But I mean it. Ever since Uncle told me about my real father, I’ve pushed him far down in my mind. I think about the way I snuck glances at Uncle, combing for traits that connected him to me. His nose, his mouth, his neck. Particles, cells, genes. What does that even mean? Is that family? I haven’t told Carlos about the new memories that have begun edging into my thoughts.

Carlos rears up from his haunches and hurls a pebble to the water’s edge. “Nobody!” he shouts. “He’s nobody!”

Kamal, hearing us, twists around and repeats, “Nobody!”

“Stop!” I laugh and also heave myself up from the sand. I fling my arms around him and give him a kiss. His cheek is rough, cool. In the dark I can’t see his reaction, because he’s turning, calling for Kamal, his back to me.

Back in the motel, there’s an awkward strain between us. I feel idiotic, hot with shame for what I’ve done. Not just once, but twice. I better stop.

“Good night, Rania,” he says, like every night, and snaps out his light.

Chapter Fourteen

When I wake, Carlos is gone. But then he doesn’t come back after the morning shift, not even to bring us leftovers. I don’t know what to think. Who are we to each other? Is he my almost-boyfriend or did I drive him away? I feel like an idiot. Just what Fatima says: always thinking I can just will something to happen. It’s like I’ve taken my lace-up boots and tromped on something delicate and sweet.

I look around the room. He’s taken his backpack with his sketch pad and charcoal and pencils. But his pictures are everywhere: taped to the walls, propped on the bureau, fluttering near a vent. They’re of the oblong stretches of dune grass, the kids jumping off the dock at the pond, of us and even Dimitri, the cook in the restaurant. Carlos’s stroke is sure, and he hones in on a telling detail, like the worry-crease in Kamal’s forehead, or how Dimitri keeps one hand tucked behind his back as he flips a pancake.

I crack open the window blinds, searching for him. It nags at me: Carlos does need help. We can’t just wait.

I try to busy myself with my emails. Nothing from Fatima, which makes the ache bore deeper. A lot about fall semester at Hunter—what courses I want to sign up for, clubs I can join.