He choked back another sob. What was he doing? Crying on his abuela’s front lawn? He pushed himself up with his elbows and stared out at the quiet neighborhood. It was still all wrong. He couldn’t walk to a panadería. Where were the people with the carts selling helados and ringing their bells? The smell of roasted coffee or carne asada or the flowers in the shop on 22nd Street? The duplexes and row houses that looked like they had their own vivid personalities?

He was in the wrong place. Most definitely.

Héctor didn’t even hear Abuela Sonia approach. “Nieto,” she cooed, her voice soft. “You need anything?”

He looked up at her, and her face was etched with concern.

“No,” he said. “Well, not anything you could give me.”

She crouched down next to him. “I know something is . . . off,” she said. “And I can’t force you to talk about it.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but nodded.

“I’m not gonna bother you again,” she continued, “but I want you to know that the day you’re ready, you can always come to me. ¿Me entiendes?”

He gave a weak smile in return. “It’s just that . . .”

Her eyes lit up then, in anticipation of what he was about to reveal. Until he chickened out. How? How could he tell her about Mike, about the Minions, about Ms. Heath, about the Room? He thought about his conversation with Sal:

“Do you know what it’s like not to fit in?”

“Every day.”

He didn’t know how to communicate all that. So, he went for a simpler approach, something that was close enough to the truth.

“Some days,” he said, “it is really hard to be myself.”

Because it was. He was glad to finally be getting closer to the Misfits; he was thrilled about the Room, Juliana, and Sal. But what about the moments in between, especially those where his new friends or the Room weren’t there? How was he supposed to make it through that?

Abuela reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, her fingertips brushing against his scalp. “I know what you mean,” she said.

“Really?”

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

And she kept whatever she was about to say to herself. What did she mean by that? He didn’t have a guess, but perhaps she would tell him one day when he was older.

She stood up, smiled down at Héctor. “I’m proud of you, Héctor. I’m so happy you are my nieto.”

She walked back to the house, and Héctor saw that his papi was standing in the doorway. He knew his papi wanted to rush forward and say something; he started to move toward Héctor. But Abuela put a hand on his chest and shook her head.