Just like that, chemistry and my quiz are the last things on my mind again. I focus all of my energy on getting through the next twenty-four hours, on the idea of seeing Pa, telling myself that after our visit, when we’ve hugged him and talked to him again, maybe I’ll feel a little more motivated to focus on school.

The following day, I sneak out of school early, go to pick Sophie up, and head back to the apartment to find Jorge ready and waiting for us to hit the road.

The drive to the jail where Pa is being held is both the same and different from our trip to see Ma. It’s the same because there’s also heavy silence in the car, because I feel the exact same way as I did before seeing my mom. It’s different because it’s shorter, despite all the traffic getting into the Holland Tunnel.

In the back of my mind, I’d been expecting the Hudson County jail to look like the detention center in Buffalo, but it’s nothing like it. This place is dark, with small windows and narrow hallways that make me feel claustrophobic the second we walk in. The visiting room is also different. This one is long, and there are a couple dozen small booths. A glass wall divides our side and the prisoners’ side, and there are phones in each booth.

This is the sort of room where you would visit a murderer or a drug dealer, and as I take small steps toward the booth where Pa is sitting, I feel anger swelling up inside me—anger at the fact that Pa ended up here, when all he ever did was work hard and look after our family.

There are only two chairs in each booth, so Jorge and I sit down, and Sophie stands in the small gap between us. I pick up the phone first.

“Hola, Pa.”

“Hola, mijo.” He sounds tired, defeated. “How are you?” he asks, his eyes traveling to Sophie.

“We’re good, Pa. And you?”

For a second, he doesn’t answer. I’m reminded of the night after the ICE agents showed up at the bodega for the first time and how Pa’s silence just felt so wrong. This time, it’s much, much worse. His silence means he can’t even find the strength to comfort us. It means he’s losing hope.

“My master calendar hearing is next week,” he says.

“Papi, I want to talk to you, too,” Sophie interrupts in that moment, pressing her hand against the glass.

“Wait a second, Sophie,” I say, holding the phone tighter against my ear. “Pa, what does that mean?”

“I’m gonna go in front of an immigration judge. I—I decided I’m gonna ask for relief. I’m gonna ask the judge to let me stay in the US. I’m going to trust the system.”