stage of his life. But deep down he’d been expecting something like this all along, and knew that a complaint here would only worsen his mood. It was a luxury his relatives did not have: complaints about waiting rooms.

When they left for Buenos Aires, Dehlia and Itzhak were grilled by friends and relatives about why they would go to a place in such economic disarray. “It’s actually turning around for them,” they said. “The shekel will go far, and the rockets cannot reach.”

“It’s been a good year,” their friends said, meaning not that many bombings. Meaning: how can you leave home?

“It will continue to be one,” Dehlia and Itzhak answered, and raised their glasses.

In Argentina the streets still showed signs of riots, but the glass had been cleaned up and stores were opening, and there was no waiting around for life to come to them. At the synagogue they met Jewish families who had them over for shabbat, though they’d never made it a priority to celebrate back in Israel. Shmuli and his little brother made friends, started rolling their tongues with ease. They played soccer in the streets and the parks, which would make the grassy fields of Shmuli’s future university’s intramural fields a luxury.

He would become fast and limber, bold in the way he threw himself at the ball on that luxurious grass, not having to fear for scrapes and cuts. A girl on his co-ed team would at first laugh at his movements, then feel a tingle of anticipation before their games, longing to see him again. The temporariness of his visa would cause her anxiety even before they were together, and eventually, when he had to cross a border yet again, she would decide how her life, too, would be shaped by migration.

But that would come later, after he learned to sit parallel to the table, after Spanish imprinted itself into him, after that little room in which he waited a mere half hour, and, without a hand clamped to his mouth, without anyone hunting him down, without him having to flee, his passport was stamped, and he was waved through into the country.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Adi Alsaid is the author of several young adult novels, including Let’s Get Lost, Brief Chronicle of Another Stupid Heartbreak, and We Didn’t Ask for This. He was born and raised in Mexico City and now lives in Chicago.

More books from critically acclaimed author

ADI ALSAID!

More books from Adi Alsaid:

We Didn’t Ask For This

Brief Chronicle of Another Stupid Heartbreak

North of Happy

Never Always Sometimes

Let’s Get Lost

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ISBN-13: 9781488069383

Come On In

Copyright © 2020 by Adi Alsaid

All the Colors of Goodbye

Copyright © 2020 by Nafiza Azad

The Wedding

Copyright © 2020 by Sara Farizan

Where I’m From

Copyright © 2020 by Misa Sugiura

Salvation and the Sea

Copyright © 2020 by Lilliam Rivera

Volviéndome

Copyright © 2020 by Alaya Dawn Johnson

The Trip

Copyright © 2020 by Sona Charaipotra

The Curandera and the Alchemist

Copyright © 2020 by Maria E. Andreu

A Bigger Tent

Copyright © 2020 by Maurene Goo

First Words

Copyright © 2020 by Varsha Bajaj

Family Everything

Copyright © 2020 by Yamile Saied Méndez

When I Was White

Copyright © 2020 by Justine Larbalestier

from Golden State

Copyright © 2020 by Isabel Quintero

Hard to Say

Copyright © 2020 by Sharon Morse

Confessions of an Ecuadorkian

Copyright © 2020 by Zoraida Córdova

Fleeing, Leaving, Moving

Copyright © 2020 by Adi Alsaid

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at CustomerService@Harlequin.com.

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