Something in Between by Melissa de La Cruz Page B

too.
    Lola’s eyes brighten. “You didn’t say you were going to meet the president! He’s the best-looking of all!”
    â€œI told all of you,” I growl. “You just don’t listen! I’m going to be late for the plane. I love you!” I add, and run off into the terminal and to the security checkpoint.

10
    There was nothing but land; not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made.
    â€”WILLA CATHER, MY ÁNTONIA
    â€œMS. DE LOS SANTOS ?” asks a young African American woman with straightened hair cut in a cute bob outside the terminal at Dulles International Airport. She’s holding a sign with my name on it.
    â€œThat’s me,” I say, with a big smile.
    â€œSuzanne Roberts,” she says, shaking my hand. “National Scholarship Recognition Program Hostess and Department of Education Liaison. Right this way. You’ll be meeting some of the other students shortly.”
    For being so young, Suzanne is all business. Her skirt and coat are a deep royal blue and her blouse is white. She’s perfectly put together. Not a wrinkle anywhere on her clothes or a hair out of place. There’s an insignia on her uniform for the program that looks like a blend with the presidential seal. I note the way she holds herself. The way she walks. She talks as if she graduated from some etiquette school in Switzerland where they teach you how to carry yourself with poise. She has a constant smile that seems real and not polished at all. She’s instantly likable. I want to be like her someday and tell her so.
    â€œYou’re sweet, thanks. I hear your essay and self-assessment was a particularly great read for the committee. Congratulations.”
    â€œThanks so much—it’s so nice to hear that. Are you on the selection committee?” I ask as we walk through the terminal.
    Suzanne smiles. “No, those are all highly regarded scholars in the fields of education, law, medicine, the advanced arts, and other areas. Maybe one day. I was a previous scholarship recipient. I’m a congressional aide and for now, I’m just happy to assist the program’s candidates during their time here in Washington, D.C.”
    â€œCool,” I say, because it is. I can’t wait to meet everyone, to start making connections, to start being part of this great network that runs our country. For a moment, I feel like myself again, the person I was before I discovered the truth about our status.
    * * *
    I’m sitting in the backseat with two other students while Suzanne drives a black sedan toward the Ritz-Carlton on Twenty-second Street.
    â€œThis is Richard Morales,” Suzanne says, nodding toward the tall boy sitting in the front seat who has such large shoulders, he barely fits inside the car. “He’s from Arizona. And an incredible jazz musician, I hear.”
    â€œWhat instruments do you play?” I ask.
    Richard cranes his neck around to look at me. “A little of everything, I guess. But my favorite is the saxophone.” He curls his fingers and begins playing invisible notes. He’s already totally lost in his own imaginary world of music.
    The other boy sitting next to me extends his hand, which I shake. His pale fingers are bony and long. “I’m Simon Sebastian,” he says in a nasally voice. “Did you know the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial was made in China ? And that the FDR Memorial has a statue of his dog ?”
    â€œNo,” I say. “You know a lot about Washington, D.C....”
    While Simon continues to rattle off random trivia, I peer out the window for a glimpse of anything recognizable. I have the window rolled down a little so I can see better, and I’m shocked by how much colder the fall weather is here. Wrapping my coat tighter around me, I imagine myself walking across the campus of George Washington University or Georgetown, watching the auburn leaves