I fold the paper up and set it down between us.

Oscar’s quiet for a long minute.

“Well?” I ask.

“Your own corner, huh?” He smiles. “That’s some real power.”

“I wanted to tell you,” I say. “About helping out Miss Flora Mae. But she swore me to secrecy, and I didn’t realize keeping other people’s secrets would mean keeping so many secrets from you.”

His shoulders slump. “I just missed you, is all. And then I thought you were trading me in for Kiera.” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t get how you could do that after she did the same thing to you.”

“She apologized,” I offer. “And I want to give her a second chance. But she’s no replacement for you. Nobody is.”

“You’re right about that,” he says.

“So you forgive me?” I ask.

“That depends. You promise to never sing in front of my house again?”

“Hey!” I tell him. “Desperate times called for desperate measures.”

He throws his arm over my shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “I forgive you.”

“You really joined the wrestling team?”

He curls his arm up and flexes. “Turns out I’m pretty great at it. All those years roughhousing with my brothers paid off. And they really need someone in my weight class.”

“Do you like it?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He sounds like he’s surprising even himself. “I really do. Sometimes my brain is spinning so fast I can’t keep up, but when I’m on the wrestling mat, all I can do is concentrate on the person I’m up against. It’s like my brain is just quiet for a little while. It’s pretty cool.” He puffs out his chest a little. “So I guess I’m a jock now.”

I laugh so hard I wheeze. “Well, count me as your number one fan because . . . we are family,” I belt at the top of my lungs.

He turns to me and holds the paper up as a fake microphone. “Get up everybody and sing!”

“Shut up!” Jorge shouts from the window upstairs.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dear Sweet Pea

I walk my bike home, and even though it’s too hot to see straight, I feel excited for the first time in a long time about what the future holds, because I know that I’ve got Oscar by my side. And Kiera, too.

I walk past Dad’s house and find that his work truck is gone, but Mr. Salcedo, his landlord, has parked his maroon Bronco alongside another car in the driveway.

The front door swings open and Greg walks out with his parents and Mr. Salcedo a few steps behind.

“Greg,” I call out to him. “What are you doing here?”

He jogs down the walkway to me. “Hey, Sweet Pea! I forgot you live on this street. My parents are thinking about buying this place from Mr. Salcedo. They were waiting to get something more permanent until after we saw how my dad’s new job panned out.”