She smiled at the guy restocking CDs. The name tag said his name was Peter. He looked like a white boy. Maybe he could hook me up with a job, she thought.

Don Chan entered the record store. At first, he thought it was a library. When he pulled out a CD from the shelf, he realized that they were those things Dallas and Bobby played music out of. Mini LPs. Digital, they said. You could change the songs with a remote control. They used words like shuffle, rewind, fast forward, repeat. Don Chan didn’t understand how so much music could be stored in such a small object. He’d rather listen to music when he could see the needle play a song.

He went toward the escalators. Don Chan stepped on them and was startled by the speed at which they moved. He tried to get off, but he was already halfway up to the next floor. He anticipated stepping off of them, lifting his leg high up enough so his shoes wouldn’t be eaten by the machine. —An invention for the lazy? he mumbled.

What was Dallas doing in a place like this? Shouldn’t she be in school? He found her sitting on the chair. Her body bent over a magazine. Bopping her head to music. She was tapping her fingers against the magazine pages. Did she want to play? Santo played. Where was that piano of Santo’s? Maybe he could fix it up and give it to her so she could play it? Maybe she wanted to sing like her father. Sí, sí, he knew exactly where it was in his bedroom, in a box on top of his wardrobe. Caridad had wrapped Santo’s piano up real nice to save it from the humidity.

Don Chan started to leave the store to get it for her. He climbed on the moving stairs and walked out into the bright lights. He looked north and south on the busy street. The sign said Broadway. He lived a block away from Broadway. He looked at the sun to make sure he was walking in the right direction. Quepasó couldn’t be too far off.

—Abuelo’s missing, Bobby said as he ran into the apartment.

—What are you talking about?

Dallas was making dinner. Something experimental. Chicken with pasta. Esperanza would be coming home that night from work. Dallas intended to juice her up so they could go to Macy’s. Besides, Dallas was in celebration mode. She had met a boy. Peter. At Tower Records. He had a job. He was going to be a famous DJ and fall in love with her.

At first, Peter looked shy, but during his lunch break, he stepped up to her.

—Wanna eat upstairs? I got thirty minutes, he said, glancing at his watch.

—Do I know you?

—Don’t act like you weren’t checking me out. You smiled at me.

Dallas’s face turned beet red. —You have a big ego, man.

They had lunch. They talked. He knew people in the music business who would help him with his career. He rhymed for her.