“Whenever Tristan loses something,” she says after a few moments, “Cristina says that maybe it doesn’t want to be found. Maybe Frank Gómez doesn’t want to be found.”

When I don’t answer, she stands up and paces the bus shelter. I feel terrible. Is she giving up on finding Francisco Gómez just because I want to go home? She inspects a spray-painted design of a flower on one wall of the shelter. Then she paces to the other side where there’s a posted version of the bus schedule. She stops her pacing and stares at it.

“Um, Mattie?” she says. “Wasn’t there supposed to be a bus at six fifteen?”

I nod. “Right. That’s the last bus of the day.”

“Come here,” she says, her voice hollow.

“What?” I leave my backpack on the bench and stand beside her. Together we study the sign.

11:15 AM

2:30 PM

4:20 PM

I scan the rest of the schedule. Where are the other times for Friday? Why are there only three pickup times? All the other weekdays have four pickups.

I hold out the schedule again, compare it to the one on the shelter’s wall. “This is not good.”

“That must be an old one,” she says.

I don’t say anything. I can feel the panic circling around me like the fog coming in from the ocean. “This was in Bob’s stuff. He probably doesn’t take the bus very often,” I say in a small voice.

She squints at me the way she did when we first met.

“It’s over,” I say, even quieter.

Her whole body seems to vibrate with—what? Frustration? Anger? “Do you always give up this easily?”

Now I realize what it is, what’s in her voice, her body. Determination.

“Do you, Matilde Gómez?” She says my name like she did that first time, too. Stretched out, slow, like it’s foreign and strange. Like it’s a bad thing.

But why is she mad at me? This isn’t my fault! I stand up. I yank off my backpack and fling it to the ground. “I’m not giving up, Mer-ce-des,” I say, stretching out her name the same way she did. “It’s called being reasonable. We missed the bus and we have to get home. Why don’t you get in touch with reality?”

“Reality? You know what’s real? You’re scared, Mattie. You’re scared of everything. You’re scared of taking a stupid book and skipping a field trip. You’re scared of doing what you want. You’re scared of not doing what people want you to do.”

“Right. Because I think about other people, unlike you. I care what my mom thinks and what my friends think. I don’t just do. I think!”

“You think? It’s called overthinking. Why don’t you just do something you want to do for a change.”