“They caught these hands,” she said, plain as day. “Never thought twice about picking on me again.”

He laughed. “I wish I could do that, but . . . I’m not really a fighter.”

“That’s fair,” she said. “But you have to do something.”

Then he heard it, just to his left: a scuffling sound, like a shoe being scraped against the ground. He looked in that direction.

And screamed.

The Room was ENORMOUS.

It stretched off into the distance. There were rows and rows of bookshelves as far as he could see, and perhaps even farther. All of it was shrouded in a dim light, like an old library that wasn’t visited very often. It all looked so theatrical to him, as if some sort of dark noir play would unfold in the shadows.

But that wasn’t really the reason Héctor screamed. Yes, he was very dramatic. He knew this.

No, he screamed because someone else was there: tall, their skin a light brown, standing at the end of one of the shelves, a book clutched to their chest, short black hair atop their head.

“Who are you?” they asked.

Chapter Twenty

“I was about to tell you,” said Juliana. “That there’s been a complication.”

“I’m sorry,” said Héctor, “but who are you?”

They lowered their book. “Sal,” they said. “Sal Ocampo.”

“Okay, so we’re on a formal-name basis,” said Juliana. “Well, I’m Juliana Chin.”

“Héctor Muñoz,” said Héctor. “How did you—?”

“Did you say Chin?” Sal took a few tentative steps forward. “Adopted?”

“No,” said Juliana. “Most people can’t tell, but my dad is Chinese, and my mom is Black.”

“No way!” Sal beamed. “My dad is Filipino, and my mom is white.”

“Whoa, I don’t meet too many biracial people who are also Asian,” said Juliana.

“Me neither!” Sal said.

And then the two of them just started gabbing at one another. Héctor had a hard time following it at first. They yelled about how complicated it was to be mixed race, and then Sal was telling some sort of joke about how everyone thought their family only made “fusion” food, and then Juliana launched into a whole line of questioning about whether Sal’s hometown was like Charleston and—

“Um, hello?” interrupted Héctor. “Hi? Can the train come back to the station and pick me up?”

Juliana turned to Héctor and smirked. “Sorry, got a little carried away. Anyway, I’ve decided to be friends with them already, so hurry up and get on the same page.”

Héctor sat down on the couch, which now looked out on the bookshelves. “I’m so confused,” he said.

“By the whole ‘them’ thing?” Sal said, frowning. “It’s okay, it’s—”

“No, not that!” Héctor put a hand to his heart to add a flair of drama. “I would never.” Then he nodded at Sal. “So what are your pronouns?”