And to the right was . . . a shower. Tall and shining, with one of those showerheads that hung directly above and let water fall on you like rainfall.

“Really?!” Héctor yelled. “Now you show up?”

The Room did not reply.

He let the door close behind him and began to peel off his ruined clothes, thankful that he wasn’t going to have to explain this mess to anyone else.

Mess.

Oh no.

He quickly pulled down his dirty T-shirt and opened the door, certain he would see Ms. Heath standing over the garbage that Mike had dumped on him, ready to send him to detention.

There was no garbage on the ground anymore.

He didn’t question it. He shut the door, and soon, the warm water was pouring over his head, calming his nerves. He toweled himself dry, got dressed in an identical set of clothing, and headed out of the Room. As soon as the door closed, he realized that he’d been deposited directly across from the exit to the school.

Perfect location, he supposed.

But not perfect enough to stop this nightmare from unfolding.

He rode home in Papi’s car in a terrible, bitter silence.

Chapter Thirty

The next morning, Héctor realized that he had yelled at the Room. Like it could speak back. Out of context, it seemed ridiculous.

But Héctor’s frustration wasn’t. No, he was definitely tired: tired of running away from his bullies, tired of hiding, tired of feeling tired. And for once, the Room didn’t seem to be helping him, not when he needed it most.

So when he stood outside the door before homeroom, his anger boiled over.

Why? he asked the Room silently. Why do you show up when you do?!

He actually wanted to scream those words out loud, but then he thought how that would look. He was already unpopular at school. Why add “Yells at doors” to the list of uncool things about Héctor Muñoz?

Yet as soon as he got inside, all his frustration washed away. Sal stood up quickly from the couch, wiping at their face. “Sorry,” they said. “I didn’t think anyone would be here today.”

Héctor rushed over to them. “What’s wrong, Sal?” he said. “You okay?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Héctor sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him. “Oh no, boo,” he said. “We are not doing that again.”

“Doing what?” said Sal.

“This whole song and dance! Remember when Juliana tried it? You can talk to me, I promise. About anything.”

Sal sat down next to Héctor, but didn’t talk at first. Héctor waited patiently; he didn’t want to push Sal to say anything. Soon, though, their lip curled and quivered, and then the tears came, spilling down Sal’s face.

“Do you want a hug?” Héctor asked.