“No! That we should stay here tonight.” She spreads her arms wide, gesturing to the cramped office of Professor Francisco Gómez. “We said we would stay all night if we had to,” she reminds me. “And it looks like we have to.”

“What—how? Where?”

“In this office.”

“Here?”

“Why not?” Mercedes says, swinging the hammock more. That familiar rock settles in my stomach. I don’t know if I can sleep in a cramped office at Northern Madrone College. I don’t like not having my own pillow and blanket, having my familiar light beside my bed, the comforting sounds of my mom in the house.

“We both have alibis: your mom thinks you’re at my house and Cristina thinks I’m at your house. So let’s actually do it.”

“Alibis! What is this, a rat and mouse episode?” I shake my head.

“No one will look for us, Mattie. And look!” She grabs the hammock at her sides. “We have a place to sleep!” She holds up a folded wool striped blanket. “And I found this.”

“What about pajamas? And toothbrushes?”

Mercedes rolls her eyes at me.

“Where will I sleep?”

“Get in.” Mercedes moves over and I climb in so that my feet are near her head. If we balance just right, make enough room for each other, we fit perfectly in the hammock.

CHAPTER 36 Mercedes

I want to memorize everything about tonight. I inhale, trying to find my father’s scent. I want to learn everything about him. You can find out a lot by watching people and seeing what things they care about. Like Mattie and her Operation D.A.D. supplies—that tells you how much she worries but also how careful and caring she is. There’s Tristan’s dad with his messy apartment—that shows his energy. Mom and her art and artifacts are proof that she likes to show off—like me, I suppose—and that she likes beautiful things, memorable things. I study Frank’s office. What do his things tell me? The jumbled stacks of papers and books say he loves his work. The photos of the women we think are our grandmother and aunt probably mean he loves his family. The funny hammock, woolly blanket, the postcards of Colombia? He loves his country.

And what do my temper tantrums and good grades say about me? What about my matching nail polish? Mattie complimented me on my nails when we went to the bathroom. She wouldn’t let us go to bed until we rinsed out our mouths (no toothbrushes) and washed our faces. “It’s called Petal Pink,” I told her.

“I’m a nail biter, so I never paint my nails.” What does it say about Mattie that she destroys her fingernails?