I laugh a little. With Kimmie and Adam both beaming at me, it’s easy to let go of the weight I’ve been carrying in my stomach since yesterday. “Of course I am.”

I look down at my phone and realize I have only a couple of minutes before next period starts. “Gotta run. I have chem on the sixth floor, but I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

As I rush away from them, sneaking through small gaps in the crowd, I hear Adam’s voice yelling after me, “Hamilton, baby!”

The run up the stairs to the sixth floor feels faster and easier than usual. I honestly don’t know what I would do without Kimmie and Adam. They make everything better—they always have. I just wish I could tell them about what’s going on at home. I’m sure that if I did, they would help me push all this anxiety aside, but this isn’t just my secret to tell—it’s my entire family’s, so our “be careful” rule also applies to Kimmie and Adam. I’ve never told them that my parents don’t have papers, even though I’ve told them a million other things about my life—that I’m gay, that I’m the biggest telenovela fan, and that before I met them, I’d always felt a little lonely.

The second I sit down in the chemistry classroom, the heaviness returns to my stomach. It may come and go, but the truth is that I have no way to fully escape from it.

“Is everything okay?” Ma asks me as soon as I walk into the apartment that night. She’s standing in the tiny kitchen, wearing her glasses and an apron that Sophie gave her last Mother’s Day, and the entire place is filled with the mouthwatering smell of her cooking.

“Yeah,” I say as I close the door behind me. “Those men didn’t show up at the store today.”

I spent my entire shift listening for the bell at the door, dreading that it would be followed by the sound of heavy boots. The longer I spent at the bodega, the more jumpy I became. It got so bad that Erika offered to close the store on her own so I could go home and relax.

“Have you heard from Pa?” I ask my mom, stepping into the kitchen for a quick hug. Pa spends the afternoons meeting with suppliers, and picking up orders, and running errands for the bodega, but he usually makes it back well before dinner.

“He called to say he’ll be home soon!” Sophie yells from the dinner table. She’s sitting there with her books spread out in front of her, doing homework.

I look at Ma, who gives a small nod.

“Do you need help?” I ask, staring down at the counter. She’s making flautas de pollo, another one of Pa’s favorites.