean over and give Kayla as much of a hug as I can while she’s driving. “I’m so sorry, K. I don’t know what to say.” I feel my eyes watering.

Kayla gives me a little side hug back and wipes her eyes too. “It’s okay. I’m glad I told you.”

“Do you want to have movie night at my house instead? You can get away from your place for a while,” I suggest.

“You mean on Friday? I thought we were hitting Lo’s party after the game...”

“Ugh, I don’t know,” I say. “It’s not a party anyway. It’s a kick back.”

“You know a kick back is just a code name for a total rager. Right? I can’t go without you.”

“Yes, you can,” I say. “You don’t need me.”

“We’re going to that party,” she says determinedly. “It’s senior year, Jas. It’s about time you had a little fun.”

Dylan has no idea what’s coming at him. What Kayla wants, Kayla gets. Especially when it comes to boys. Then she drops them like flies and they leave sad comments online, asking why she never texts them back. I wish I had her confidence in that arena. It’s not that I’m shy around guys, but with my parents being so strict along with my tough academic slate and all my extracurrriculars, I’ve never really had the time or opportunity to have a boyfriend.

Kayla whips around the corner into the parking lot of the hospital. “You have to come. I need you to be my wing-woman. Just tell your parents you’re staying at my house. It’ll be the truth. I’ll drive us back after the party.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “You know them. My mom will call while we’re supposed to be at your house, asking to talk to your mom, trying to pretend that she’s not checking up on me.”

I want to go to Lo’s. I do. But I also don’t want to lie to my parents, no matter how much we disagree. I know everyone thinks I’m one of the good girls, but I can’t afford to mess up like other kids. I’m an immigrant in this country. My dad always told me we have to work twice as hard as anyone else just to get to the same place, which is why I work four times as hard—because I want to succeed.

“What’s Lo going to say?” Kayla asks. “You told her you’d be there.”

I stare out the window at the palm trees lining the edge of the parking lot. Why do I feel guilty for just thinking about doing things most teenagers do? “No, I said maybe.”

“Why do I even bother?” Kayla says, clearly annoyed. “Your maybe always means no.”

Fair enough, but if I didn’t always say no to things, I might not be getting the biggest yes of my life now—the golden ticket in my backpack. The one that will bring me straight to the top of the heap, where I belong.

3

The land flourished because it was fed from so many sources—because it was nourished by so many cultures and traditions and peoples.

—LYNDON B. JOHNSON

I SAY BYE to Kayla and hope she’s not too irritated with me, and promise I’ll think about going to Lo’s party, then I head into the hospital. My mom has been working there for a few years now. She’s what they call an environmental service worker, which basically means she’s a glorified janitor. She has to do everything from mopping the hallways to washing dirty sheets. I feel bad for her, especially this year. Her job is already hard, but the hospital administration changed a few months ago and they started laying off some of Mom’s coworkers, which means she’s doing double the work she used to do. I know she’s worried about losing her job too.

I started volunteering at the hospital in the gift shop when I was a freshman, then I assisted the nurses, but a year ago I started interviewing patients for a storytelling project. It’s part of a research study to see how connections and being heard can affect the healing process, especially for elderly patients. Apparently patients need personal interactions, especially during recovery, and these moments can even alleviate physical symptoms. Hearing my mom talk about how sad it was that so many of the people at the hospital never had anyone visit made me excited to help out. I wrote about my experiences for my essay for the National Scholarship too. Patients need to know that people care about them, that someone is listening to what they have to say. For many of them, that someone is me.

Trying to shake off disappointing Kayla, I head through the doors to the ER lobby. Gladys, an older woman with curly white hair that she wears in ringlets close to her scalp, sits behind the counter where new patients fill out their paperwork. She’s talking to an older gentleman wearing a fancy navy blue suit standing next to a tall boy who looks like he’s around my age. They look like father and son, except the son has dark, chestnut-colored hair and his dad’s is more wheat-colored.