“Music composition at Steinhardt,” Darryl says. “But you wanna get into Tisch, don’t you?” He throws a sideways smile at me, and despite everything that was going through my mind a second ago, my knees feel weak again. I don’t know how he does it—how he’s able to make me feel this way with such little effort. Maybe it’s his cool posture, or his deep voice, or maybe just the fact that he’s so freaking cute.

“Yeah, but… but I’m not sure yet. I’m not nearly as good as Adam. He—”

“Darryl and I are feeling like pizza for lunch,” Kimmie interrupts me, slamming her locker door shut. She’s not gonna let me talk myself down, and I love her for it. “Wanna come with us?”

I almost say yes, but then I remember that today isn’t Friday. Fridays are always dollar-slice days, and Kimmie knows that, so pizza on a Thursday must’ve been Darryl’s idea.

Slowly, I open my mouth to answer. “I have to—”

“Adam already left for his audition,” Kimmie says before I can make up an excuse. “So the two of us will meet you on the front steps of school after next period, okay?”

She and Darryl give me one last smile before walking away, and I turn in the direction of the stairwell. As I climb the steps toward my next class, I start to feel weight in my stomach that has nothing to do with Ma and Pa and everything to do with Kimmie and Darryl. Maybe it’s because I’m jealous that Kimmie has found a guy, when I haven’t even kissed anyone all through high school. Or maybe I’m just scared that Kimmie having a boyfriend will drive her further away from me, and the distance between us will become a little wider.

I walk into the history classroom, and while I try to find an empty spot near the back, I feel longing deep inside of me. I want to go back to a few weeks ago, when everything was still normal—before Kimmie got a boyfriend and Adam and I went to that audition. I want to go back to when Ma and Pa hadn’t yet been taken away, when my biggest concern was moving around my shifts at the bodega so I could go hang out with my friends. I want to go back to then and there and freeze time.

Uncle Jorge comes over that night. The first thing I notice when I open the door is that his beard, which he usually keeps perfectly trimmed, looks a little messy and uneven. Between work, a crying baby keeping him up at night, and trying to find a way to help my parents, I can’t imagine he’s had much time for grooming.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I was dealing with some stuff.”