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I’m here and in my room. Going to a reception in a couple hours. I have a chaperone named Suzanne. She’s smart and nice. Love you. Talk soon.
No reply; she must be busy.
I hear my roommates enter, but they all disappear into the other bedroom without saying hello. It sounds like they all know each other, and probably no one wants to room with the new girl. Fine, more room for me.
After showering, putting on my makeup and brushing out my long hair, I open my suitcase on one of the beds, unzipping the sides carefully to not catch any of my clothing. On top lies the dress I bought when I went shopping with Kayla. I put it on and fluff out the wrinkles. It’s as bright as a yellow gumamela flower, with an open back and a braid that twists over my shoulders and down to the bottom of the dress’s flowing fabric. I’m dark for a Filipino, nut-brown like my dad, and the color pops against my skin. From my suitcase, I take the amber glass my Lola gave me and feel the smooth sides between my fingers. Preparing my nerves for the dinner, I stick the stone inside my clutch and head out for the reception. I’m so ready for this.
* * *
The ballroom is decorated in layered white and gold bunting, and there are vases of white flowers everywhere. It’s like a wedding—everything is so pretty, and I can’t help but look around, wide-eyed and happy. The event is black-tie, so all the guys are in tuxes and the girls are in long dresses. The room is buzzing, lively. It’s clear everyone is thrilled to be here. There’s an hour before dinner during which we eat cheese and crackers and Suzanne introduces us to as many dignitaries as she can recognize. I stick close to her, as do Richard and Simon. We’re all a bit subdued, and when people congratulate us, we just smile and nod. I meet so many people, it’s hard to keep track of who’s who.
“Jasmine, may I introduce you to Senator Armstrong, Speaker of the House.”
“To Dr. Holly Villa, of the National Health Organization.”
“To the Honorable James Macgregor, Ambassador to Switzerland.”
“To Eugenia Rosenberg, editor in chief of the Washington Post.”
My head is swimming and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. When it’s finally time for dinner and speeches, we go to look for our table, which is right in front. The head of the National Scholar Foundation speaks first and introduces the top ten scholars. They each give a short speech about their talents and ambitions, many of them in the scientific and technological arenas. In between, Suzanne engages us all with questions, but I can’t concentrate. The whole night is overwhelming, almost unreal to me. Then I cut into the chicken, which is rubbery and hard, and I fall back down to earth for a moment. Dad always says we eat better at home than most people do in restaurants, and he’s totally right.
Simon and Richard chat excitedly at our table. The other honorees seated with us include three girls who I find out are my elusive roommates. There’s Mallory Lynch, a preppie redhead, and Nina Chandra, a gorgeous Indian girl with a hilarious sense of humor. They’re both from Maryland. Then there’s Carrie Mayberry. She’s a classic all-American beauty with thick sandy-blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes who happens to be a Junior Olympics gymnast, a world-class sailor, and has already landed an internship with the New York Times and is a total shoo-in to Columbia, her first choice.
Carrie seems to be the leader of the three girls. Every topic of conversation revolves around what she thinks or whom she knows. Carrie is from D.C., but all three girls know each other because Nina and Carrie go to a boarding school together and Mallory plays on Nina’s water polo club team. All of their parents seem to be involved in politics somehow.
The girls are totally ignoring Richard and Simon, which doesn’t matter because the boys don’t even notice, they’re so engrossed in a super nerdy discussion about binary numbers.
“Are you excited to go to Columbia?” I ask Carrie, trying to make conversation. “Do you like New York?”
She crosses her arms. “Do I like New York? The city isn’t the kind of place that you like or dislike. New York is bigger than any single person. It’s the only place to live really.”
“Oh,” I say. “I guess that’s how Manila used to feel to me...that it’s more than a city.”
Carrie doesn’t respond, and Mallory politely picks up the conversation. “So you’re from the Philippines? Did you grow up there?”
“My parents were born there,” I say. “I grew up in LA.”
Both are technically true.
Nina leans forward. “Where in LA?”
“Uh, Chatsworth,” I admit.
“Where’s that?” asks Mallory.
“It’s in the San Fernando Valley,” I tell her.
“That’s not LA,” Carrie cuts in with a laugh.
“Yes, it’s the Valley,” I say coolly. “And the Valley is still part of Los Angeles, last I checked. Everyone thinks LA is just Beverly Hills and West Hollywood, but it’s much larger and more diverse than that. Besides, we have the best soup dumplings in the Valley. Better than New York’s Chinatown, according to the Michelin guide.”
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