She bought it and wished him a good day. He got out of her car as confidently as he could, imagining he was back on the stage. This was all just a performance, right?

He waved to Abuela, who lingered for a moment, her lips in a straight line. She smiled—a small, reluctant thing—and then she pulled away.

Breathe, Héctor.

He could do this.

Just . . . be as boring as possible.

Mike wasted no time. “What’s up, Heck-tor?” he crooned, wagging his head from side to side as Héctor approached. “Why didn’t you ride your girly bike to school today?”

Bore him, Héctor told himself.

“Just didn’t feel like it,” he said.

And he kept walking.

“I bet you wear girl clothes sometimes, too!” Mike shouted, and Frank laughed at that.

“Maybe,” said Héctor. “Not today, though.”

Mike’s face fell.

Because it was working.

“Well . . . I bet you look good in a dress,” said Mike, hesitation creeping in his voice.

“Probably,” said Héctor, nodding. “See ya around.”

He climbed the steps at the front of school, and Mike didn’t say anything to that. A burst of hope raced through Héctor. This had worked better than he expected! No one was chasing him; no one was calling him names. It was a success!

Unfortunately, he didn’t make it more than ten feet past Mike before the pudding cup hit him square in the back.

He didn’t know it was pudding at first. He knew the object was solid, but then something cool and wet splattered over the back of his left arm.

Two students in front of Héctor froze, their jaws on the floor, their eyes wide. A girl from Mr. Holiday’s class whispered, “Ewwww,” and then covered her mouth.

And Mike cackled loudly.

Héctor ran his fingers over the wet spot on his left arm. Ah. He figured out it was pudding once he looked at it. Not just any old pudding, either!

Tapioca.

Héctor couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen tapioca pudding. Wasn’t that something everyone stopped eating in second grade? Perhaps the people of Orangevale had much different taste. (Bad, bad taste.)

He stood there motionless for a moment as Mike’s laughter rose in volume. Héctor had on a black Henley shirt; he’d chosen it last night to wear today because it was simple but still stylish.

Now, it was just a mess.

Like him.

He did his best not to react. He wiped away what he could reach and flicked the goop on the ground. There was a high-pitched giggle next to him, and he stared at Kelly Fordham, the president of the student government, as she turned away from him in disgust. “That’s so gross,” she said to the girl with her, someone Héctor had never met.

The girl laughed too. “Totally gross,” she agreed.