I hear muffled voices near the checkout counter. That’s pretty common, too. When customers lower their voices like that, it’s almost always because they’re asking where they can find condoms, or laxatives, or hemorrhoid treatment. But then I hear something that sends a chill running down my back.

“We’re looking for Ernesto Garcia.”

Whoever is looking for Pa has a strong, deep voice. I move quietly toward the counter, wanting to see what he looks like. From behind the last aisle, I sneak a peek at the two men standing there.

Erika, one of the girls my parents hired to help out, is behind the counter, staring back at them with a blank look on her face. “He—he’s not here,” she stammers.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” asks the second man. I know exactly what they are. They’re wearing bulky black jackets with the letters ICE printed across the back.

Erika shakes her head. “No idea,” she says. “He might not be back at all today.”

There’s a long moment of silence—or at least it seems long to me. It’s as if time has stopped. I’m frozen, unable to move, unable to think, unable to even feel anything. I’m holding my breath, waiting—praying—for these men to just turn around and leave.

“Do you mind if I take a look around?”

Erika’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. I can tell exactly what she’s thinking—she’s wondering what these men might do if she refuses to cooperate.

I watch with my heart stuck in my throat as one of the agents takes a few steps toward the back of the bodega, where the tiny office is. Slowly, he stretches out a hand and pushes the door open, only to reveal a dark room.

“All right, then,” he says, turning back toward the counter. “Thanks for your help.”

Erika mumbles a few words as the men move toward the exit, and they are halfway out the door when something happens—a dozen bags of chips start falling on top of me.

I don’t understand how I did this. I must’ve barely brushed the shelf with my shoulder, but a second later all the bags are on the floor around my feet, and the damage is done.

The agents stop in their tracks and turn to look at me. I stare into the eyes of one of them, and then the other. What have I done?