He didn’t think he was mad; mostly, he was embarrassed. So he said, “I don’t think so.”

“Did we do something to you?”

Emotions flooded Héctor’s body: Anger. Frustration. Sadness. So he couldn’t stop the words when they came out of his mouth.

“No,” he said. “That’s the problem. You didn’t do anything.”

Jackson froze. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Or back me up? You just let Ms. Heath believe that I was lying.”

Jackson’s head drooped down. “I tried,” he said, “but I was afraid.”

“Well, imagine how I felt,” said Héctor.

He knew it was mean and unfair as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” said Jackson, and behind his glasses, his eyes were red.

Papi pulled up in the car, and before Héctor got in, he put his hand on Jackson’s arm. “I know. We’ll talk. Just . . . not now.”

Jackson nodded. “Word. See ya.”

At home that evening, Héctor pulled out his phone and went to his old group chat with Tim and Sophia.

Neither of them had sent him a message in weeks.

Do they know what Mike said too?

It was an irrational thought. But he lay back on his bed, ignoring his homework for the third evening in a row, and he convinced himself that was what had actually happened. It was only a matter of time before everyone in his life started calling him that word.

Because that was all he was, here in Orangevale.

Chapter Forty

That weekend, Abuela, who was still staying with the family while her ankle healed, took Héctor with her while she ran errands. She was very chatty, which was fine with him because it meant he didn’t have to talk much. She gossiped about some of her friends in Orangevale. Her stories were an easy distraction. If Héctor could think about the lives of other people, he didn’t have to think about his own.

At home, he kept to himself while he caught up on all the homework he’d put off during the week. He regretted ignoring his work, but it also kept his parents from bugging him about the plans he’d mentioned to go to the thrift store with his new friends. Sometimes, they were a little too perceptive, and he wasn’t ready to talk to them yet about why it had fallen through.

(Or ever? He wasn’t sure about that.)

Even after a weekend away from school, though, he still hadn’t shaken the despair that held tightly on to his heart. He was terrified that he’d see Mike on Monday, but they never crossed paths in the hallways. He thought about talking to the Misfits at lunch, but he chickened out as soon as he entered the cafeteria, instead making a beeline to the library to eat the lunch Abuela had packed him.