“I don’t know his number. I have an address…” My voice fades. I’d tried hunting him down on the internet, but there were four people with the same name in Connecticut alone. And no phone numbers.

“Anyone else who could provide standby guardianship? Or sponsorship?”

I think for a moment. “My best friend? Her mom might be able to do it.”

“I suggest you call. Though now that you’re in the system it’s a lot more complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“It’s not just signing a paper. There will have to be a social worker visit and an interview with all the adults in the household, especially if they’re not relatives. If they agree, they have to appear before a judge.” She taps her pen on the desk. “If your mother had only taken care of this before, it could have been avoided.”

Before? Ammi always tries to take care of everything—right down to telling me to buy her a phone card, which I still have yet to do. Maria Auntie just got scared. We’re all scared.

“What about school?” I ask. “You can’t keep me from that.”

She sighs. “I wish I could send you. We’re so understaffed. And we can’t let you go unaccompanied. It’s just about a week of official classes left.”

My week. My last week of high school.

Numb, I make my way out of her office and call Fatima. I can hear the rush of people hurrying in the corridors. “Cut it out, Omar!” she yells. I’m stung with envy: something so normal, it’s out of reach for me. Then I quickly tell her everything that’s happened and beg her to ask her mother to sign the paper.

“Of course,” she whispers. A bell bleats on her end. “I gotta go.”

“Please. I have to get out of here.”

“I promise. Hold tight, Ra-Ra.”

Kamal and I go back to our room and lie on our bunk beds. It’s hot in the room, the air thick as flannel, making me listless. My phone buzzes, showing an unknown number. I let it ding into voice mail, then check it. It’s Ammi, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Rania. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We’ll get you out. I promise. I have to go, beta. This isn’t my phone. I love you both.” It’s like everything I’ve ever understood about us, our situation, has widened into this huge movie screen. It’s not just me and Kamal. Or Ammi in Pennsylvania. Something bigger is going on: the white tents we’ve seen on the news; the shifting lines; the children sleeping curled on concrete floors; and now here, covering their faces. We are disappearing, into the holes and crevices of this country.

“You straighten everything out?”