Suddenly, it all starts making sense—the way his face lights up when he looks at me, the way Kimmie offered to give up her Hamilton ticket so he and I could go together, Adam’s eagerness to teach me more about theater, to run lines with me, to spend as much time as possible together.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I ask.

“Because I didn’t know if you would feel the same way.”

I sneak a quick glance at Kimmie. I’m hoping to find a raised eyebrow, or a smile, or any sign that could suggest that this is all a big joke, but she’s looking down with her arms crossed.

“But—but your neighbor. You’ve been crushing on him forever.”

Adam shakes his head slowly. “There’s no neighbor,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. “It’s always been you. Tell me what I can do to help—whatever you need, I’m here.”

I blink a few times, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. It just seems so unlikely that all of this is happening—that Uncle Jorge called to say Pa is getting deported, that Adam just confessed he has feelings for me.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” I say. I can’t afford to waste any more time—not when Sophie is waiting for me back at Uncle Jorge’s. “I’m sorry. I—I have to go.”

I meet Adam’s eyes one last time, and I see heartbreak in them. I notice the way he sighs, emptying his lungs after holding his breath for too long. My stomach twists, but I can’t think about any of this too much. Not now.

I turn around, run down the steps of the subway station, and rush toward the downtown platform, terrified of what I’m going to find when I get to Uncle Jorge’s.

When I walk in, the first thing I notice is how quiet the apartment is. The air feels heavy and grim. Someone may as well have died.

Sophie is sitting on the couch next to Amy. During the subway ride here, I imagined a million different scenarios—my sister weeping, screaming, hiding away in the bedroom, but no. She’s sitting with her back straight and her chin up. Her face is streaked with tears, but she looks calm as she holds Amy’s hand.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” I say to Uncle Jorge, who is leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a glass of water.

“It’s okay. We’ve just been…” He shrugs. We’ve just been sitting here, I’m sure he was going to say. There’s nothing else to do. The battle is already lost. My dad is going back to Mexico, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.