“Your mom is talking with the members of the hospital staff as well as the police officer, Officer Ramos, who found you on the scene.”

On the scene. It sounds so criminal, when all I was trying to do was pick up my mother from work.

“We want to know why you were driving underage, why you were left alone, and why, according to our records, she hasn’t enrolled you in any of the area schools.”

I start to explain. “We’ve only been here a few months, and—” But Maria cuts me off.

“And why you are significantly underweight and your blood panel indicates iron levels low enough to border on anemia. Lou, we often see this in kids who live below the poverty line.”

She says it like there’s an actual line we just happened to trip over. I look at her calves sticking out below her sensible skirt. They are thick and strong. She’s probably never had to worry about her next meal. She knows nothing about our lives. She doesn’t know that Mom always gives me the thickest blanket, the extra scoop of peanut butter, the first turn in the camp showers.

I remember something from health class in fourth grade. “It’s because I’m a vegetarian, the iron stuff, not because we’re poor,” I say. She just nods and writes something down. I don’t think it’s a get-out-of-jail-free card. My head is getting heavy like a water balloon, and the thoughts are sloshing around without settling. I lie back on the pillow and close my eyes again. This is not happening. She is not here. I am in my sleeping bag in the truck. We are going to LA. Mom will shake me awake any second.

“I’ll give you some peace and quiet now,” Maria whispers. “But I’ll be right outside if you need me.” I feel her stand to leave. “Get some rest, Lou. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“And then I’ll see my mom,” I say. She doesn’t respond. When I look up, she’s already gone.