My chest reinflates, the putrid air filling my lungs. I wait a while to make sure no one else is coming, then I rise to my full height.
Now is my only shot.
Either I break Ma out, or I get deported with her.
I creep out from my hiding spot and edge along the wall. Pressing my ear to the salon’s door, I hear heavy footfalls, furniture being moved, things being tossed, the static of radio transmissions, the woman agent shouting questions, the tiny baby wailing …
I have to do something. The investigators could show up any minute.
My hand trembles as I try the doorknob, hoping it doesn’t lock automatically. I could almost smile when I feel it turn.
As gently as I can, I open the door just far enough to squeeze myself through, then I shut it soundlessly behind me. I spin around to find a place to hide, and I stifle my gasp.
An officer is just a few feet away, his back to me as he rummages through the drawers of a cabinet.
Nerves churn into nausea in my stomach, and the milanesas I had for lunch threaten to make a spectacular exit.
Not even daring to breathe, I case my surroundings. Ahead is the hall I walked down before, with the kitchen on one side and the office on the other. My knees tremble as I tiptoe past the agent into the kitchen, and I duck inside. Then I go to cram myself in the crevice behind the door, only someone has beaten me to it.
The teen girl I knocked down earlier is staring at me through wide russet eyes.
How did she manage to stay hidden?
Her hoodie is zipped up to her chin, and her stomach looks bigger than before, like she’s harboring something. For a stupid moment I hope it’s the baby. Then I realize it’s most likely drugs.
Since I’m visible from the hallway, I stuff myself behind the refrigerator, even though it’s a less secure spot, and wait.
“Williams, over here,” I hear a man say, and the officer by the cabinet walks past to the medical area.
The girl and I lock gazes. Strangely, she seems less scared now than she did when I shoved her.
“Vamos,” she mouths, gesturing for me to follow.
I slip out behind her, and we spy the two agents up ahead, in the medical area, inspecting a clipboard. The girl pads to the back door, the one I came in through, but I stay pressed against the hallway wall.
I need a chance to slip past ICE and find Ma. She’s probably being held in the salon up front.
The girl looks at me quizzically, and I shake my head. Narrowing her gaze like I’m mad, she carefully opens the door while I keep watch on the officers for a reaction. When I glance at her again, she’s holding it open, giving me one last chance to escape despite how I treated her.
I shake my head again but give her a small smile that I hope conveys both my apology and gratitude. She nods, and my whole body cringes in anticipation of the lock’s quiet click as she slips out—
The door slams so hard, the walls rattle.
“Go!” shouts one of the officers, and my pulse leaps up my throat as I dive into the kitchen again.
Cold sweat coats my face as footsteps race past, and a moment later the door to the salon opens as the woman agent chases after her partners. When she’s followed them into the alley, I run out too, but in the opposite direction.
Weaving through the chaos of items strewn across the floor, I fling myself into the beauty salon.
Ma, Julieta, the woman in the white lab coat, and the two patients from earlier are handcuffed to a row of chairs bolted to the floor. The baby is in a bassinet at its mother’s feet, where she can’t comfort it.
“Manu!”
Ma looks more terrified than relieved to see me as I run over and throw my arms around her. “¿Qué hacés acá?” she asks in my ear. “¡Corré!”
“I’m not leaving without you,” I say, refusing her order to run. I may have obeyed Perla when she told me to go, but I could never abandon Ma. I study her handcuffs, wondering how I can free her and the others.
“There are more agents outside!” Ma says in a strained whisper.
I turn, and through the glass I see them. One is on the phone, and another two are interrogating a street vendor. I drop down by Ma’s knees, next to the bassinet.
“Por favor, fíjate cómo está mi bebé,” says the baby’s mother, her voice choked with tears. I look at her baby like she asks. The little girl is asleep, dried tearstains caked on her cheeks like she tuckered herself out from crying.
The government often separates undocumented parents from their children—and since this girl was probably born in this country, who knows what will happen to her. In this moment, all I want to do is spare this baby everything that’s coming. But just like everyone else here, I’m powerless to protect her.
The whole world has failed her.
My heart squirms like it’s been caught in someone’s fist, the numbing effect of the shock and adrenaline wearing off. The fear, fury, injustice of it all brews in my belly like a boiling cauldron that’s been left over flames for too long—and now the feelings are frothing up my chest, into my throat.
None of this is fucking right.
Man-made borders shouldn’t matter more than people.
“Está durmiendo,” I finally whisper, letting the woman know her baby is sleeping. The words come out squeezed, like they’re being pushed past a boulder lodged in the back of my mouth.
I lean over and press a kiss to the girl’s head, and her sweet scent rushes up my nostrils. It’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before, and I let my lips linger on her skin a moment longer.
A car screeches up, and we all snap our gazes to the street.
A couple of men climb out of the vehicle, and all three ICE agents approach them. They must be the investigators who’ve come to question Ma and the others.
“Manu, you have to go,” says Ma, her tone urgent.
“No. I’ll stay and get deported with you. We’ll go home together—”
“You can’t!” she cries out, and I flinch, worried they heard her outside. But all five men are huddled together, trading notes. Any moment now, they’ll walk in here, or the three agents in the alley will return—
“I’ll be fine,” says Ma, her brown eyes sparkling as they stare into mine. “I’ll be with my family.” Her expression lightens, and she almost looks like some part of her longed for this—but that’s ridiculous.
“I’m your family.” It comes out fiercer than I intended.
“Listen to me. Perla is at Hospital de los Santos. Find her and do whatever she tells you. I’ll contact her as soon as I can to check in. We’ll figure this out—”
I yank off my sunglasses in defiance. If she won’t listen, then I’ll have to show her I’m not following her orders anymore.
I’m not going anywhere without her.
The four women gasp out loud at the sight of my eyes, and the one in the white coat asks, “¿Qué tiene?” What’s wrong with her?
Like I’m diseased.
Ignoring her, Ma says, “Your eyes will always give you away, Solcito.” Tears flow freely down her face, and my own eyes burn at the sound of the old nickname.
“If you come back to Argentina, they’ll know you’re his daughter,” she goes on. “Right now, you’re safe because they don’t know you exist—they’re only after me, probably because of the Septis.”