In the living room, Carlos is still staring at the rug. He doesn’t even look up when I sit beside him.

“Rania,” Jayne says. “My colleagues and I have been going over Carlos’s case.”

Why did they leave me out?

“The thing is, the situation in the US is very tough.”

No kidding.

“He can stay here and we can work on his application. See if we can start the process all over again. But from what I’ve been seeing, the chances aren’t great.”

“There has to be something! He told you about the gang—”

“Unfortunately the US doesn’t recognize gang threat—especially local ones. His case was always shaky.”

“But he can’t go back!”

“In three months Carlos will turn eighteen. His chances of being deported as an adult go up exponentially.”

A shiver in the back of my neck.

“There is another possibility.”

Here my mind is whooshing upward: My mother will adopt Carlos. He’ll be part of us. He’ll come back to Brooklyn. I have it all worked out.

“Canada,” Sam says.

“Canada?”

Now I get why Carlos couldn’t look at me. He lifts his head and his eyes are glazed. He’s barely holding it together.

“No!” I cry.

Jayne’s voice is gentle. “We have some colleagues in Buffalo. Not far from the border. They run a kind of safe house. They can take him in and show him the process so he can start over again. He’s allowed under the unaccompanied minors exception. And he says he has a cousin there.”

“You barely know him!” I say.

Carlos shrugs. “He’s all I’ve got.”

“If someone is willing to claim him, even better. He can make a fresh start.”

Claim, I think. Another funny word. Like he’s a piece of luggage left at the lost and found.

“No!” I stand up. “That’s not right. He can’t!”

“Rania,” Jayne says mildly. “It’s for Carlos to decide.”

This stops me. I stare at Carlos. He still has his eyes on the rug. Every bit of me wants to protest. And then I can’t stand it. This place feels too tight and close, with its slanted ceiling, its dim light. I rush toward the door, and down the stairs. They call after me, but I don’t care. I just keep going—passing the big windows, where I can hear the cheerful sounds of little kids, through the gate and out, onto the road. Past the barn, where I can almost hear our whoops inside, then farther.

How many times can you lose a person? It was hard enough with Abu. Ammi taken away in the night. Then Abu wasn’t Abu, so I lost him in another way. And now Carlos.