I’ve turned into a path and am walking toward a slope where there’s a large tree. I throw myself down, blood pumping in my ears, sun blazing on my head. I find some stones on the ground and fling them, again and again. Run. That’s what Ammi taught me. When it’s tough, when you’re in trouble, you run. Again and again, we tossed our belongings into suitcases, fooling the man at the airport, then when people said nasty things about Ammi in our apartment house, then the shelter. Ammi signaled: grab the car keys, move, there’s always another solution ahead. A place to rest before you push on. But what happens when you don’t want to run anymore? When you want the world to stop spinning? To finally stay.

A crunching noise on grass.

“Hey,” Carlos says.

“Hey.”

He drops down beside me, dry blades folding around him. “Kamal is almost done with camp. He’ll be looking for us.”

“Uh-huh.”

He nudges me. “Irresponsible sister.”

I don’t say anything.

“Come on, Rania.”

“Come on what? Why don’t you try? You can let Lidia and Jayne work on your case! And you can live with us in Brooklyn and—”

He interrupts, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. I suddenly see that his eyes are circled by bluish shadows. “I watched what my aunt went through. I’m tired, Rania. I’m tired of fighting to be here. You have your mother at least. A job. A lawyer. A family.”

“Fight to be with me!”

He bites his lip, lowering his eyes. I hang my head. There’s a thickness on my lashes. “Besides, my family is a big mess.” I turn to him. “This was our time. On the road. Can’t we hold on to that?”

He offers a wavering smile. “We can write. FaceTime. WhatsApp. DM on Instagram.”

“I hate social media. I’m bad at keeping in touch. You saw how I messed up with Fatima.”

“You suck at being a friend.”

“And you just suck.”

I can’t look at him.

We can’t quite leave.

Carlos begins, “My aunt used to tell me this story. About a fisherman who was in love with a woman in her village. He could never find the right words to tell her how he felt. But every night he would go fishing in the night sky of stars. There the words were perfect! Crystal sharp. They said what was in his heart. So he gathered his star-words in his net and set them in a letter by the girl’s window. By morning the crystal words had dried to ugly salt flakes. The girl would see nothing but the dirty paper and toss it away. She understood nothing of his love, nothing of what he was saying.”