She went to Esperanza’s room to take something, to destroy something precious of hers. She looked through her closet. Dallas pulled out boxes of things, looked through her mother’s clothes. But couldn’t find anything Esperanza would miss. She went to her dresser. She popped open a cookie tin. Inside it was filled with loose bills. Fives and ones. —And she lied to me, Dallas said, quickly closing her mother’s bedroom door and then putting the tin on her lap to count just how much her mother had stashed. —You said you didn’t have enough money to buy me a quinceañera present? Bullshit! Dallas said. Dallas counted 150 dollars and tucked it into her jeans pocket. With it she would buy her jacket at Macy’s.

When the Colón family heard the doorbell, no one rushed to answer it. Especially on the weekends. Esperanza never knew how to turn away the nice people who knocked on her door to preach sermons, or the man who worked for the gas company and came around to check the meter, and never gave her enough time to remove the cans of beans she put on the meter, to help lower the gas bill.

—Dallas! Bobby! Open the door! Esperanza yelled as she scrambled on a chair to remove the cans.

—Dallas, open the door! Bobby yelled as he flipped through channels.

—Why doesn’t Abuelo ever get it? Dallas yelled from her room.

—’Cause he’s old. You fucking princess!

—Well, the princess needs to go to the bathroom. Dallas had been on strike and would be until she received an official apology from her mother.

Bobby went for the door. The same girl he had been jerking off to, since the night they’d met in the kitchen, a few months ago, was standing before him. Hush. There was something different about her. She wasn’t well. Bobby waved her to come inside.

—Hush, he said in disbelief. Looking her over, remembering her scent of sawdust and lilacs.

—Where’ve you been? Bobby said, trying to act like she was just any other girl and that he didn’t notice that she had been knocked up by some guy from around the way, forever to have ruined her life. But that smell she had, of fresh furniture and flowery soap, invaded every orifice of his body. He couldn’t pretend not to care. And the way she looked at him for help, he couldn’t help but crack open.

Hush walked in, and when he pulled out a chair for her, she cried on his shoulder. Wiping her face with his shirt, Bobby put the box of tissues within her reach.

—Qué pasó? Esperanza said, rushing over. Hush’s belly was small but noticeable.

—I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. Hush lost her voice to an outburst of tears.

When her belly had started to show, her mother asked her to leave.

—Don’t cry, Bobby said, handing her more tissue.

—What happened? Dallas rushed over to Hush to hold her. Bobby didn’t let go of Hush’s grasp. Dallas tried to comb Hush’s hair back from her face. —I’ve been calling you and you never called me back.