CHAPTER 22

Santiago lay staring at the industrial gray ceiling with his metallic blanket over his body and his arms tucked behind his head for a pillow. The concrete floor pressed hard and cold against his back. The lights overhead dimmed but were still bright enough to illuminate the sleeping figures around him. Pinocchio and Mosca whispered on the other side of Guanaco. Some boys curled up in the fetal position, clutching tight to the collar of their sweatshirts while trying to hide the fact that they were crying. Others shifted every few seconds, the rustle of their metallic blankets giving away their desperation to find that one spot that was slightly less uncomfortable than the others.

The lack of a bed didn’t bother him—that was how he’d slept most nights of his life. Sometimes with a ratty blanket, sometimes not even that. Even the lights weren’t what kept him awake. He could sleep through anything, and had: shouting, bangs, fires. No, the physical discomforts were hardly noticeable compared to the thoughts running through his mind. Too drained to join the undercover fetal weepers, he just stared straight up at the lights.

Guanaco, he noticed, lay perfectly still next to him. Too still to be asleep. The four of them had secured a corner, prime real estate compared to camping out in the middle of the room. The secret, Guanaco had explained, was to get there first. Despite what they called this place, a temporary immigration holding facility or whatever, Santiago felt sentenced to jail.

And he’d allowed Alegría to be sentenced here too. No wonder he couldn’t sleep.

He shifted to his side with a loud rustle, almost hugging the wall with an arm horizontal against the concrete. He remembered that last day in the desert (was that only yesterday?) with Alegría’s weight against his back. Even in his tired and dehydrated state, just feeling her presence had brought comfort. With some imagination, he could feel her warmth and pulse as if she were next to him now, just on the other side of the wall.

The fantasy relaxed his mind. Maybe he’d eventually fall asleep. Even with the hard floor, illuminated room, and continual twittering of almost a hundred teenagers.

Except someone let out a loud fart amplified by the high ceiling. Silence fell for a few seconds before a suppressed giggle echoed through the room. Then another, and another, before full-blown laughter erupted from all sides. A snicker escaped Santiago’s own lips. He couldn’t help it.

“Shh,” one of the night guards reprimanded.

The silence lasted less than a second before someone forced a huge burp, which led to an even louder burst of laughter. Another person burped, and someone else responded with an armpit noise.

“¡Cállense!” the guard shouted.

A chorus of bodily noises continued whenever silence lasted for more than a second. Santiago turned to his stomach and hid his head under the metallic blanket and under his arms. Still, he could hear the guards going around, shushing and kicking people to be quiet.

“Don’t the guards know they’ll stop if they’re ignored?” Santiago mumbled to himself. His little cousins had always misbehaved more when they had an audience.

“At least they’re not barking,” Guanaco muttered back. “The night that happened, they even got the coyotes outside to howl back.”

“Is falling asleep ever easy here?” Santiago lifted his head from the floor and turned to face the wall.

A slight rustling indicated Guanaco shaking his head. “Not as long as I’ve been here.”