The three of them walked off, snickering to one another, and the cafeteria came back alive. Well, all of it except for Héctor, whose appetite was gone. Whose meal was ruined. Whose eyes were filling with tears.

He didn’t deserve this.

. . . did he?

“I’m sorry, Héctor,” said Aishah. “I hate him so much.”

He looked up at her, his view blurred by the tears. Taylor was gathering up the scattered Capri Sun pouches.

“You don’t deserve—” Jackson began, but it was too much. Héctor couldn’t listen to it anymore.

He bolted up from his seat, leaving his tray behind, and he made for the exit on the other side of the room. Unfortunately, he would have to pass the table Carmen sat at, where there was nothing but riotous laughter. He didn’t want to see her, but if he went the other way, he’d pass by Mike and the Minions.

So Héctor made his choice. Carmen’s table couldn’t be worse than interacting with Mike. He kept his gaze down as much as he could. He pushed through the double doors and out into the cool hallway, and he was finally alone.

The tears streamed down his face; he couldn’t hold them back anymore. But he kept walking, past empty classrooms and quiet corridors. He coughed out, once, twice, and then the fit took him over, pushed him into sobbing, and he leaned up against a locker to steady himself.

Héctor finally wiped the tears off his face and looked up at a soft creak to his right.

A door slowly opened. A head popped out.

“Héctor?”

Mrs. Caroline.

If there was anyone here at school he could have talked to, it was probably her. But right then, Héctor couldn’t speak to her. He didn’t need this. He spun himself in the other direction and started running, ignoring her calling after him, until he saw the boys’ bathroom in the next hallway, and he pushed his way through the door, certain he could hide out in a stall. Like a cliché. But wasn’t that what his life was? The gay kid, bullied at school, hiding in the bathroom and crying.

But that thought died a second later when the bathroom door closed behind him.

Because he wasn’t in the boys’ bathroom.

There was no refrigerator, no bed, no television. Instead, a dim but cozy library stretched out in front of him. There were candles flickering in sconces on the wall, and multiple armchairs, all lined with something that looked like velvet, were tucked into nooks and spaces between the shelves.

And in one of them, directly across from Héctor, was Sal.

“Héctor?” Sal put a bookmark between the pages, then closed the book. They now wore a big, dark sweater that fell nearly to their knees. “Everything okay?”