“Let’s do tomorrow,” I answer finally. Even as I smile, I realize I shouldn’t have said that. Tomorrow I’ll have the exact same responsibilities that I have today, but I can’t take it back now.

“Awesome,” Adam says, flashing his perfect teeth at me, but Kimmie stays still—too still.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Matt, are you okay?”

Of course she knows something is wrong. Kimmie is able to tell when I’m feeling sick, when I’ve done poorly on a test, and even when I’m upset because one of my favorite characters died on Pasiones. She can tell when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m anxious… and also when I’m lying.

“Yeah,” I say. Maybe I’m a better actor than even I give myself credit for, because I manage to make it sound convincing. I shrug, trying to loosen up my back. “Just a lot going on—you know, with school and work at the bodega.”

Adam’s smile becomes bigger. But as he launches into a full description of what he wants to prepare for the audition, Kimmie keeps staring at me. I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but she knows me well enough to realize that I don’t want to talk about what’s bothering me, and she’s a good enough friend not to ask any more questions.

That evening, Sophie and I head home after my shift at the bodega with even more food, pamphlets, and handwritten notes. Once again, Ma and Pa’s friends showed up nonstop, to the point where I started to feel a little overwhelmed. What are we supposed to do when everyone keeps telling us to do different things? Who are we supposed to call when everyone claims to know who the best option is?

As I look for my keys in my bag, I tell myself that I’ll let Uncle Jorge deal with these types of decisions. He’ll know who to contact. He’ll know what to do. I just need to call him as soon as we get home.

“Do you need help with that?” I ask Sophie as I push the front door of the building open. She’s holding a heavy plate of lasagna that Ceci Romano dropped off, even though we’ve barely made a dent in the one she brought us yesterday. Sophie has managed to carry it a full two blocks from the bodega, but going up three flights of stairs is a different story.

“No, I got it,” she tells me, and she leads the way up the stairs.