He was lost in this thought when he stepped into Mrs. Caroline’s class, and he nearly walked directly into his art teacher, a tall Black woman. She had a large yellow envelope held up in front of her and a big smile on her face.

“Mr. Muñoz, I assume?”

She had the most killer purple lipstick on, and Héctor realized that they kinda matched: she had on a white blouse and a grape-colored pencil skirt. Her curls were much more tightly coiled than his papi’s, and they bounced as she walked toward him.

“Uh . . . yeah, that’s me,” he said, taking the packet.

“Fantastic!” she said, and she said it like she meant it, as if it truly was fantastic that he was now in her class. “I made you this little packet to help you catch up on what we’ve already learned. I’m very excited for you to join our artistic haven!”

Then she gestured around the room—which took Héctor’s breath away. The entire ceiling was painted like The Starry Night, all deep blues and bright stars and flowing lines. Shiny gold streamers hung from each of the stars and the moon, and they swayed in the breeze of a small fan on Mrs. Caroline’s desk. Each of the walls was covered in a different kind of art: papier-mâché. Oil paintings. And it was so much bigger than the other classrooms!

As the last few kids rushed to get to their seats before the bell rang, Mrs. Caroline gently guided Héctor to his, which was near her desk. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said. “I like to keep it interesting every year.”

“This is amazing,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“And what would you like to do?”

The question caught him off guard. “What?”

“What kind of art would you like to learn about this year?”

He sat down and let his backpack slide to the floor, the bells jingling. His eyes jumped from one piece to another. “Did your students do these?”

“Everything,” she said. “Even the ceiling.”

“Wow.” He cleared his throat. “I was sad because there’s no theater department here, but . . . but I want to learn how to do this.” He gestured about the room.

The bell rang, and the last few stragglers rushed inside to sit down.

“I think we’ll get along well, Héctor Muñoz,” she said, and then she winked at him.

She said his name exactly right.

Chapter Six