That got Héctor’s interest. He loved hearing about awful kids at other schools. It was like a free lesson in what not to do. “Tell me!”

“It’s . . . silly,” she said, dismissing Héctor with a wave. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, come on!” Héctor pouted over his bowl. “Please?”

“Okay, just this once,” said Mami, and Héctor nearly leaped out of his chair. “But you better not get any ideas.”

“Ideas?” Now he was confused, and he wrinkled up his forehead. “What does that mean?”

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. “I cannot stress this enough: Please don’t do this at school, Héctor.”

He put a hand to his heart and raised the other up. “I swear, Mami.”

“We had a student today who was . . . disruptive.”

“And?” said Héctor.

“Well, he brought one of those red-and-white things to school. It’s like a sphere? A ball? You know, it’s from that game where you catch cute little animals?”

Héctor’s mouth dropped open. “A Pokéball?”

“Yes, that thing. And he kept throwing it at students. Trying to catch them.”

Héctor was lost in another fit of laughter, and he nearly choked. Abuela kept patting him on the back. “Ay, no lo entiendo,” she said. “What does that mean?”

“Trust me,” said Héctor, once he recovered. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

Just like that, Héctor’s foul mood was gone. They all finished dinner and Héctor helped clean up. Afterward, he thought about texting his old San Francisco friends. But he wrote a text. Erased it. Wrote another. It had been days since the group chat was active. How could he just pop back up with this story? Would they even find it funny? He frowned at his phone. Why was this so hard?

Maybe that’s okay, he thought, and he plopped down on his bed. Maybe it’s fine if I focus on making friends here.

That was his final thought as he fell into sleep with a full belly and a full heart.

He drifted into a dream.

He was in a hallway. It looked a little like Swifton Middle School, but the walls were just . . . wrong. He couldn’t figure it out. They seemed too shiny. Too high. Too far apart. But he sped down the halls, turning here and there, trying to find the door. But each time he flung himself around a corner, a longer corridor awaited him. All the classroom doors were open, but no one was inside them. He called out Juliana’s name. Sal’s name. Héctor’s high-pitched voice echoed back at him.

No one was there.