Christopher pressed even closer to Dad, which hardly seemed possible. “What happened to him? Where is he now? The little boy?”
“When we finally got out of the truck, we were across. In America. Thank God. Another coyote was waiting, and we were separated into different cars going different routes at different times, so it wouldn’t be obvious we were together, you know? We were all exhausted. The pregnant woman—she took that little boy and said she would watch over him. Tell everyone he was her son.”
Christopher looked stricken. “So you just let him go with her?”
“It was all I could do, mijo…” Dad’s voice trailed off, and his chin twitched. But I understood. What was he supposed to have done? Bring the boy back with him? He’d look more suspicious than she would.
“Then?” I prompted.
“Once I crossed, I took a bus to Houston. There I got in touch with an old buddy from when I drove big rigs. He let me ride with him all the way to Boston. He was going to New York”—now Dad blinked hard—“but he drove eight hours out of his way to make sure I got here.”
“Why?” I clearly couldn’t get the story out of him fast enough.
“Because he’s a nice guy,” Dad said.
Benjamin’s face suddenly grew stern, almost angry. “Could you get deported again?” My body tensed. I wanted to know the same thing.
Mom gasped, but Dad didn’t flinch. “Yes, I could,” he said, tracing his thumb along Benjamin’s face. “I’m not going to lie. I’m still undocumented. That means I don’t have legal papers to be in this country right now.”
The boys nodded.
Dad raised his chin defiantly. “I’m going to do everything humanly possible to get my papers in order so we don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
“What about ICE?” Benjamin asked.
I gaped at him. I didn’t even know he knew that word.
“That’s enough for today,” Mom said abruptly. She let go of Dad’s hand and turned on another lamp. But Dad stayed put, then suddenly dropped his head into his hands. His shoulders started to shake.
Benjamin clutched Dad’s arm. “Dad, Dad! Are you okay?”
It was a few moments before Dad lifted his head again, brushed away the wet. “Yes,” he murmured. “I’m just… I’m just so happy to be back.”
“We’re ordering pizza tonight,” Mom announced, smoothing her blouse. “Liliana, get the coupon on the fridge.”
“Okay. One more minute.” I pleaded with my eyes.
“No, Liliana. That’s enough. Your father is tired.”
Dad stood up. “Pizza sounds great. And your mother is right. I want to hear about you!”
“Fine. Dad! You know what I wanna do? I want us all to go to Castle Island. Let’s go tomorrow!” I said.
“Hold on, there,” Mom interrupted. “It’s the middle of winter!”
I turned on the last lamp in the living room. That’s when I saw my brothers’ beaming faces.
“And… I want us all to see a WWE show, like WWE SmackDown, or Chaotic Wrestling!”
I don’t think I’d ever seen Christopher and Benjamin so still. For real, they looked like mannequins.
“De verdad, Liliana?” Dad asked. “Those tickets are really expensive.”
“Not the live show! We can get it on pay-per-view. That’s way more practical.”
“Well, I guess some things really have changed since I’ve been gone.” And he pulled me into his arms again.
* * *
Dad was home. And Mom—raccoon eyes and all—finally looked at peace. Like, truth, I could switch up all the spices and she wouldn’t say boo. And that made me think of something else. I ran to my room and returned with a cardboard building.
“Oh, Liliana…,” Dad said. “That’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “But, it’s not for you.”
“Oh—”
Now we all laughed.
“It’s for you, Mom.” I placed it in her hands. Sylvia’s Salon. Mom took in the hot-pink cursive letters, the images of hair rollers and blow-dryers in the tiny windows, the aluminum foil that Christopher had suggested I use for the satellite dish on the rooftop. Her face crumpled. She stood up and hugged me tight, her chin trembling against my neck. Then she squeezed even tighter.
* * *
All the next morning I was still buzzing about Dad. Every few seconds I had to remind myself that it was true. He was home. I’d gone to bed mad late, buzzing. Got to school, buzzing. He was home!!! I dug my math book out of my locker, then slammed it shut to see Dustin standing there. I literally jumped.
“Oh my God, you scared me!”
“Sorry.” He looked down at his Converse. Dustin. What a wimp. I willed myself to stay chill.
“For scaring me?” I could smell his smell—shampoo and ChapStick and boy. Damn it. I was not prepared for this sensory slide into my memory.
Then he surprised me. “For everything, Lili.”
We stood there for a long time, and he finally looked up at me, looked like he had more to say. I waited.
“I turned him in,” Dustin finally said.
I blinked and blinked, trying to process. “Steve?” I said at last.
“Steve. For making the memes.”
“Seriously?”
“Look, you have to believe me when I tell you that I did NOT tell Steve about your… father’s situation. I didn’t. I never told anyone. Not a single—”
I cut him off. “I believe you.” And I actually truly did.
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
Dustin let out a breath. “I don’t think he made all the racist memes in history, but he did make”—he looked down at his sneakers again and mumbled—“certain ones.” He looked back up. “His family’s all messed up. His dad didn’t get some huge promotion at work and keeps telling Steve it’s because he’s white—and all this other stuff.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I know. I know. No excuse. But so, yeah, I turned him in. And I guess he got suspended.”
“Whoa—”
“Yeah, his parents are super pissed. Apparently his father went ballistic; he said this wouldn’t look good at all on his Harvard application. I mean, that’s an understatement. Anyway, Steve basically hates me now.”
“I bet.”
We both went quiet. “So I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Dustin said.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Yeah?” He sounded hopeful. I swear he leaned forward a smidge.
“Yeah.”
* * *
I couldn’t resist checking out the wall again before my next class. But when I rounded the corner—I stopped in my tracks. A couple of administrators… they were taking the wall down! And… Mr. Rivera was helping them! Hot tears instantly pricked at my eyes. Why were they taking it down?
“Excuse me? Um… what are you doing?” I tried to sound firm and still student-y.