It’s the next day, and I look up from our table to see that boy—Carlos, the one who draws. He carries around a battered army backpack with a beige sketchbook sticking out of the flap. We’re eating lunch, though Kamal is mostly picking at his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I want to inch away, so I don’t have to see him gloat, but he plops down beside me, straddling the bench. “It’s just a matter of time. I’ve got connections,” I tell him.

He gives me a skeptical grin.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“Connections,” he says softly.

“Yes! My best friend! She’s taking care of it.”

His face goes quiet. “That’s great, then. You can say goodbye to this five-star hotel.”

He taps the table and gently ruffles Kamal’s hair. “In the meantime, hermanito, you want to play soccer with me?” He lifts up a ball, spinning it in his palm.

Kamal looks up from his moping. He’s as sad as I am—missing Ammi, his last day of classes, playing with Derek and Amir.

“Go ahead, Kamal.” I check my phone. It’s been a whole day and Fatima still hasn’t called or texted. “Thanks,” I add.

Carlos bows, making me flush. “My pleasure.”

I watch them melt into the haze of the courtyard, join the other boys. This Carlos kid is so annoying. But I’m grateful he took Kamal to play. Last night I stretched out beside my brother, his head cradled under my arm until his breaths went even and he fell asleep. He’s back to chewing on his collar and last night I had to strip his bed and do an extra wash. Sometimes I think that is why Kamal is so quiet. He was born out of terror and flight. A boy who carries all our secrets, what came before.

Now I hear someone shout, “Goal!” Kamal’s arms are thrust up in the air. The kids are crammed into a tight circle, shouting, “Game! Game!” Carlos winks, gives me a thumbs-up. I swivel away, trying to ignore the airy lift in my heart.

I don’t know how he does it, but Carlos has a way of charming everyone—the social workers, the kids, the men who push mops across the floor. He draws Rosa and she is always pleased. One morning she wears a shirt with a bear that has sewn-on jiggly buttons for eyes. When we’re clearing our trays, I give her a teasing poke in the stomach and she lets out a laugh. It’s the most I’ve heard from her, and I find myself suddenly buoyed and laughing too.