“Are you good?” Estela asked flatly. She picked up a slice of tomato that had slid out of her sandwich.

“Pretty good,” he said without thinking as he slipped into a lie. “I won a couple of tournaments.”

He watched as the tomato slice slithered down Estela’s throat. She wiped her mouth and said, “Sure. How about after school on Friday.”

“That’s tomorrow,” José said.

“That’s right. Today’s Thursday and tomorrow’s Friday.” She flattened the empty milk carton with her fist and slapped her science book closed. Then she hurled the carton and her balled-up lunch bag at the plastic-lined garbage can. “What’s your name?”

“Camacho. José Camacho.”

“I’m Estela. My friends call me Stinger.”

“Stinger?”

“Yeah, Stinger. I’ll meet you at the courts at 3:45.” She got up and headed toward the library.