“Why don’t you try Francisco instead of Frank?” Mattie asks.

“You don’t think I haven’t thought of that? Watch.” I enter the words in the search box. More results. In Spanish. I don’t want to admit to Mattie that I don’t know a word of Spanish. But even if I could read Spanish, how would I ever find my dad in all these results? I feel my face getting hot. It’s impossible.

“Have you tried his second last name?”

“What do you mean? Second last name?”

“Yeah, in Colombia, people have two last names. Their father’s last name and their mother’s last name. So, for example, my second name would be Hillman, which was my mom’s last name. Mattie Gómez Hillman. If I were living in Colombia.”

“Okay,” I say, pretending like this isn’t news to me. A second last name? Why didn’t Mom ever tell me this? “So what’s his second last name?”

Mattie looks at me. “I don’t know. I thought you knew a bunch of stuff about him. That’s pretty basic.”

The angry feeling moves from my stomach up my arms. I really wish she would stop making me mad. If I let my hands do what they wanted to do, I would have pulled her hair at this point. I must remain calm. Cool. Collected.

“Well, think,” I command. “There’s got to be some way for us to figure out what it is. Did your mom ever mention any relatives? A grandmother?” Mattie shakes her head. “Neither did mine.” What could his second last name be?

“I suppose you could try my middle name,” Mattie says.

“Which is?”

“Flora. Matilde Flora Gómez.”

What a name. “Okay, we’ll try it.” Instead of grabbing her ponytail, my fingers obediently tap. Francisco Gomez. Then I stop. We’re both holding our breath. I slowly add F-L-O-R-A and then hit enter.

The screen rearranges itself.

Did you mean Francisco Gómez Flores?

“Yes!” I shout. “That’s got to be it!”

“My mom must have taken the name Flores and changed it to Flora for my middle name,” Mattie says.

As if I care about her middle name. All I care about is the results on the screen. Francisco Gómez Flores.

“Wait.” Mattie grabs my phone before I can tap on the name. “What if he’s—” She pauses. “Dead?”

Dead? There’s no way Frank Gómez can be dead. In his picture, he looks so healthy. But what if? I wonder.

“What if he was eaten by a tiger?” I can’t help asking.

“Do they have tigers in Colombia?”

“Not a tiger. What do they have there? A mountain lion?”

“I think they have jaguars. That’s the one with spots, right?” Mattie bites her upper lip. “But someone would have told us if that had happened.”