Chapter Fourteen

Mami had the morning off from teaching, so she drove him to school on Monday. It wasn’t a long drive, but he liked to pump himself up with some good music in the morning. However, halfway to school, she turned down his playlist.

“¿Qué pasó, Mami? What you do that for? I was just getting in the groove!”

She smiled. “I have some questions.”

“Oh no,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t do anything. It was Papi.”

She laughed at him. “No, not like that, mijo. I just want to check in with you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Check in?”

“I know these past two weekends have been super busy for me,” she explained. “It’s not always going to be like this. I promise it’ll settle down.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re all adjusting, right?”

“We are. And I’m proud of what you’re doing.”

He narrowed his eyes again. “You’re trying to trick me into doing something, aren’t you? You didn’t have questions to ask me at all!”

Mami rolled her eyes, but there was still a smile on her face. “Héctor, I am not tricking you into anything.”

“I’m onto you,” he said.

“Okay, then: worst teacher,” she said. “Go.”

“Worst?” He laughed. “Mami, that is definitely a trap. All my teachers try to be good.”

“I raised you well, mijo,” she said, nodding and stopping at a red light. She pulled her long black hair back and used a band to secure it into a ponytail.

“But if I had to pick . . . ,” he began.

She shot him a glare.

“They’re all fine!”

“That’s my boy,” she said.

He giggled. “I really like my art teacher, Mrs. Caroline. She’s weird.”

“And you like weird. ’Cause you are weird.”

“Don’t forget it, Mami,” he said.

“So why haven’t you worn that shiny camisa you had me get you this summer?”

And just like that, his reality slammed back down on him. Was he that obvious? Tim and Sophia had picked up on his change, and now, his mami had noticed.

He couldn’t let her suspect the truth. “Well, I don’t think the kids at Orangevale Middle School are ready for it,” he said. “It’s just not the right time for its debut.”

As she rolled through the intersection, he caught her casting a quick glance his way. “I’ve never heard you turn down the chance to wear something over-the-top. What gives?”

Ah, Mami was more direct than Papi and Abuela.

“It’s just different here,” he said, then turned his face away to hide his grimace. How many times had he used this same excuse? He recovered quickly. “Some of the kids here aren’t used to high fashion, so I’m taking it easy.”

“Are they picking on you, Héctor?”

Panic ripped through him. She’s a teacher, Héctor! he thought, scolding himself. Of course she is gonna pick up on something like that!

“No, no, not really,” he said, but it came out too fast, too certain. “Not anything that bad. I promise.”

“Because I’ll walk into the principal’s office right now and—”

“Mami, no,” he said forcefully. “Don’t do that! I will definitely get bullied if you do that.”

She took a deep breath. “Right, right. Get yourself together, Lilliam.”

“Mami, it really isn’t that bad,” he said, and his heart sank a bit. Maybe that wasn’t a lie. Maybe it was wishful thinking. “I’m just trying to do my best.”

She reached over and grabbed his hand. “That’s all we ask of you, me and your papi. You know that, right?”

Héctor squeezed back. “I know.”

It’s not the right time, he thought. He wondered, though, if she would get it. Maybe she was the best person to be honest with.

Nah. He would tell someone, though.

Eventually.

After he figured it all out on his own.

That morning, Héctor did not have to wait for Mike to reveal himself. He and his Minions were standing next to the concrete steps that rose up into Orangevale Middle School. Héctor hadn’t even noticed them because he’d been so distracted by almost spilling the beans to his mami. Frank—who had his greasy hair shaved into a really, really bad fade—waved at Héctor.

Just ignore them, he thought. There’s no winning otherwise. He had tried to be friendly with them; he had faked confidence; he’d told Ms. Heath the truth. Had any of it worked? No. Never. So what option was left?

He ascended the steps.

Heard the footfalls behind him.

Knew they were following.

So he ran. Because what else could he do? It was what he knew.

He heard Mike call out to him from the bottom of the stairs: “Hey, Flower Boy! Where you going?”

Héctor rather liked flowers and floral prints, so did that really hurt him? No. So ignore, ignore, ignore . . . and run. He flung open the front doors. Ms. Heath was thankfully not at her post just inside the school, which was a small victory for Héctor.

He paused for a moment. Was the closet nearby today? Would it show up where he needed it? Where was he supposed to go? Not wanting to waste time, he fled to the left.

In those few seconds of hesitation, though, Héctor’s hope for escape was destroyed. Ms. Heath came around the nearest corner, and her voice boomed down the hallway, the echo of it crashing into Héctor’s ears.

“NO RUNNING IN THE HALLS!”

Héctor froze. No! Where was the closet? Had he gone the wrong way? In less than ten seconds, Ms. Heath would be at his side, and there was no way he could avoid getting in trouble this time.

“Mr. Muñoz, not another step!”

Should he run? Would that only make things worse?

He grimaced as Ms. Heath strolled up to him, this time wearing her all-red tracksuit. He glanced back, and sure enough, Mike and the Minions had slowed and were now creeping up to watch this confrontation.

Héctor wished that he was anywhere else.

Ms. Heath sighed, exasperated. “Why can’t you just follow the rules, Mr. Muñoz?”

“I’m trying,” he said, but he knew he sounded defeated. Pathetic.

“Well, I saw you running,” she continued. “And you weren’t trying not to.”

“But—”

“No, I don’t want to hear it.”

“They started it!”

He bellowed the words at her, much louder than he intended to.

“It doesn’t matter who started what,” she said, her voice soft. “What matters is what I see. And I saw you breaking the rules again.”

Héctor could sense his heart sinking down lower into his body. Héctor had been kind. He’d been himself. Wasn’t that what all those goofy after-school specials told you to do? Be yourself and tell adults when something bad happens to you?

These boys had targeted him. They made him feel like there was a part of him that was wrong. But here he was, doing what he was supposed to, and Ms. Heath wouldn’t listen to him. The only thing that mattered was her stupid rules, and even then, she obviously didn’t care when other people broke them.

Héctor burned with the unfairness of it all.

His heart flopped when he saw the entire Table of Misfits—Pat included—huddled behind Ms. Heath.

“I am afraid I’m going to have to put this incident on your permanent record,” said Ms. Heath.

Some of the kids gasped. Héctor merely frowned. Is that even a real thing? he wondered. But he didn’t feel like challenging Ms. Heath on the spot. There was nothing he could do to change her mind, was there? This would repeat, over and over.

So he gave up.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Heath,” he said, his head drooping. He had to sell the performance to get her to believe it. “I’m not doing my best. I promise . . . this is the last time.” He looked up at her. “You won’t have to tell me again.”

There was a moment there, so terribly brief, where Héctor saw pity on her face. Did she believe him? Maybe. She probably thought he was a troubled kid who didn’t know how to follow the rules. It was like she was making up a story about him in her head, and he couldn’t do anything to change it.

Ms. Heath didn’t say anything more. She nodded and walked away, and soon, she was chirping at another student for having their shoes untied.

The crowd departed, and Mike slammed his shoulder into Héctor’s as he passed, nearly knocking his backpack onto the ground. Héctor wondered if the Table of Misfits were going to say anything to him, but they were already gone.

Was his worst fear coming true? Was he going to be abandoned by everyone here at Orangevale Middle School?

Creak!

To Héctor’s left, a door sat ajar. Was he imagining that he’d heard it open? He grabbed the edge of the wood, ran his fingers up and down the smooth surface, then looked at the frosted glass.

JANITOR.

The door?

It absolutely had not been there five minutes ago. He would have seen it! Yet here it was. He peeked inside and saw the pitcher of horchata on the table next to a bowl of cereal. It was waiting for him.

It was tempting. And he hadn’t been late last week when he’d taken the nap or had breakfast. But the uncertainty was a little terrifying. How was it possible that this room defied the passage of time?

Héctor’s stomach growled.

I could use a glass of horchata, he thought.

But if he did end up late, Ms. Heath would definitely give him detention.

Héctor pulled open the door wider and slipped inside quickly, ignoring the dread that begged him to go to class. But relief washed over him immediately when he walked in. It was exactly as it had been that last time. He turned and closed the door, then rested his head against it, taking in one breath after another, trying to slow down his racing heart. His backpack slipped off his shoulder and came to rest on the floor.

He heard footsteps in the hallway. They passed.

No one knew he was here. He could have a moment of peace. And somehow, this room seemed to know exactly what would calm him down.

Crash!

A shattering sound rang out behind him, and Héctor’s soul nearly leaped out of his body. He spun around.

His mouth dropped open.

NO!

There was a girl there—her skin dark, her hair black, separated down the middle and tied off in two puffs, her face twisted up in shock and horror—sitting on the couch.

His couch.

Eating his Cocoa Puffs.

No.

How?

How had someone else found his room?