The last time I went to the principal with complaints about this sort of thing, she called three of the guys who were harassing me down to her office to get their side of the story. I was hopeful because the school staff was being extra sensitive, since a few weeks before when that kid in Florida busted into his school and killed seventeen people. We sat in a row of chairs facing her desk. She asked if it was true that they called me names and threatened my family.

These guys gave looks like someone trash-talked their mothers. One said, Frankly, I’m offended Fernando would even suggest such a thing. We’ve only tried to befriend him since we noticed he’s had a hard time fitting in at our school.

The principal turned to me. I know English is not your first language, Fernando, so it’s possible you may have misunderstood what your classmates have been saying to you. As you can see, their only interest is in helping you fit in with our community.

That’s when I realized rich kids make for great criminals. After school, they followed me home. Watched in a car as I waited for the bus, driving behind until I got off at the stop down the road from our house, where there are only fields and horses around. They pulled onto the grass. Two guys jumped out and yanked me into the back seat. Punched me all over. Air left my lungs. But they didn’t touch my face, so when they pushed me out near our gates, though I could barely walk, Mom’s first thought when she saw me dragging myself up the driveway wasn’t that I’d had the shit kicked out of me but that I was coming down with the flu.

She helped me into bed and went to prepare me some caldo de pollo. I couldn’t tell her the truth. You only found out because those assholes took a video of the beating and sent it to their friends. And then they sent it to you and texted if you let them give it to you up the ass they’d leave me alone. You were crying when you told me this and that there was nothing to be done. I said I could get a Taser. Electrocute their balls off next time they touched me or threatened you. You made me cross my heart that I wouldn’t.

I remember wondering what it must feel like to belong to American whiteness and to know you can do whatever you want because nobody you love is deportable. Your worst crime might get you locked up forever but they’ll never take away your claim to this country. We both agreed telling anyone else would only bring attention to our family. You said you hate this place, and I hugged you even though it hurt my body and we aren’t really huggers anymore.

When Mom checked on us after dinner, we’d already sworn to each other not to say a word of what happened. When she asked how I was feeling, I said her soup had done its job, I was almost back to normal.