“No sé.” Mrs. Rodriguez peeks her head through the doorway. “When are you going to finish your math?”

His eyes go wide and he sits up properly, looking around for his pencil.

“That’s what I thought.” She laughs as she steps into the living room, picking up extra notebooks from the table and setting down place mats. “Focus on the problems in front of you. Don’t be trying to create more for yourself.” She shakes her head.

He nods, copying the next problem into his notebook.

I have barely read my next question when a pencil is jabbed into my shoulder. “Psst,” Mateo whispers. “Is this right?”

I look. “No.”

He slumps back into his chair. “I hate math. It sucks.”

“Hey, hey,” I say. “We’ll figure it out.” I reach under the table for my bag. “And here.” I unzip the front pocket and pull out the brochure. “I was going to give this to you later, but not if you give up on math.”

He grabs the pamphlet.

“It’s a camp, for kids your age to learn about computers.”

“Cool!” Mateo starts to flip through it.

“It’s over spring break so you won’t have to miss school,” I say, but he doesn’t seem to be listening, his gaze glued to the page.

Mrs. Rodriguez stops to read over his shoulder, place mats in her arms. “Déjame ver, mijo.” She picks up the pamphlet.

“And it’s fully funded,” I say.

She raises her eyebrows.

“Well,” I say. “I mean, the tuition is covered, but you’d have to get him there, and it’s near LA.” I know that would mean either her or Mr. Rodriguez taking off work, maybe even twice in two weeks, which might not be possible.

“Can I go, Mom?” Mateo looks up at her.

“If you get in, we’ll make it happen.” She hands the pamphlet back to him. “But you have to fill out your own application. I’m not going to do it for you.”

He nods eagerly and reexamines the cover of the brochure, which features kids playing with remote control robots in a sunny park.

The lock turns with a click and Mr. Rodriguez walks into the house.

“Dad!” Mateo loses his shit, like nearly every kid does when Dad gets home.

Mr. Rodriguez walks over and ruffles Mateo’s hair before shaking my hand. “Home again, Robbie? Shouldn’t you be out partying?”

“Ale,” Mrs. Rodriguez says sternly, although he was clearly just messing around. “It’s very good of him to come home to his father.” She looks at Mateo as if to say, You better do the same when you go to college, even though that’s, like, a decade away.

“All I’m saying is that when I was his age, I was going to plenty of college parties.” Mr. Rodriguez puffs out his chest.

Mateo laughs and sits taller, mimicking his dad’s body language.