He leans back on his elbows and closes his eyes. I can see he’s exhausted. He works a lot more hours than I do. “Papers, no papers,” he mumbles. “What’s the difference in the end?”

“But—”

“Learn to wait, Rania.”

“I’m not good at waiting.”

“No kidding.”

“I just don’t understand how this could happen to us,” I say. “We followed the rules. We’re not even undocumented.”

He slams his drawing pad down. “¡No chingues! The only difference between you and me is a good lawyer, Rania.”

Rolling over, he shows me his back. Tears sting my eyes. I want to stroke the bony line of his spine, make it better between us, but my hand won’t budge.

“Are we having our first fight?” I whisper.

His voice is muffled. “No, Rania. I’m just tired, okay?”

“Okay. Sorry.”

I get up, walk into the pond, wading toward Kamal, and play with him awhile, letting him jump up into my arms. “Do you want to go to the dock?” I ask.

He bites his lip. “It’s too far.”

“I can carry you.”

He considers this. Kamal always weighs what he wants to do—he never likes to be pushed. “Next time, okay, Aapi?”

Smiling, I half twirl him back in, so he splashes, giggling. Then he drifts over to a group of kids tossing a plastic ball, so I decide to swim out, past the dock.

I was always a swimmer—it came naturally to me—the breathing, hands slicing the surface. One summer Ammi signed me up at the Y, and that was that. But I’ve never swum a place like this—open, without buoys marking the lanes. Ahead are blotches of darker water, the reflection of bushes along the shore, stabbing downward. I aim toward them. The farther I go, the more I can feel my own strength, pulling from my stomach. I swim until the sandy beach shrinks to a flat line and the kids are just dots on the dock. The water feels like silk, folding around me. But then I picture Kamal’s worried little face, and turn back. I swim harder, with purpose. I’m going to help Carlos. Somehow.

When I reach our towel, I lean down, kiss Carlos awake on the cheek. A surge of warmth springs loose inside me. Was that the right thing to do?

His eyes flutter open, surprised. He is smiling. He’s not mad at me! Just then, Kamal races up and plows into his stomach. “Oof!” Carlos grunts, then laughs and tackles my brother.