The judge nods once. “You may be seated.” The second my butt touches the chair again, she asks me her first question. “How old are you?”

“I—I’m sixteen years old, Your Honor.”

“And what is your relationship to Ernesto Garcia?”

I swallow back the knot that’s growing in my throat. “He’s my dad.”

The first few questions are easy to answer—where was I born, where do I go to school. The judge then asks me where my mother is, and I have to explain to her that Ma has also been detained by ICE.

By the time Mr. Wilkins steps in front of me, I feel a little relieved. I find some comfort in his familiar blue eyes and soothing voice.

“Mateo,” he says. “Tell me: Where have you been living since your parents were detained?”

“With a family friend.” Mr. Wilkins specifically told me not to refer to Jorge as my uncle, since we’re technically not related and all. “He’s here today,” I add, looking right at him. He’s sitting still as a statue, but with every sentence I speak, he gives a small nod, as if encouraging me to go on.

“Can you explain the living situation?”

I look away from Uncle Jorge. I don’t want to sound ungrateful that he took us in, but Mr. Wilkins said it was important for the judge to understand how we’ve been living. “Jorge lives in a tiny apartment in the West Village. There are only two bedrooms, so Jorge, his wife, and baby have been sleeping in one bedroom, and my sister and I have been sharing the other.”

“Five people living in two bedrooms,” Mr. Wilkins says slowly, as if the judge couldn’t do the math herself. “Would you say it would be possible to live this way in the longer term?”

Again, I make sure to avoid looking into Uncle Jorge’s eyes. “No,” I answer. “Especially not when the baby gets older.”

“Do you have any other family in the United States?”

I clear my throat. “No, I don’t.”

“So if your parents were gone, and it became impossible to continue living with your family friend, what would you do?”

For the first time, I look directly at the ICE lawyer. I imagine that, to him, the answer to this question is pretty simple. In the back of his mind, he’s probably thinking Sophie and I could go into the system. It probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to him if Child Protective Services came and took us. But, staring at the ring on his left hand, I wonder if he has any children of his own. I wonder what he would think if his son or daughter were sitting right here where I am. Would he feel as comfortable with the idea of his own children being taken away from their parents?