“Mercedes.” Mattie speaks low, slow. “Why do you have a picture of my father?”

There are so many stories and excuses I could tell her. It’s a free country. I cut that picture out of a magazine. I don’t know who it is. The guy in the photo is your dad’s doppelgänger. But I can’t say any of that. Matilde Gómez stares at me. I have to tell the truth. Her eyes, the pupils black as the night sky. Oh, boy, here we go.

“Listen, I don’t have a picture of your dad,” I say slowly so she’ll understand. “I have a picture of my dad. Frank Gómez.”

CHAPTER 7 Mattie

The words don’t make any sense. Nothing makes sense. The classroom spins like I’m in a whirling black hole. My lungs don’t seem to work right. Mrs. Ellingham says something, but it’s like I don’t even speak English anymore.

“Are you going to faint?” Mercedes hisses. Her forehead is wrinkled in either concern or anger; I can’t tell which. She glances at Mrs. Ellingham and adds in a whisper, “Ugh, please don’t faint.”

I’ve only fainted once in my life. I had to get a wart on my foot removed. My mom took me to the doctor and held my hand while the doctor held my foot. It wasn’t the pain, it was the fear of the pain that made me faint. I remember feeling dizzy and then sick. Out of control. I hate feeling out of control. I hate being out of control. I am not going to faint.

“Francisco Gómez,” I say firmly, “is my father. And that’s him.” I point at her binder again even though she’s stuffing it into her backpack and I can’t see the picture now.

“You’re right. That’s Frank Gómez.” She sighs like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “We have the same dad.”

We have the same dad? The same father? Francisco Gómez? My Colombian father who I’ve never met, who I never see? How is that even possible? I think.