After the ceremony, we mill on the grass, clutching our diplomas, limp gowns clinging to our damp arms, our necks. A few people toss their caps and I watch the mortarboards angle up into the air. I hug Ginny and Sylvia and Layla—the crew Fatima and I sometimes hung with. But my eyes well with tears, seeing all the parents and grandparents embracing, their arms teeming with flowers. Fatima is surrounded by her brothers and cousins, Mrs. Elawady looking happy but distracted, Mo tugging on her arm. Mr. Elawady is avoiding me. Fatima’s eyes meet mine; she rushes over and throws her arms around me. “I can’t believe you made it!”

“Shh.” I draw near, put my mouth to her ear. “Pretend you didn’t see me.”

“But—”

“I have to go. I’ll text you later.”

She gives me an inquiring look, then regards Carlos. “Cute,” she whispers. “Who is he?”

“A friend.”

She turns to Carlos. “You take care of her, right?” She pulls me close, her long earrings dangling cool on my neck. “I love you,” she whispers.

Then we are out of there, fast. We don’t have much time.

The apartment smells stale. Nothing is wrong—Maria Auntie has clearly come in and watered the plants over the last ten days—the spider leaves spring to my touch. She’s thoughtfully put the mail on the front table and left a few notes where the car was last parked. The refrigerator has been emptied of perishables, plastic containers left to dry upside down in the rack.

Carlos helps Kamal pack more clothes and pick his toys, while I snap open my laptop, put in my mother’s password, and pay off the utilities and the rent and a few small bills. Then I pull belongings from the closet—Carlos finds me, sitting cross-legged, stuck, staring bleakly.

“Hey,” he says and kneels down beside me. “You okay?”

“I guess.” I look at him. “What about you? What are you going to do?”

He shrugs. “I can’t stay there. In a few months, when I’m eighteen, they’ll send me back.”

“Can’t you ask your lawyer?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have a lawyer, Rania. I don’t have the money.”

“Don’t you have a plan? I mean, you can’t just run forever!”

He looks sad. “Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

I wish I hadn’t been so mean, so quick-tempered. And Carlos is right. Sometimes running is all we can do. Isn’t that what Ammi taught me? “Sorry,” I mumble, and he goes to help Kamal pack.

My cell dings with a text from Lidia: Rania, Where r u??? Call me ASAP.