He stepped into the hallway, his leg still sore from his tumble. He joined the other kids heading to homeroom. A tall kid with dark-brown skin and a close-cropped fade was dribbling a basketball, and he cast a glance back at Héctor, looking him up and down. Then he continued on his way without a word.

Well, Héctor’s outfit wasn’t drawing much attention. But a gnawing pain filled his stomach. He didn’t feel like himself. Was Mike changing him? No. No, this was temporary. It had to be. Mike and the Minions couldn’t chase him forever.

He jumped out of his skin when someone called his name. But it was just Mrs. Caroline wishing him a good morning. He waved back to her, then scurried to his homeroom.

Okay, maybe this was worse than he wanted to admit.

Héctor burned to tell someone—anyone, really—what was happening to him. But then he thought about how his parents would freak out. How the Misfits would get that sad look on their faces. How he’d just feel so powerless and cowardly about it all. . . .

No. Héctor would outlast Mike and the Minions. Because he didn’t see any other way out.

Chapter Nine

When Héctor sat down at the dinner table that night, the smell of posole made his mouth water. “Abuela,” he said, “it’s not cold out yet. You’re already making this?”

Abuela Sonia stood over a big metal pot, stirring it. She swatted away Papi, who tried to steal a spoonful. “Siéntate,” she ordered, and Papi slunk back to the table.

“She is so mean to me,” his papi whined, and then ruffled Héctor’s black hair.

“Ever since I retired,” Abuela said, “I need things to do. So let me serve you all some of my world-famous posole, hijo.” She used a large ladle to fill a bowl with the savory soup, then brought it over to Héctor. “Only polite chicos get served.”

“Wow,” Papi said. “Forsaking your only child to manipulate your grandson.”

She slapped at her son again.

Héctor blew at the posole, eager to dig in. “Gracias, abuela,” he said.

Papi stretched an arm out, wrapped it around his mother, and hugged her close. “Te quiero,” he said, soft and thankful.

Mami came in then, like a burst of wind through the alleys in the Mission. She kissed Héctor on the top of his head right as he put a spoonful of posole in his mouth. It was way too hot to eat.

He didn’t care. He shoveled another spoon in.

Those flavors! Savory and a little sweet, and those hominy . . . que delicioso! Héctor could eat this for every meal. He was pretty sure he’d bathe in it if he could.

“How was school today, mijo?”