Chapter 1 Chapter 1 IT WAS BAD ENOUGH THAT Mario''s parents were banishing him off the face of the earth for one insignificant, harmless misdemeanor, but did they also have to hire someone to watch his every step? "Mario Gallegos?" A woman with a tight bun, a tighter smile, and an all-black uniform opened the taxi door as soon as it arrived at the Hopkins International Airport in Cleveland. To make matters worse, she''d pronounced his last name "Gally-goes" instead of the correct Spanish way. For a second, Mario thought of telling the nice cab driver he was being kidnapped. The other option would be the old "no espeeca eengleech" standby. Except that a glimpse of his sixth-grade school picture, the one that made him look like a gangster, and not in a cool way, shone from the tablet at the crook of her arm. He grunted and exited the taxi from the traffic-side door, not the one opened for him. "Who are you?" Mario demanded. The woman held out the lanyard with her ID card as if she really were an FBI agent proving her identity and high-security clearance.
"My name is Frances, and I''m here to escort you to your departure gate." Too late now to get back in the cab as the driver heaved Mario''s suitcase out of the trunk. "Have a good flight!" "Your mother said she left you money to tip the driver," the FBI nanny reprimanded him, as if he were three and had forgotten to wash his hands after going pee pee in the potty. Mario frowned. The whole point of giving him cash for the tip had been to teach him responsabilidad (Papi) and accountability (Mami). Having this FBI nanny remind him to do it defeated everything. The driver grinned and flashed the folded five-dollar bill in his hand that Mario had slipped him in exchange for the suitcase. "He gave it to me already.
Thank you, my friend." "Yeah, thanks, man." Mario jerked up his chin in farewell. As much as he had wanted to keep the money, just to annoy his parents, he couldn''t cheat the driver. The FBI nanny turned to Mario with a stern, mind-reading glare. She''d obviously been given an account of his record and even had one of those hands-free phone devices that clipped to one ear. She broke her eye contact when someone tooted their horn, and seeing his chance, Mario bolted into the crowded terminal. Unfortunately, he''d packed too much, and even with three-sixty-degree wheels, his bag wasn''t built for quick crowd maneuvering.
Double unfortunately, he was spotted before he was able to hide himself among a family with six kids. Must be his darn tracked phone. One mistake and his parents acted like he''d burgled the US Treasury. "Please don''t try that again," the FBI nanny scolded him the second she materialized next to him. "Or what, you''re going to handcuff me to you?" Mario demanded so loud, all eight members of the family in front of him turned to stare. He pulled his hood over his head. Once again, she gave him that stern, patronizing look. "No one''s handcuffing you.
You''re a little boy, not a criminal." A little boy? He swallowed several times and, once he was calmer, tried a different tactic. "Look, I don''t need a babysitter. I''ve flown more times than I can count. I''m twelve. I know how to read the boards for flight information." "I''m just doing my job." If only he could make a run for it again.
But first he''d have to slip his phone into one of the bags of the large family and hope they were flying to Bangkok. Try tracking that. Seriously, though, if his parents thought he was such an irresponsible flight risk, they should have brought him to the airport themselves. Or at least come out of their home offices to say goodbye when the taxi had arrived at the house. Being escorted through the airport might have been bearable if he were only around strangers, people he''d never see again. But no, it had to become personal. "Yo, Mar-ee-yo!" called a familiar voice when they got to the gates. Swaggering over were Derek and Patrick, from his basketball team.
They held their arms up for the high-five handshake the teammates used in greeting. To add insult to injury, they both sported brand-new limited-edition Air Jordans, the very thing that had gotten Mario into this whole "we don''t know what to do with you" mess with his parents in the first place. "Hey!" Mario plastered on a wide smile and slapped each of their backs in return. "Where are you guys off to?" "Chicago," Derek bragged. "Dad got home-plate tickets for the Guardians-White Sox game tonight." "Nice," Mario lied. He secretly found baseball boring, and even more secretly, he really wanted to ask if he could go to the game with them. Patrick''s face twisted in confusion as he stared at Mario''s hovering chaperone.
"You''re not Mario''s mom, are you?" "No way!" Mario said. Not that the question should have surprised him. In all the years they''d been in school with Mario, the boys had probably only seen Mami a couple of times. "I''m Frances, Mr. Gally-goes''s unaccompanied-minor escort." For a second Derek and Patrick gave them blank expressions. Then they doubled over in fits of laughter, as if she had said that she was also responsible for changing Mario''s diapers. At least they didn''t pull out their phones to document the shame.
If his whole basketball team found out, Mario wouldn''t be able to show his face in Ohio again. Not that he knew he''d be back. Papi had only bought him a one-way ticket. "It''s Gallegos," Mario corrected, pulling up his hood even farther. Just in case the boys'' phones did come out. "Pronounced ''Gah-YEH-gos.''?" Instead of responding, the FBI nanny touched her earpiece as if listening to something. Was Mami seriously overhearing everything they said? Derek and Patrick''s mom came over and wrapped Mario in a big hug.
She was like one of those perfect humans from TV shows: worked full time at her doctor''s practice and still managed to drop the boys off at school before the first bell and never forgot to pick them up from practice. Whenever Mario had been over for dinner, she actually cooked, too. Like, with a pan and lots of fresh ingredients. "Mario, sweetie, we heard what happened. Are you okay?" she asked, holding him at arm''s length and examining him up and down. He suddenly wished he''d taken a second look in the mirror before leaving the house. "Yeah, I''m fine," Mario said. Like he''d say anything different.
"Is it true the cops were called?" Derek asked, his eyes wide in awe. "Is that why Mary Poppins is here?" Patrick jerked his thumb at the FBI nanny. Mario tugged at the cords on his hoodie. Seriously, just kill me now. "No, I--" Mario started, but found he couldn''t explain. His friends'' mom seemed to understand something Mario didn''t and gave him another hug. "I''m sorry, sweetie. Call if you need me.
Boys, they''re boarding us now." Mario watched them join their dad for their family trip. Forget sending his phone off to Bangkok. Mario really should have asked them if they''d be open to acquiring a third son. Bet Derek and Patrick wouldn''t be shipped off if they''d done something wrong. "They seemed nice," the FBI nanny said, reading his mind. "Don''t even," he snapped. His flight wasn''t due to board for another forty minutes, and he couldn''t stand her one more second.
He grabbed his backpack and stormed off to the one place she couldn''t follow. Mario burst into a bathroom stall, slamming the door so hard it jammed into the lock mechanism. He braced his back against a side panel and raised his feet to press against the other so he "sat" suspended in midair. Can you please tell the FBI nanny to lay off? Mario texted Mami, though he didn''t read any of her previous fifty-two messages. Stop treating me like a baby. I know what I''m doing. Mami responded so quickly, Mario wouldn''t have been surprised if she had the message drafted already: Ms. Frances is there to make sure you behave and get on the plane.
Mario muttered some choice words in Spanish, which, judging by his stall neighbor''s chuckle, were understood by at least one person in the bathroom. He went back to ignoring his mother and opened a game app to pass the time. It didn''t load. He checked that he was connected to the free airport Wi-Fi and tried again. Nothing. Not only that, no streaming music or videos, no search results on the browser. You have got to be kidding! He put in his earbuds. Time to handle this face to face.
"Did you block all my apps?" he shouted in Spanish when Mami, from the attic, and Papi, from the basement, picked up the video call from their respective home computers. Even when Mario was in the house, most communication with either parent happened through screens. "Tienes que aprender," Papi said, his eyes clearly shifting between the two massive programming monitors in his home office. "I can''t have you getting into more trouble and acting like un niñito malcriado without consequences. You''ve forfeited any trust we had in you by stealing from us." "And we both agreed you needed less screen time," Mami said in English. The sound of her clicking fingers typing code transferred through the speaker. Mario squeezed his phone hard, wishing he were strong enough to crush it in his b.