We grieve her half sister’s vacation plans since she didn’t have a choice but to go visit her grandparents, who are getting so old they might be the first people Death-Cast calls. My lita and lito are out in Puerto Rico and we catch up on Skype whenever my cousins are around to set that up for them. I’ve only met them a couple times, but it means a lot to them whenever we chat, since I’m the spitting image of my dad, apart from my mom’s hazel eyes. I don’t correct my lito or lita when they call me Ernesto by mistake. That name fills hearts that have long been broken since my parents died.

Dalma deep sighs, killing the silence. “I feel much better now. Gracias.”

“De-fucking-nada.”

“Let’s send Mom a picture so she knows we’re alive.”

Dalma rotates with her new iPhone 4’s selfie cam, struggling to find the right lighting with all these glowing Broadway marquees. She stops when she finds the best angle, the digital hourglasses high in the background.

We squeeze together for the photo, smiling like we’re living it up on Death-Cast Eve. Then the fun part is looking it over, aka obsessing over every detail that I hate about myself. Dalma is gorgeous, an easy 10/10 with her brown eyes, silver mascara that matches her lipstick, glowing dark brown skin, and her black hair braided into a topknot. All I got going for me is that I tower over her at six feet, but otherwise I’m a mess. I love that my eyes are hazel, but I don’t get why the left one is always uneven, like it’s trying to go back to sleep. The brown curls creeping out from under my hat are clumping together and getting frizzy in this heat and it’s not cute. My nose and cheeks are still red from last week’s sunburn from chilling on our brownstone’s rooftop. I begin reaching for my ChapStick when I see how busted my bottom lip is looking. And no matter how many compliments I get on the daily about my sharp cheekbones, I stay swearing I look gaunt and near death, which, I guess, is fitting.

“You hate it,” Dalma says. It’s not even a question.

“It’s whatever. It’s just for us anyway,” I say.

“We can redo it if you want.”

“Nah, I’m good.”