Hours tick by. Graduation in three days. Instagram’s blown up with my friends at school. A party in Prospect Park. Another in someone’s basement. Fatima’s selling braided hair ties with the school colors—purple and white. But it’s Senior Day at Coney Island that most gets me. I play that post over and over: Fatima dancing on the sand, blowing kisses. Her curly hair bounces. Her shoulders are bare and tanned, which must have freaked her mother out. Her whole face shines, like a lit-up sun. Everyone celebrating—without me. I dream about the desert, about glittering stars and bones.

I’ve disappeared.

Chapter Nine

“You okay?”

It’s lunch and Carlos is leaning across the table, his sketch pad put to the side. “After what happened with your friend. And I heard you the other day, when the kids made fun of Kamal. I was passing by the bathroom.”

There’s a stinging sensation around my ears, like when I get a sunburn at the beach. I don’t like the idea of him knowing all my personal business. “And?” I ask.

“He’s just a kid.”

“Thanks for the news flash.”

“Oh boy. Madam has returned.”

“Can we drop it?”

Carlos doesn’t say anything but picks up his spoon. We have chocolate pudding today for dessert but it looks too gelatinous, too shiny for me. I’m tired of eating food that tastes bland and slippery. I just want to go back to the apartment, slip into my own bed, and fry eggs for Kamal. Every day we stay here it’s like another part of me blurs.

“So, what’s the plan?” Carlos asks.

Even though Carlos and I sat in the stairwell and he told me his terrible story, I don’t want to talk. “What are you, my caseworker?”

He grins, sucking in some of that disgusting pudding. “You told me it’s a mistake you’re here. So how are you going to fix it?”

“Go yell at Ms. Kaplan again. For the millionth time.”

He shakes his head. “That won’t work. My aunt used to say: The bull doesn’t get what he wants. The cat does.”

I sigh. “What kills me is graduation. I just want to go.”

“So we have to do something.”

“We?” I give him a smirk-smile.

He nods, smiling. “Why not?”

“I really need to find my uncle.”

“There you go.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer. My chest pumps wildly. Is he going to kiss me? Instead, he stands from the table, pulls his jeans up around his slim hips, smooths down his black hair. “Watch me.”