“Look at this view,” he says, gazing out across the water. Mattie and I stand beside him. She looks obediently. I try to not look, but the ocean sparkles like it’s desperate for my attention. The water below is blue, crashes in foamy waves on the rocks. It’s the kind of view Mom loves. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve been to this very overlook before.

“Look,” he says, pointing up the coast. “North, right?”

We squint in the sun. The waves pound out a rhythm.

“North, south, east, west.” I want to roll my eyes. Where is this going?

“You know the directions,” he says, almost like he’s proud of me.

I’m in seventh grade, I want to say, of course I know the directions.

“The sun sets in the west and rises in the east, right? Straight above at noon?” He squints at the sun. “Right now, it’s almost noon, isn’t it?”

We nod. Duh.

“So people know which way is which. The sky helps people navigate. In the day, the sun. And at night, the stars. People still use the stars to tell them things. To show the way.”

My foot taps on the dirt. I remember the students Aiden and Kelly discussing Professor Gómez’s lecture. Is he going to lecture us like he does his college students?

“Do you know what a compass is?”

“Of course,” I say. I feel jittery. This time I do roll my eyes.

“It’s another thing we use to tell which direction we’re going. Right? The magnetic needle of a compass always points north no matter how you turn it.” Frank leans against the low wooden railing between the parking lot and the cliff. The railing is too short to actually keep anyone out. I suppose it’s more like a rule—it can be broken if you want to bad enough. “Everyone has a compass inside them. Only, instead of pointing north, it points to what they’re meant to be, what they’re supposed to do. And no matter what you do, you cannot change that magnetic needle.”

“Are you saying that you have a compass?” I ask. I’m starting to understand why he’s giving us this lecture. And it has nothing to do with college.

He nods.

“Your compass points to Colombia?”

He nods again.

“And your work? You need to do your work, no matter what?”

“Exactly.” He looks sad. “We can’t help which direction our compass needle points. Sometimes, we have to just follow it. For me, that means working in Colombia.”

Mattie’s face scrunches. “Does a compass tell you where you belong?”

“No one and nothing can tell you where you belong, Matilde,” Frank says. “You get to choose. But the compass helps you figure out what’s important.”

“I don’t think I have a compass.”

“If you pay attention, you’ll notice it.”