The man who was holding my hand before ventures closer, leaving the others. He struggles to keep himself upright against the current. “I’ll carry you, senhora,” he says to Amandinha’s mother, noticing the way she limps. He then looks at me. “Can you help the boy? Will you be okay without me?”

I feel a knot in my throat. But the courage in his eyes gives me strength. “Yes,” I reassure him.

The man picks Amandinha’s mother up and slowly heads back to the human chain.

“Lean on me,” I tell Pedro. He’s too panicked to move. “It’s okay. Lean on me.” I offer my shoulder for support. Pedro is still stuck, fear overwhelming his features. He’s not listening, so I grab his arm and pass it over my shoulders. I then wrap my arm around his waist. “Let’s go home,” I say.

Pedro’s eyes finally meet mine. And then he nods.

Step by step, we walk together toward safety.

45

MONDAY, JUNE 20

The tiles covering the walls and floors in the hospital’s waiting room are faded blue. I’d forgotten, even though not long ago I’d spent an hour or two here every day, getting homework done while Mom helped Grandma upstairs.

It feels like a bad dream I had a long, long time ago.

Pedro sits down next to me, propping his ankle up on another chair, a bag of ice wrapped around it. He was in so much pain, I was sure it was broken. Luckily, it’s just badly twisted.

He’s been quiet ever since we got here an hour ago. Now and then he looks expectantly down the corridor, and I know he’s wondering if there’s any way we could find Amandinha and her family. The hospital staff took the kids to a separate room, probably to wait for other family members while they run tests on her mother.

When we got Amandinha’s mother to the sidewalk, she was alert and didn’t seem like she had a concussion, but a crowd formed around her when they saw all the blood staining her collar. I remember her eyes searching frantically, traveling from face to face, until she found her children’s. That’s when she calmed.

Someone must have called for help when we were on the avenue, because not long after, paramedics were coaxing us into ambulances. I keep thinking about what she told her daughter and nephew. “I’m fine. This is nothing. It doesn’t hurt. I’m sorry for worrying you.” Just like Grandma used to say.

My eyes sting.

“If it weren’t for you, I’d still be out there, stuck to the side of that car,” Pedro says, breaking the silence.