A lump quickly forms in my throat, but I won’t let myself cry. It just feels so good to have someone on my side. I guess this is what Gabriela meant when she said I was lucky to have a sibling. After all these years, I am genuinely touched that Neda is sort of standing up for me. I glance in her direction, we make eye contact, and then we shake our heads in that “Mom and Dad are so annoying” kind of way. A united front against a common enemy. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so damn alone.

GABRIELA

It’s only been a couple of weeks of remote learning, and to my surprise, I actually like attending school from the comfort of my own apartment. I am thriving. You get to not pay attention without anyone actually noticing that you’re not paying attention. It’s so easy to avoid getting educated. Everyone is way too focused on their own little faces in the Zoom box to pick up on what anyone else is doing. No one knows I’m sitting in my underwear and that I haven’t brushed my teeth this morning and that my stomach won’t stop growling. Or that I strategically propped up one of my best paintings on the wall behind me, in a desperate move to remind Lizzy Pearson that Andrew’s old friends are more talented than her.

My moms have agreed to stay out of my way during school hours, mostly floating from the kitchen to their car in the mornings, preparing to sell food across the street from Good Samaritan Hospital. Despite the risks, it’s nice to know that they can help feed first responders and save up rent money at the same time. And whenever they do walk past and steal glances at me, they think I’m furiously taking notes while Mr. Holcomb prattles on about reciprocal identities. I’m not. I am actually sketching a picture of the Mandalorian for my next-door neighbor Raj. Or, as I like to call him, my fairy godbrother.

In between his morning rounds of World of Warcraft, Raj overheard Elena on the phone frantically trying to track down a computer for me. For once, it was a blessing that the walls of our apartment building are so thin, they might as well be constructed out of tissue paper—and that my mom’s voice hits an embarrassingly loud decibel when she’s stressed out. Five minutes later, Raj was standing a safe distance from our door with his old MacBook in hand and an offer we couldn’t refuse. He’d give me his computer if we gave him our Wi-Fi password and a steady stream of dairy-free baked goods.