“Five?” I exclaim, thinking of the rooms and rooms of people here. That woman with the baby is pacing the hall, head tilted, as she presses a cell phone to her ear.

“Since the policy has changed, there’s been a surge.”

We stare at the names, so many, in their neat rows. I remember what Ammi used to say to me before I left for school: Remember to ask questions, Rania. I wished I asked more of her, all these years.

“And how long could it take?”

Rachel hesitates. “Might be two or three months.”

Two or three months. Carlos looks crestfallen. We turn from the lists.

At lunch we’re very quiet. I can barely eat—it’s a thick pea soup that seems to clump in my stomach—and Carlos just sits, fiddling with his spoon. Rachel was nice enough to give Kamal a little plastic puzzle to occupy him and in between bites, he’s trying to get the tiny cars out of their traffic jam.

All good? Jayne texts.

I text a thumbs-up.

Drive back a.m. tomorrow, right?

I send a smiley face.

A guy in a wool hat pulled over his ears and sweatshirt sits down at our table. He has a wide toothy smile and big eyes. “You waiting to get across?”

“Like everyone,” Carlos says, and goes back to his soup.

“They tell you two or three months?”

We both nod.

“I’m Keku,” he says. “It means Wednesday and that’s today.”

No kidding. I’m in no mood to make new friends. But we introduce ourselves and he teases Kamal and then says to us, “There’s another way.”

We both look up. Keku is a few years older than us—maybe in his twenties. He explains how he’s been on the run for years. For a while he sold jewelry and hats on the streets of New York. The cops rarely bothered him about his stand, but he knew he had to get moving again, especially since he was turned down for asylum three times. He heard about this shelter, in Buffalo. Everyone says Canada seems like the only option.

“What’s the way?” Carlos asks.

“You can walk across. Not here. But another place.”

He pulls out his phone, puts on Google Maps, and zooms in to show us swaths of green and a snaking road. “You just drive to Plattsburgh and then take a taxi. They know where to drop you off. Then you walk across. There are guards there, they arrest you, but you can apply for asylum.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

He shrugs. “Miss Rachel says for me it’s only a matter of a week or so. I figure if it doesn’t happen, I’ll do this.” He adds, “But don’t tell her I showed you this. They don’t do it that way here. They say it’s not safe.”