CHAPTER 37

Not even two minutes pass after leaving the classroom and joining the lunch line before Listo, the smarty-pants boy, steps up behind Santiago and nudges him in the back of the legs. “I heard from Chismoso that you’re joining Señor D. on a field trip to the little-kid section.”

Santiago turns slightly from the single-file line and shrugs, neither confirming nor denying.

“Why do you get to go and not the rest of us?”

“He knows I have experience with kids,” Santiago answers as simply as possible.

“You? You never speak to anyone. Most people here don’t even know who you are, and you’ve been here forever.”

Santiago keeps his eyes forward and shrugs again.

“I have seven hermanos.” Listo leans in like a pesky fly to his ear. “I know kids. How many siblings do you have?”

The lunch line starts moving. Listo knocks into his legs again. Santiago stumbles and crashes into the guy in front of him. Gathering his feet under him, Santiago whips around to face Listo.

“Stop. It,” Santiago hisses. He narrows his eyes for a second, staring Listo down, then hurries to catch up with the line. The guy in front of him glances over his shoulder as Santiago approaches.

“Sorry, man,” Santiago apologizes. “I didn’t mean to crash into you.”

“ ’Tá bien,” the guy mumbles. He’s new, probably about sixteen, and already dubbed Sumo for being built like a wrestler.

“You’re not getting away with this,” Listo insists as he cuts in front of Santiago. “I’m seeing Señor D. after lunch.”

“Go ahead,” Santiago says. If Listo wants to cut in line, fine. At lunchtime they always get sandwiches in various degrees of staleness or sogginess. Let Listo get a bad sandwich first.

But take the reading program away from him? Not without a fight.

Santiago inhales his sandwich without knowing what’s in it and is first to form the exit line. No helping Consuelo today. From the corner of his eye, he sees Listo chug his juice, but not before Sumo joins Santiago in line. Santiago smiles. It’s one thing for Listo to cut in front of Santiago—but he won’t dare do it to Sumo.

“You don’t like sandwiches?” Santiago asks the big guy. “At least today’s aren’t moldy.”

Sumo shakes his head as he shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “I have a severe wheat allergy.”

Poor guy. Santiago’s own gut handles just about anything, whether it resembles food or not; he never thought about those who can’t handle actual food. “That’s tough. Did you mention anything when you got brought in?”

Sumo pats his belly. “Yeah, but I think they think I’m faking it.”

In other words, the officials who run the facility don’t care. As far as they are concerned, providing any food serves their humanitarian requirements.

And there’s nothing Santiago can do to change that. But maybe he can give Sumo something to look forward to. Most of the sandwiches are gone, which means they won’t be served again for dinner.

“Hey, Chismoso,” Santiago calls out. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Arroz con pollo,” Chismoso answers without demanding payment. It must be public information by now. Another reason most of the lunch sandwiches are gone.

“I like arroz con pollo.” Sumo smiles.

“Don’t get too excited,” Santiago warns. “Even I think it’s pretty bad. But at least it doesn’t have wheat, and there’s usually plenty.”

“Thanks.”

After inspection, Santiago follows Herrera down the hall. Once back in the main area, he dashes to the door of the classroom. The government hasn’t dismissed their teacher yet.

“Walk, García!” Herrera shouts.

“Señor Dante,” Santiago blurts. “I really, really want to read to the little kids. Please don’t take it away from me.”

“It’s your job.” Señor Dante looks up from what might be his final lesson plan. “Why would I—”

Listo appears in the classroom doorway slightly out of breath. “Señor, I’m much more qualified for the reading program. Santi is illiterate.”

“Santiago,” Señor Dante corrects, “has come a long way. I have never seen that drive for learning.”

“But you didn’t even give me a chance. No es justo.”

Señor Dante steps out from behind his desk and sits on one of the long tables with his arms crossed. “Why do you want to do it?”

“I learned how to read when I was four,” Listo brags. “I’ve won many academic awards in my school, and I’ve scored higher in tests than people two or three years older than me.”

Señor Dante nods and turns to Santiago. Nerves tap-dance on Santiago’s stomach. He can’t compete with any of that. When he reads, he still has to sound out many words. But Señor Dante said a person needs to do whatever it takes to achieve what they want. And Santiago wants this. He would be good at it too.

Deep breath.

“I grew up hearing stories from my mamá.” Santiago starts softly and then speaks up as his confidence builds. “Later, I told stories to my cousins, and finally to my… my little sister. Stories transport me and listeners to different worlds. For a few minutes, we forget we’re stuck in an immigration holding center and remember what it’s like to be free and belong somewhere.”

A hand claps onto Santiago’s shoulder. He yelps as he cowers. Turning, he sees Sumo behind him. No guard tells Sumo off for touching, and his hand feels nice and supportive, now that Santiago knows whose it is. Other boys filter into the classroom, attracted by the crowd.

Santiago smiles his thanks.

“I’m sorry.” Señor Dante glances back at Listo. “Santiago is still the right person for the job.”

Sumo’s cheers and Listo’s complaints bring Herrera over to investigate the commotion. Sumo drops his supportive hand from Santiago’s shoulder without being told.

Instant silence.

Señor Dante nods. “I’ll check with the board about additional teen readers, and, if approved, anyone else can apply. Until then, Santiago will work the reading program.”

Listo opens his mouth but then huffs off to the TV room. He probably never even wanted to read to the little kids; he just didn’t like not getting something. Herrera leaves the classroom and yells across the main room for the rest of the afternoon pupils.

A boy Santiago has seen around but who hasn’t received a nickname yet approaches Señor Dante. “I’d also like to read to the little kids if you’re allowed more than one helper. My hermanito is there. He was sick when we came. I’d like to make sure he’s okay.”

The boy’s words pierce Santiago’s heart. The thought resurfaces of Alegría in the little-girl section, alone. Not knowing what was happening to her or even if she was okay had been torture. After all these months, the memory of feeling powerless to see her still haunts him.

“You should read to the chiquitínes for now,” Santiago says, stuffing his hands into his full pockets. “I can read to them later.”

He has five more years here before they kick him out. What’s a few more weeks?

“Santiago,” Señor Dante says. “I offered you the job because you’d be best for it.”

Santiago stares at the floor. Just because he would be the best doesn’t make it right. “I can’t keep him away from his brother.”

“Don’t do it,” Sumo argues. “You wanted this so bad. You fought for this. At least alternate days.”

Alternate? The weight of self-sacrifice lifts. Go once a week instead of twice? Air fills his chest once more. A look toward Señor Dante says it’s Santiago’s choice. He turns to the other boy, who looks hopeful.

“Yes,” Santiago says. “Let’s share the job.”

The other boy’s brown eyes widen then quickly narrow. “What do you want in return?”

Santiago exhales and smiles. “Nothing. I got separated from my family too.”