For a second, Ma looks sad. She looks down, and I’m scared she might start crying. But then she lifts her gaze, and with a calm expression on her face, she looks at me and says, “So tell me, have you been watching Pasiones?”

12

MONDAY MORNING AT SCHOOL IS THE WORST. I can’t stop thinking about Ma, can’t stop wishing that we hadn’t had to say goodbye to her, that we could have her near, that we could see her again soon.

I’m walking quickly to get to English literature, my mind filled with images from our visit, when all of a sudden, I hear a voice calling my name.

“Mateo?”

I turn around to find Miss Callahan, my college advisor, sticking her head out from the doorway of her office. Her hair looks shorter than it did last time I met with her, and there’s also something different in her eyes—something that tells me I might be in trouble.

“Do you have a few minutes?” she asks me.

“I, uh—I have to get to class.”

“You can go in a few minutes late. Don’t worry, I’ll write you a note.”

I wish I could make up another excuse, but then, when Miss Callahan raises her eyebrows at me, I have no choice but to step into her office.

“Sit down,” she says. It’s also in her voice—that thing that tells me I’m not here for a good reason. When she takes a seat in front of me, though, her eyes soften, and she stares at me through her thick glasses with the same eagerness as always. Miss Callahan is one of the few people at school who cares. While all the other teachers just show up to talk about math, or science, or English, she shows up because she genuinely wants to help—or at least that’s how she’s always made me feel.

“It’s come to my attention that you haven’t been going to SAT prep lately.”

My stomach drops. Since Ma and Pa were detained, I haven’t even stopped to think about that. During the first week, my top priority was getting myself over to Maria’s right after school to pick up Sophie. And now that we’ve moved in with Jorge, I’ve been heading straight to the bodega, trying my best to keep the business running.

“I… I’ve just been busy. You know, with homework and stuff.”

Miss Callahan leans her head slightly to one side. “Is that true?” she asks. “Because I’ve also heard that your grades are slipping.”

I look down at my hands, not saying anything.

“What’s going on, Mateo? Only a few months ago, you were here asking me what SAT scores you needed to get into NYU, and you were so excited about Tisch and about a career in theater.”