My mom appears with a platter of hot dogs and vegetarian dogs in her hands, the meat (and fake meat) smelling salty and pleasantly burnt. “Lunch is ready. Mattie, will you tell Mercedes?” I wipe my eyes and nod. “Lucas! Kenny!” she shouts.

“Mercedes!” I call. I lost track of Mercedes while I was talking to Francisco. I set my book on the coffee table and then check the bathroom. Not there. She must be outside. I head to the door. The only thing in front is Francisco’s little green car in the driveway. No Mercedes.

“Mercedes!” I yell. “Mercedes!”

I unlatch the gate and head to the backyard. No Mercedes.

“Does Mercedes want lemonade?” my mom calls from the kitchen window.

I shake my head.

“Water?”

“She’s not here.”

“Who’s not where?” She comes out the back door with two glasses of lemonade in her hands. The ice cracks, making a tinkling sound.

“I can’t find Mercedes.”

“What?”

I follow my mom into the dining room where Lucas, Kenny, Bob, and Francisco are already eating hot dogs. After all my life of just me and my mom, it’s strange to see these men and boys at our table. Francisco looks up from his food. “Please, sit.” He stands to make room.

“She’s not here,” I say, shaking my head. “Mercedes isn’t here.”

“Where is she?” Francisco’s anxious face makes me wish for one second that I was the one who was missing. That I was the one our father was worried about. That I was the one who ran away.

Because I’m certain she has. I saw her fists. I knew she was angry. Why didn’t I stay with her? Why didn’t I grab her and keep her here?

“She ran away,” I say.

Those three words are like magic. The house becomes chaos—a swirling, rocking, confused chaos. They call her mom again. Leave another message. They call Cristina. Discuss whether they should call the police. Hug the boys, tell them they better not ever even think about running away. They ask me where she could have gone. As if I know. As if I would know what Mercedes would do. I barely know her. We may be sisters—half sisters—but we’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I know nothing about her.

All I know is that she has a brother. She knows how to use a flat iron. She misses her mom, even though she doesn’t admit it. She likes her nanny, even though she won’t admit that, either. She’s a good student because school is easy for her. She’s adventurous. She’s kind, but only in secret. She loves cross-country running. She wanted to find her dad because she thought it would change everything. I remember Mercedes telling me about Francisco Gómez that day at Laurel Park.

Laurel Park.