We approach the big double doors, and then, as if we choreographed it, we both come to a halt. If we were cartoon characters, there would have been skid marks and a plume of dust, we stopped so fast. We just stand there, side by side, staring at the entrance of the Humanities Building at Northern Madrone College, with the knowledge that, sitting at a desk, in an office, in this building, will be our father. Francisco Gómez.

“Can I help you?”

A young woman in overalls and a long sweater carries two paper cups of coffee. Her sunglasses are pushed on her head.

“No, sorry, we just—” Mercedes says. “We’re just waiting for someone.”

I nod vigorously.

“Who? Can I help?” the young woman asks.

“Our mom,” we say in an unplanned but coordinated lie.

“Our mom is just finishing some work,” Mercedes lies. She does it so well, I have to admire her. “We’re supposed to meet her at”—she checks her smartwatch—“eleven. She’ll be here soon.”

“You can wait inside if you want,” the woman says. “There’s a lounge on the first floor.” She hits the automatic-door-opener button with her hip and walks through with her coffees.

We look at each other.

“Um, thanks,” Mercedes says.

The lounge is two sofas and two chairs to the left of the entrance. I sit cautiously on one of the hard seats, catching my breath. What are we doing? I check the clock on the wall behind me. We’ve only been gone from the planetarium for fifteen minutes, but it feels like hours. Like a lifetime.

Mercedes doesn’t sit with me. She wanders around the foyer of the Humanities Building reading flyers and looking at the art on the walls. It must remind her of home and her mom.

I can’t believe we just lied to that woman. My actual mom doesn’t know that I sneaked away from a field trip, and she would never guess I would do such a thing. My heart rate speeds up and my breath gets ragged. What if the woman comes back and asks who our mom is? My arms are tingly. What if we can’t find the office? I’m definitely having a heart attack. What if Francisco Gómez doesn’t want to meet us? My feet feel like they’ve disappeared. What if he hates us? What if he calls our moms and we get in huge trouble? What if he calls the police? What if—

“Mattie, stop spiraling.” Mercedes’s voice is sharp.

Did I say all that out loud?

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.”

How did she know?

“You can stop destroying your T-shirt. It didn’t do anything to you, you know.”

I look down at the surfboard. I didn’t even realize that I was picking at a loose thread and now the entire hem of my new shirt is unraveling. Just like me.