Chapter Twenty-One

The joy didn’t last long.

Héctor floated through his classes. By the time lunch rolled around, he was still thinking about Juliana, Sal, and that strange place that seemed impossible but was very much real. He joined the line in the cafeteria at lunch, filled his tray up, and then found his usual table in the back, but the Misfits hadn’t arrived yet. Today’s food—some sort of pasta dish, steamed veggies, and a chocolate-chip walnut cookie—didn’t even look that bad. Maybe all it took was a change in fortune to see things differently.

Not long after he sat down, Aishah sat across from him, and Jackson followed her, setting his trumpet case down underneath the table. “’Sup,” he said to Héctor, nudging him with his shoulder.

Héctor smiled at him and, riding the wave of energy his morning had given him, decided to be bold.

“So,” he began, pushing noodles across his tray, “I gotta know more.”

“More about what?” said Aishah.

Taylor sat down next to her and nodded his head at Héctor. “What’s happenin’?”

“Apparently Héctor needs to know,” said Jackson, smirking.

“Do you wonder how they get all that juice inside the Capri Sun packets, too?” Taylor said, excitement spreading over his face.

“Wha-what?” said Héctor. “I—I guess I never thought about it?”

“That little bag is just so funky and perfect. How do they fill it up? It’s magic, right?”

Aishah was shaking her head. “Taylor, the package is sealed after they put the juice in,” she said. “It’s not that big of a mystery.”

“But how do you know?” he said, his mouth slightly open, his face confused.

“So, were you confused by Capri Suns, too, Héctor?” asked Jackson, trying to stifle a laugh.

“I don’t even know anymore,” he said.

“So what were you going to ask about?” said Aishah.

“This place,” said Héctor. “I know about the Table of Misfits, obviously.”

“The best table,” said Taylor. “Never forget.”

“And obviously, I know about the worst table,” said Héctor.

The four of them slowly glanced over to where Mike’s table was, and Héctor scowled at them.

He quickly scanned the cafeteria. Where was Carmen? Would she join them? When he couldn’t find her, he turned back to the Misfits.

“What else is there?” he asked. “What should I know about Orangevale Middle School that I don’t? Any teachers to avoid, or maybe . . .” He paused, then threw caution to the wind. “Maybe like cool spots or secret rooms or something?”

“I don’t know about that last one,” said Jackson. “The building is pretty boring. Though there are some rooms I’ve never explored behind the auditorium.”

“Wait, what?” Héctor said. “There’s an auditorium?”

“Yeah,” said Aishah, peeling an orange. “It’s pretty big. It’s through those weird double doors over by the gym.”

“How is there an auditorium but no theater class?”

Jackson shrugged. “Beats me.”

“The only art stuff they seem to have is band and Mrs. Caroline’s classes,” said Aishah. “And you lucked out because she’s the best teacher here.”

“I really like her,” said Héctor. “She’s kinda weird, which is always a good thing.”

“No teacher compares to her,” said Taylor, who . . . no. Héctor did a double take. Taylor had part of a Capri Sun pouch in his mouth, and he was . . .

“What are you doing, man?” asked Héctor. “Where did you even get that?” He hadn’t seen them in the cafeteria line.

Taylor removed the pouch from his mouth. Sure enough, he had bitten into it and sucked the juice out of the holes his teeth had made.

“I always keep some with me,” said Taylor.

Taylor lifted his backpack above the table, and more Capri Suns than Héctor could count spilled over the table.

“Dope, right?” said Taylor, smiling ear to ear.

Héctor grabbed one. “Taylor, every new thing I learn about you makes you more and more of a mystery.”

Taylor bit into another Capri Sun, which immediately sprayed in his face. Everyone started laughing until Taylor froze, his eyes wide.

“What’s up, HECK-tor?”

Oh no. Mike.

“Enjoying your lunch?” Mike sat down and squeezed in between Héctor and Jackson. “Maybe you’re missing a special ingredient.”

He grabbed Héctor’s lunch tray, and someone laughed behind Héctor. He was pretty sure it was Frank. He tensed up again, and braced himself for whatever was about to happen.

And what did happen . . . well, it was not what Héctor expected.

“Do it, Mike,” Carlos said, egging him on.

“Heck-tor, do you want the special ingredient?” Mike smiled, all teeth and no humor, and he leaned in closer. “Not everyone gets it.”

Héctor gulped. He just wanted this to be over.

But it wasn’t. And he also noticed something new: the entire lunchroom had fallen silent.

Héctor looked slowly behind him. Saw students at multiple tables—the sports kids, the cheerleaders, the band geeks—staring his way, all waiting for the inevitable.

His heart sank. Not just because of what was happening, but because of who he saw sitting with the meme kids:

Carmen.

She immediately twisted away when he spotted her.

“I asked you a question, man,” said Mike, and Héctor turned back around.

What else was there to do but play along at this point? So he shook his head. “Nah, I’m good,” he said.

“Are you sure about that?” Mike gestured to the tray. “One of a kind. I promise.”

“No thanks,” said Héctor. “It’s fine like it is.”

Héctor hated the words coming out of his mouth. Improvisation was his thing. So why was that the best he could come up with?

“That’s too bad.” Mike looked back on his two Minions. “Isn’t that too bad?”

“I guess Hector doesn’t want that special flavor,” said Frank, grinning ear to ear.

“You know what?” Mike stood up, then placed his hand on Héctor’s shoulder, as if he was a friend, as if he was about to impart some sort of wisdom. “You should get a sample. Free of charge.”

Please don’t, Héctor thought.

“Since I know you like that sort of thing.”

I’m sure I don’t.

“We’re friends, and this is what friends do, right?”

Most definitely not.

And then Mike spat up the biggest loogie Héctor had ever seen, and let it hang from his mouth as it dripped down. It came to rest all over Héctor’s pasta. Carlos and Frank were laughing so hard they were practically screaming, and it echoed even louder in the cafeteria because no one else was talking.

Héctor didn’t know why he gave into this impulse, but he turned sharply to look at Carmen.

Who was laughing.

“Enjoy, Hector,” Mike said, and Héctor’s name was nothing but a curse in his mouth.

The three of them walked off, snickering to one another, and the cafeteria came back alive. Well, all of it except for Héctor, whose appetite was gone. Whose meal was ruined. Whose eyes were filling with tears.

He didn’t deserve this.

. . . did he?

“I’m sorry, Héctor,” said Aishah. “I hate him so much.”

He looked up at her, his view blurred by the tears. Taylor was gathering up the scattered Capri Sun pouches.

“You don’t deserve—” Jackson began, but it was too much. Héctor couldn’t listen to it anymore.

He bolted up from his seat, leaving his tray behind, and he made for the exit on the other side of the room. Unfortunately, he would have to pass the table Carmen sat at, where there was nothing but riotous laughter. He didn’t want to see her, but if he went the other way, he’d pass by Mike and the Minions.

So Héctor made his choice. Carmen’s table couldn’t be worse than interacting with Mike. He kept his gaze down as much as he could. He pushed through the double doors and out into the cool hallway, and he was finally alone.

The tears streamed down his face; he couldn’t hold them back anymore. But he kept walking, past empty classrooms and quiet corridors. He coughed out, once, twice, and then the fit took him over, pushed him into sobbing, and he leaned up against a locker to steady himself.

Héctor finally wiped the tears off his face and looked up at a soft creak to his right.

A door slowly opened. A head popped out.

“Héctor?”

Mrs. Caroline.

If there was anyone here at school he could have talked to, it was probably her. But right then, Héctor couldn’t speak to her. He didn’t need this. He spun himself in the other direction and started running, ignoring her calling after him, until he saw the boys’ bathroom in the next hallway, and he pushed his way through the door, certain he could hide out in a stall. Like a cliché. But wasn’t that what his life was? The gay kid, bullied at school, hiding in the bathroom and crying.

But that thought died a second later when the bathroom door closed behind him.

Because he wasn’t in the boys’ bathroom.

There was no refrigerator, no bed, no television. Instead, a dim but cozy library stretched out in front of him. There were candles flickering in sconces on the wall, and multiple armchairs, all lined with something that looked like velvet, were tucked into nooks and spaces between the shelves.

And in one of them, directly across from Héctor, was Sal.

“Héctor?” Sal put a bookmark between the pages, then closed the book. They now wore a big, dark sweater that fell nearly to their knees. “Everything okay?”

Héctor wiped at his face again. He had not expected to be seen in the middle of this.

Sal rose suddenly and crossed the Room to him. “Héctor . . . what happened?”

Sal looked concerned.

They looked like they cared what had happened.

And it broke him.

It was like Sal was a key to a lock Héctor did not know he had. The tears were like a waterfall, and he was crying so hard that none of his words came out like words. They were just sounds, blubberings, coughs with vague consonants in them.

Sal ran their hand over Héctor’s back. “Slow down, slow down,” they said. “One thing at a time.”

“It’s just—” He fought for breath. “I wish that—”

His anxiety rose from his gut up into his throat, and he cut through it, refused to let it hold power over him anymore.

So Héctor blurted out the truth. “Do you know what it’s like not to fit in?”

Sal froze. For a moment, they didn’t say anything at all, and Héctor worried he had said something terrible.

But then: “Every day.”

Héctor breathed in deep, trying to slow down his heart. “Really?”

“Some days, it’s not so bad,” they explained. “Usually, those were the days I spent in the library.”

“Which is why you’re here,” said Héctor. “Did something happen today?”

They shook their head. “No, not like . . . well, whatever happened to you. Some days are just harder than others.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can we sit?” Sal asked, and the two of them plopped down in comfy armchairs that faced one another. Héctor looked to his left . . . and there was a tall glass of his abuela’s horchata.

Sal sighed. “Tell me what happened with you first.”

And for the first time since this had all started, Héctor told someone everything. His story was full of starts and stops, as he kept finding that he had to explain little things about his old school, his family, or Orangevale to Sal. Héctor had never been to Phoenix, but it sounded like a much, much bigger city than Orangevale. And then there was Ms. Heath, and Mike and the Minions, and—

“And that’s how I got in here,” he said. “I just . . . I don’t know. I was so overwhelmed, and I thought this was going to be the bathroom.”

“But the Room knew you needed it,” said Sal, smiling.

“Whoa.” Héctor sat back into his chair. “I think you’re right.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” they said. “People can be so . . . so cruel.”

“Is that what it’s like at your school?”

Sal frowned. “Sort of. I think it’s a little different for me. I confuse people. Some days, the kids have fun just trying to guess what I am, like it’s some sort of game.” They sighed. “I started dressing different, too. Just to protect myself.”

“I did, too!” Héctor said. “I mean, not for the same reason. I just didn’t want to draw attention to myself.” He gestured at himself, at the plain T-shirt and jeans he had on. “I don’t normally wear stuff like this.”

Sal lit up. “Exactly! I wanna wear different things, but I get . . . worried. Worried what people are gonna do if they see me wearing a blouse or a dress one day. . . .”

“Because they don’t know what to think of you,” said Héctor, nodding his head. “And they take it out on you.”

“Yeah, that!” said Sal. “And some people just call me names. They use ‘it’ a lot to describe me, which feels . . . bad. Like I’m a thing.”

“That’s so gross,” said Héctor. “Why do people try to make us fit their labels?”

Sal shrugged. “At least my parents support me. They’re really good about pronouns, and my dad is always ready to fight someone on my behalf.”

“But at school?”

“It’s hard because . . . well, no one knows what to do with me.” They stood up. “That’s why I keep finding myself here. Where I don’t feel judged. Or trapped.”

“I’m sorry you’re going through this alone,” said Héctor. “I know it’s not the same as my situation, but it’s got to suck.”

“Well, I’m not really alone anymore.”

A fondness spread in Héctor’s chest. He was having the same epiphany.

“I just wish there was something we could do,” they said. They helped Héctor to his feet. “Something to change the places we live in.”

“Let me know if you figure that out,” he said.

Then Sal pulled him into a hug.

The two of them stood there for a moment, and Héctor felt . . .

Safe.

When Héctor left the Room, he turned back to see that it had once again disguised itself as the boys’ bathroom. The bell announcing the end of lunch must have recently rung, as students were pouring through the hallways. Héctor watched as a kid rushed into the bathroom, and inside, he could see the sinks and stalls.

Back to normal.

He walked the few feet to Mrs. Caroline’s classroom, and it was only once he entered it that he remembered that his art teacher had seen him crying.

Mrs. Caroline rushed up to him. “Héctor, is everything okay?”

Heat rose to his cheeks. “Sorry, Mrs. Caroline,” he said. “Just having a bad day.”

He shuffled to his seat, but she followed right behind him. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” She tapped on his desk after he sat down. “I did want you to know that I was very pleased with your recent project.”

He scratched his head. “My what?”

She raised a finger to the wall in the rear of the classroom. “I really liked your last pastel piece,” she explained. “There’s something so touching about it. And mysterious. You’re showing such growth in a very short span of time, Héctor. Good job.”

There, prominently mounted near pieces from other students, was a drawing he had done.

It was a door. A door opening on a secret, colorful world.

Héctor looked back to Mrs. Caroline, but she had returned to her desk, shuffling papers as more kids streamed into the room. Did she say something nice about his art so she could cheer him up? Maybe. He had to admit it felt nice that she noticed that he was trying so hard.

Héctor smiled at Mrs. Caroline, even though she wasn’t looking. Today had felt like he was on a roller coaster, his emotions reaching new highs and lows. But as class started, Héctor let the tension of Mike out of his body.

You can beat this, he told himself.

And he was starting to believe it.