twin rivers. He bicycled home, his blooddarkened shirt pressed to his nose. When he examined his face in the mirror, he saw that he had a scrape on his chin. He liked that. He thought Estela might pity him. In history class she would cry, “Oh, what happened?” and then he would talk nonsense about a fight with three vatos.

But Estela had been absent the Monday and Tuesday after his mishap. By the time she returned on Wednesday his chin had nearly healed.

José figured out another way to get to know her. He had noticed the grimy, sweat-blackened handle of a racket poking out of her backpack. He snapped his fingers and said to himself, “Racquetball. I’ll challenge her to a game.”