Once inside Panadería Hernandez, Héctor was overwhelmed: By the yeasty, sweet smell that filled his nostrils. By the bright colors of the conchas and the galletas and the endless rows of sweet things to eat. By the gracious smiles on the faces of the man and woman behind the counter, who explained all the pan dulce that Héctor did not recognize, like the spiral-shaped novia, or the sweet muffin called a mantecada. The woman was named Zoraida, and gorgeous black curls fell on either side of her face. She pointed out her favorite pan dulce and described them, and Héctor deeply wished he could eat them all. He ended up getting a pink concha and pan de muerto, his personal favorite, which was usually reserved for El Día de los Muertos, but thankfully they had some left.

Abuela Sonia told him that he deserved to be happy now, anyway.

That was what he was focused on as he sat across from her at a wooden booth, sweet breads piled up in front of him. He had only stuffed a few bites in his mouth when she sat down, two Mexican hot chocolates in her hands, and said, “Héctor, I really do want you to be happy.”

“I know,” he said, crumbs tumbling out of his mouth. “Trust me. I’m very happy right now.”

“I know,” she said. “But are you actually happy?”

His hand froze, midway to his mouth, and then he put the mantecada back down. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you trying to trick me with pan dulce, Abuela?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed you moping around the house for the past week or so. All of us have noticed it. Me, your mami and papi . . . we know you’re going through something.” She put her hands up when Héctor made to speak. “Just telling you what I’ve seen.”

He didn’t respond to that, so she continued. “You know me. Straight to the point. And I’ve backed off to give you space. I just thought I’d try something new on you.”

“Which is?” he asked.

“A panadería.”

He groaned. “So this is a trick!”

She laughed. “Not really. I am happy to be here with you, even if you don’t tell me what’s going on. I promise that, nieto.”

He took a tentative bite out of the concha, rolled the sugar around with his tongue. Being honest with the Misfits had felt good. Telling Juliana and Sal everything felt incredible. So why was there still all this hesitation in him?

“I don’t know where to start,” he finally said.

Which was true!

“Try the beginning,” she said. “Even if that’s the day you moved here to Orangevale.”