Yes, I kept asking my questions. But why we left so fast, what happened to Abu, tunneled deep into Ammi and me, in a place with no light. My questions about home stayed in an iron lockbox of memories.

Chapter Six

“Wow.” It’s the Monday after my visit to Ammi, a week since the ICE officers took her away. Fatima and I are in a park across the street from school, soaking in the sunshine. Fatima sits back on the bench, chugs her Sprite.

A rough day in classes—I couldn’t focus most of the time and I hadn’t done any of my assignments, not after seeing my mom in detention. It’s like all my energy shrank and went small, the way my mother looked. In English, Ms. Ricardo said to me, “What’s going on, Rania? Serious case of senioritis?” I slammed out of the classroom. If it were Mr. D from last year, he’d pull out of me what was going on. I’m not one of those kids who goes to office hours and sobs about her problems to a teacher. No way.

Fatima shakes her head. “You have an uncle? Living here?”

“Apparently.”

“That is wack.”

“No kidding.”

“Are you going to try and find him?”

“I guess.” I add, “But why should I bother? Dude didn’t even call us when he moved here.”

“Do you know that?”

“What do you mean?” I look at her, incredulous. “He’s, like, from my mom’s family. They suck. They never helped us. They just let my mom go.”

“Maybe he did try to contact your mom.” She tilts the can again, takes a long gulp. “After all, she lied to you about the asylum stuff.”

I start. “She didn’t lie.”

Fatima turns to me. Her eyes are hazel, flecked with green, turning up in the corners, which makes it seem as if she’s always musing, knowing better than others. “Rania, just be open. You never know.”

“I do know!”

She sighs. “My mom says that when we come here, there’s always so much we leave behind.”

“What’s that mean?”

“There’s some weird shit between my mom and her sister. Her older one. Mom never calls her. But she never tells me what happened. Says it goes way back, from when they were girls. Some kind of jealousy stuff. Her sister got to go to college.”

I thrust up from the bench and we start heading to the subway. I don’t want to hear this. My head is rattling: about Kamal and his bed-wetting and what to make for supper, and why Mona hasn’t called me back. The card from that Gonzalez guy. My school assignments. Even though there are only a couple of weeks to go, it burns to mess up my record.

Fatima turns and asks softly, “What about graduation?”