Adela was waiting in the street; at that hour, on weekend nights, there wasn’t much traffic. Any approaching cars could be seen and heard from far enough away that there was no danger, and both kids and adults had gotten in the habit of walking on the sidewalks and streets indiscriminately. She was sitting cross-legged on the pavement with her eyes on the ground. She had changed her clothes, Gaspar noticed; she was wearing her light blue Kickers, burgundy school sweatpants, and a shirt printed with tiny flowers that had ruffles at the waist. Gaspar felt overwhelmed by the silence of the street, and he went over to Adela and gestured with his head for her to walk with him on the sidewalk toward the avenue. She didn’t speak, just trotted to keep up, nor did she look at him, so Gaspar decided to start. He didn’t like to hold things back, he never had, just as he didn’t like evasive looks or uncomfortable silences, the way people—especially adults—would exchange glances and bite their tongues, or the way his father would tell him this is all I’m going to say and you will know nothing more. He felt like if he were ever allowed to talk and ask questions he would never stop; he felt curiosity invading him like ants on a jar of jam left open in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t like the box,” said Gaspar. “I thought maybe it would help you.”

Adela grabbed him unexpectedly by the elbow, hard. Sometimes Gaspar forgot how strong her one hand was.

“It’s the best gift anyone’s given me in my whole life,” she told him. Her cheeks were flushed from crying.

“Then why’d you get mad? Tell me. If one more person just says ‘I don’t know’ . . . I’m sick of it.”

She started walking again. They were getting close to the house on Villarreal, and Gaspar instinctively turned them away from it and toward the small arcade, which was open very late on Sundays.

“I got mad at my mom, not you. Why did she never think of it? Why didn’t she ask the doctor? She never believed me that my arm hurt or itched. I wasn’t mad at you. Still, you guys took off, you left me alone.”

“We felt weird, and I thought you were mad at me.”

“Not at all. You’re the best. I already saw the others and I told them they were chickenshit for leaving.”

Gaspar felt his ears burning. He had liked hearing that “you’re the best.” So, he pushed the hair back from his forehead and said:

“Whenever you need it, I’ll help you scratch or massage your arm, whatever you need. But I won’t always be there, sometimes you’ll have to ask your mom.”

“My mom can go to hell. I already asked Pablo and Vicky. If you’ll help me too, I’m good.”