The buildings here did not just spring up with the influx of Google employees during the second “gold rush” in Northern California. Here, people know each other. They grow up and work hard here. They have first birthday parties with paper cups of soda and homemade piñatas, first jobs with aprons, and first kisses on dares. They didn’t swarm in after college with a degree and a résumé, take from the land and swing back out to retire young. They establish roots here, or at least, they do as best they can.

“Coliseum Station,” the staticky voice informs the BART passengers as I hop off the train. The sun is setting, sending streams of light through the fog gathering close to eye level. It’s only a few blocks to my house from here, and even now I feel relieved. The first week at school has been great, but also an overstimulating amount of new things. It feels nice to be somewhere familiar.

I walk the few blocks to my street quickly, anticipation building the closer I get to home.

As soon as I round the corner onto my block, I hear a young voice call out, “Robbieeeeee!”

I take out my headphones and turn to see my seven-year-old neighbor, Mateo.

“¡Hola!” I say.

He smiles a gap-toothed grin as we do the secret handshake we perfected when I babysat him last summer.

I ruffle his hair. “Man, you need a haircut.”

“You sound like my mom. She’s been saying that all week.”

I laugh. “Well, your mom knows what’s up.”

He wrinkles his nose.

“Hey, I brought you something!” I swing my backpack to my front.

His eyes light up as I pull out the Warren University T-shirt I got him from the bookstore.

“Awesome!” He grabs it from my hands and stares at the blue letters for a second before pulling it on over the T-shirt he is wearing. It covers up half his basketball shorts, looking almost like a dress on his small frame. Well, an adult small was probably not the right decision. I should’ve shopped the kid’s section.

“It’s a little big, but you can grow into it.” I ruffle his hair.

He nods vigorously. “I can wear it when I go there!”

Behind him, the front door swings open. “Roberto, I thought I heard you!” Mateo’s mom waves as she steps outside.

“Mom, look!” He points to the letters on his chest.

“¡Qué bonita!” She smiles. “Did you say thank you?”

“Sí.” He turns to me and shakes his head. “Gawd, who does she think I am?”

I laugh. His mother just looks at me and shakes her head, smiling in a tired but amused way.

“I’m here to see my dad,” I tell Mateo. “And you should go in for dinner, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He nods and gives me a high five before sprinting inside.