Sophie and I stop by the apartment to drop off all of our shopping bags, and then we head back to the laundromat to get our clean laundry. By the time we return home, we’re too tired to fold clothes, but we do it anyway. And once we’re done and we go lie on the couch, at least we feel like we’ve accomplished something.

We keep trying to call Ma and Pa all morning, but it’s the same as yesterday. We don’t get past recordings and bored-sounding officers who refuse to help us.

I go back to the bodega at two for the start of my shift, and I bring along some of Sophie’s coloring books to keep her busy while I’m working.

I’m standing behind the cash register, bagging a customer’s purchases, when I hear a phone ringing, and my heart stops. It’s coming from my own pocket. My phone is ringing.

I use one shaking hand to give the plastic bag to the customer, and the other to take my phone out. Gesturing to Erika to cover for me at the register, I rush into the office in the back.

“¿Bueno?” I answer, closing the door behind me. I’m expecting to hear one of my parents’ voices on the other end, but instead I get a recording: “You have a collect call from Hudson County Jail. If you wish to accept this call, please press one.”

I lower my phone to press one. Immediately after, I hit the speakerphone button, so Sophie and I can both listen in.

My sister stares at me with a shocked look on her face as I move closer to the desk, where she has all her stickers and markers. And then, when Pa’s voice comes from the speaker, we both give small jumps.

“Mateo?”

“Sí.” My voice comes out shrill. “Sí, aquí estoy, Pa.”

“¡Yo también!” Sophie shouts beside me. “I’m here, too, Papi.”

“Mijos.” He sighs loudly. “How are you? Are you okay? Has Jorge come get you?”

“We—we’re okay, Pa.” I’m having a hard time putting words together. My heart is beating too fast. “And yes, Uncle Jorge came looking for us.”

“Are you staying with him and Amy now?”

“No,” I say. “We didn’t want to leave home. We didn’t want to bother them, with the baby and everything.”

Pa doesn’t reply. My guess is that he wants to argue—he might want to tell us to accept Jorge’s help, but he also knows that if he had been in my shoes, he would’ve made the exact same decision.

“I asked for his help,” he says slowly. “This was always the plan—years ago, he and I made a deal that if we ever got detained, he would take care of you.”

“You had a plan?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell us? You should’ve—”