Something in Between Read Online Free Page A

away from people you love. But at least I know they’re still alive. I can’t even imagine what I would do if I knew I would never be able to visit them again. It’s been a few years since we were back in Manila, and I miss it. I miss my grandparents’ huge house in the province, where at any time of day you can find neighbors, friends and relatives gathered at the courtyard tables playing mah-jongg or cards. Their house is like the community center for the village, always open and welcome to all.
    I look down at my phone again. His name is Royce. Seriously? Am I supposed to call him that? Why don’t you text me? That way it ’ s up to you , he said. He’s not a stranger. He’s a congressman’s son. I mean, you’re supposed to know your congressman, right? I can be a good citizen.
    jasmindls: Hey it’s me , I send.
    I get a text back immediately.
    royceb: jazzy baby?
    jasmindls: The one and the same, Rolls Royce.
    royceb: original.
    jasmindls: Is that your real name or did your parents just really want a car?
    royceb: if you must know, I’m named after my uncle who died.
    jasmindls: Oh god! Sorry. My bad.
    royceb: no, it’s mine. my uncle’s alive.
    jasmindls:You’re evil!!!
    royceb: actually he just got in a car accident, that’s why we were at the hospital.
    royceb: so you have a problem with my name huh?
    jasmindls: I dunno I kind of like fancy cars.
    royceb: cool.so should I call you Jazzy for short?
    royceb: or do you prefer Baby?
    jasmindls: It’s Jasmine, thank you very much.
    royceb: nice to meet you Jasmine.
    jasmindls: U too GTG TTYL , I type as I reach my floor.
    royceb:
    The nurses are chatting around their workstation as an employee pushes a food cart down the hall past me for the early bird dinners. Usually, I try to snag a Jell-O cup for myself. I’d never admit it, but I actually like the hospital food. But this time, I leave it. I was starving earlier, yet for some reason, I’m not hungry anymore. I’m excited and queasy-feeling, and I suspect it may have something to do with the boy who’s texting me.
    I see my mother rounding the corner in her dark blue scrubs, dragging a bucket full of water and a mop behind her tiny frame.
    â€œMommy!” I say, skipping toward her. I never call her that except when I want to make her happy. It’s sort of a Filipino thing, and right now I’m bursting with news about the scholarship. “Guess what!”
    But before I can say anything else she sets down the mop and leans against the handle. “Are you busy?” she asks. “I need you.”
    I shake my head, disappointed not to have her full attention, and my good mood dampens a bit. She seems stressed. “What’s up?” I ask.
    â€œCan you come help me with a mess? You don’t have to touch anything. I just need you to make sure no one walks on it.”
    I nod and follow her. When the pressure becomes too much sometimes, when I feel like I’m about to burst with anxiety over my grades or get mad that I’ve never had a social life, I think about my mom and what she’s sacrificed for us so that we can have a better life. I’m so grateful to her and my dad for everything.
    She leads me down the hallway into a large room. There’s a nurse bustling about the bed, giving a small, frail woman with white hair a sponge bath. I look down to give her privacy, but the woman complains loudly, “Nothing special to see here, honey. When you’re this old, there’s no such thing as dignity. Your body falls apart like a junky car, but you still have to have the mechanic take a look at the insides. Funny how young people are so modest when they have no reason to be. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, I say.”
    I raise my eyebrow at my mom, who suppresses a smile. This patient is a feisty one, that’s for sure.
    The nurse quiets her down while my mother begins mopping up urine from