That wasn’t exactly what he meant. How could he tell her about the Room? Should he even do that? He examined Abuela’s face, and her eyes were soft and loving. He did feel safe with her, just like he did with the friends he’d made. All his worst anxieties—that he’d disappointed everyone, that no one would want to be around him anymore—hadn’t come true. So, there was no reason to think Abuela would be any different.

But if he started telling his abuela about a magical room that allowed him to travel to other states, to defy the laws of time and space, she wouldn’t be very happy. She would be furious with him for lying to her, for not taking this trip to the panadería seriously.

That was the beginning.

That was the truth.

But . . . the Room wasn’t really the problem, was it? In fact, it never had been.

He took a deep breath.

Let it out.

Took another.

Abuela Sonia smiled, and there was no pity on her face. She just looked . . . proud. Proud to have a grandson like him.

So he started talking.

He chose the first day at Orangevale Middle School as the beginning, then traced his way from that to the taunting. The jokes. The Minions.

To Mike.

Halfway through talking about Mike, Abuela Sonia reached across the table with a napkin and wiped at the tears pouring down his face. “Don’t want your pan dulce to get all soggy,” she said, and he laughed—because it was funny, because it broke the tension, because if he didn’t, he would have started bawling.

He found a way to tell her about Sal and Juliana by saying that they were students in eighth grade and had classes on the far side of campus.

He was surprised, then, that it was somehow more painful to tell Abuela the truth about the bullying than it had been earlier that day when he confessed it to his friends. He didn’t understand that. Maybe it was because he’d known Abuela his whole life, and now, after twelve years, he was finally showing her a side of him she never knew existed.

So he pressed on, even though he hesitated when he got to the garbage. He almost didn’t tell her about the word Mike had used on him, but . . . he couldn’t hold this part back. It was the worst of it all, and if he was going to conquer it, he had to face it.

Abuela Sonia was quiet for a while when he finished. She picked up an elotito, a miniature pan dulce shaped like an ear of corn, and she chewed on it a bit.

Then she pointed it at him.

“You and I, we are not so very different, nieto.”