Something strange happens in that moment. We all meet one another’s eyes. I look at Sophie, then at Ma, then at Pa. The air feels heavy with the things we’re not saying, but I know we’re all thinking about it—what’s been going on in the news lately. All that talk about Mexicans, and deportation, and the wall. But surely nothing bad could happen to us, right? Right?

That’s what I look for in my family’s eyes—some sort of reassurance that everything will be fine, that nothing’s gonna change, but the only thing I find in their faces is fear.

Finally, Pa speaks up. “It’s going to be okay. We are going to be okay,” he says.

Almost at the same time, we all let out a sigh. Of course Pa is right. He has to be. He and Ma have been in this country for so long. They’ve built lives, built a business, built a family, and even though we’ve always been afraid, no one’s come after them in all these years.

Pa picks up his fork again and keeps eating. Ma, Sophie, and I do the same. We all try to pretend that everything is normal, that there is nothing to worry about, but the silence from earlier comes back, and now it’s even heavier than it was before we had this conversation.

2

THE NEXT DAY STARTS LIKE EVERY OTHER day.

I wake up to the sound of my third or fourth alarm. I put on the shirt and pants I picked out last night, eat a bowl of dry cereal next to Sophie and Ma—Pa is already at the bodega—and leave home a little too late. I run across Fourteenth Street toward the nearest subway station, jump on the L train, and then transfer to the packed uptown 1 train. When I get off the subway at Columbus Circle, I rush through the crowds, looking at my phone every few minutes to check the time. Now that spring is here and the air is getting warmer, tourists have flooded the city like they do every year, which adds time to my commute. I make it through the school doors just before nine, sprint up the stairs all the way to the fourth floor, and walk into the classroom right on time for first period.

This is what school feels like most days—it’s just a blur of running up endless flights of stairs, bumping shoulders with people as I rush through the hallways, a bit of class here and there, and then running up and down the stairs some more.