Kamal is getting bored, staying in the motel room. Snapping the laptop shut, I head over to the kitchen, where they give me some day-old muffins. I’m crossing the driveway when I spot Doris talking to a strange man. I freeze. He’s got on a suit, which is odd here on the Cape, and carries a folder. He scribbles something down, then gets into a car and backs out of the lot.

I walk over to Doris. “Who’s that?”

“Some guy from immigration. Bill.”

Maybe Lidia did get the word out. Or the shelter did.

“Came over from Boston to check on the kids,” Doris continues. “Make sure all their papers are in order. They do that sometimes.” She swipes at her hair. “He asked about you guys.”

Ice slides into my stomach.

“I told him you’re here for a little while, your ma is coming soon.” She peers at me. “When is that again?”

“Soon,” I reply and duck into the room, trying to act calm as I hand Kamal his muffin. He makes a face. “It’s too dry!”

“Too bad.”

“I don’t like raisins.”

“Deal with it, Kamal!”

I rush into the bathroom, slam the door. My whole body feels like it’s breaking. Calm down, I tell myself. Calm. Then I call Lidia.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“With my uncle,” I lie.

“Listen, it’s pretty unorthodox how the form was handled. I need to speak to him. It will be better if we formalize this in court—”

“He’s really busy with work,” I say. “He…he went on a business trip.”

“When does he get back?”

“I don’t know.” I rub my tongue over my teeth. It’s amazing how easy lying has become. One into another. Just like the grown-ups.

“Your mother was asking.”

“It’s okay. We’re with family.”

I’m staring at myself in the mirror, waiting for the panic to pass. I can see faint strap marks from my bathing suit. I ask, “Can I ask you a favor?”

“I suppose.” Her voice is cautious.

“If you had a client, a kid, who was living with his aunt and she got deported and he’s all alone—”

“Rania—” Lidia warns.

“I’m just asking!”

“Are you with that boy? The one from the shelter?”

I pause, my pulse skittering. “We’re in touch,” I say.

“He’s in big trouble, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” I say faintly.

And then I can’t help myself: I tell her how great Carlos is, how talented, how unfair it is that he doesn’t have a lawyer. That he crawled across the desert in the middle of the night and he can’t go back, not ever. When I’m done, there’s quiet on the other end.

“You sound like you’re in love with him.”

My skin prickles, all over. “I am not.”

She laughs. “Okay, you’re in like.”