Esperanza might not have approved that Soraida always left Hush with her stepfather, Oswaldo, at the luncheonette because it wasn’t proper for a young girl to always be out like that without supervision—especially one who was now a señorita. But unlike Dallas, Hush always carried a book with her and made good grades. Esperanza’s children didn’t study, and that made her angry.

—I don’t feel like talking to her.

But Dallas missed Hush so much, she thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night ever again. It was Hush who defended her when kids around the way teased her with her name:—Let’s go visit Dallas. —Let’s stomp on Dallas. —Stupid Dallas. —Fat-ass Dallas.

—May I leave a letter for Dallas? Hush asked Don Chan days later.

—Of course you can. You know you’re always welcome here.

—Thank you, Don Chan. Make sure Dallas gets my letter.

Don Chan put Hush’s letter among all of Esperanza’s bills.

Dallas assumed Hush didn’t care about her anymore. If she did, she would’ve kept persisting. Esperanza was right. Friends can’t be trusted. But Dallas missed Hush. She missed hanging up on Hush when she called and pretending not to hear her name outside her window. And when she was stuck at home with nothing to do, the temptation to call Hush overwhelmed her. Every time she picked up the phone to call Hush, she remembered ugly-ass Mario all up in her shit, and hung up. I won’t ever be your friend, Dallas said to herself but then leaped toward the phone when it rang, hoping it was Hush. But it never was. Months passed and Hush didn’t call.

—Dallas, can you find the phone bill in that pile over there? I have to pay it in person or they’re turning it off, Esperanza said, pointing to the stack of mail she had accumulated and hardly had the time to look through. The pile was filled with catalogs and notices: Lung Association. Bank of America. Chia Pet Catalog. For Dallas.

—It’s not here, Dallas told her as she looked through each envelope carefully.

For Dallas written in red pen.

—What’s this? Dallas asked her mother.

—How should I know?

—Mami, what if it’s important?

—What could be so important at your age? Esperanza said as she prepared dinner and arranged the laundry on the kitchen table. Get over here and help your mother before I burn the house down.

Dallas kept the envelope in her jeans pocket and checked on occasion to see if it was still there. She waited until she was alone in her bedroom. She held the envelope to her nose. It didn’t smell like Hush; it smelled like kitchen. How long had it been sitting there? Why was her mother so stupid?

Dear Dallas,

My teacher said that one letter has more power than 10,000 phone calls. If u want me to leave u alone I will. But I want u 2 know that u will always b my best friend. That I hope u call me 1 day so we could b friends again.