Either way, between the two of them we were comfortable enough, but I knew they were worried about my future. Dad was always telling me I was living my life wrong, rolling his eyes at me for being myself. Saying my identity was the product of an overly-active imagination, and if I didn’t knock it off, I’d be sorry when I got older. The Academy scholarship had been like a dream come true—a guarantee that I would be successful, that maybe I could “make it” as an adult after all. My future was laid out for me.

I hadn’t been quite as thrilled as they were, although I didn’t say anything about it. Sure, I liked learning languages, but… the Academy’s plan, it wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life, you know what I mean? Working in some windowless cubicle in the GSAF building seemed like a complete soul-drain. I’d never told anyone, but what I really wanted, more than anything, was to be like Abuelo. To be an archaeologist. Working outside, digging in the dirt, uncovering hidden treasure. I wanted to hold the ancient past in my hand and uncover its secrets. I’d even hoped to maybe dig at the same site in Veracruz, even though I’d known there wasn’t much time left before they’d have to shut it down for safety reasons.

But things hadn’t been going well between my parents. And when I got the scholarship, that changed for a little while. Dad was proud of me for the first time since I started middle school. So I went along with it, happily believing that everything was going to be better. If it meant Mom and Dad would stop fighting, anything would be worth it.

The fighting hadn’t stopped for long.

“So, do you like the Academy? And your program?” Erick broke the silence again. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts, it took me a minute to come up with a response.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, school is school, right? And I’ll get a good job out of it, at least.”