All Over the Map

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

I love cheese. The creepiest man in the world could pull up in a windowless white van, slide open the door, and say, “Get in, pretty girl. I’ve got cheese.” And I would be the top headline in the news that night: “Kidnapped Teen Lured by Muenster.”

But when we walk into the Sandovals’ huge house and Mia’s dad calls from the kitchen that he made grilled cheese, it barely registers. I have stuff on my mind. There’s no room for cheese.

I stop to hang my backpack by the door while Mia beelines for the kitchen, but I get lost in my thoughts long enough that Dr. Sandoval pokes his head out.

“Kendall, come eat. I can’t promise Mia won’t eat yours if you don’t hurry.” He disappears again.

The Sandoval house is sprawling and gracious, a Spanish Colonial revival, Mom would say, and she knows the specs since she sold it to them when Mia was in kindergarten. It’s how we became friends, and I know every inch of this house as well as my own. I pass the family room on the way to the kitchen. It’s full of earthy tones, shelves of picture books and photos, and closets bursting with toys for the grandbabies.

“Kendall’s being weird,” Mia tells Dr. Sandoval as I settle onto the stool next to her.

“Am not,” I say.

“Weird how?” Dr. Sandoval asks.

“Quiet,” Mia says. “And she didn’t come running in here when you said grilled cheese.”

“That’s serious. You sick, Kendall?” Dr. Sandoval asks. He’s a heart surgeon. “Normally I see patients because of too much cheese, but in your case, not enough is a symptom.”

“Boo,” Mia’s oldest brother, Carlos, calls from the family room. He’s rocking his baby girl and watching the news. “The older you get, the worse your dad jokes are.”

“My powers are growing.” Dr. Sandoval wipes his hands on the dishtowel slung over his shoulder. “Eat. I made it Mexican style with pico de gallo.”

Mia digs in, and I’m glad she’s not paying attention to me anymore. I’m not even sure how to explain the decision I’m considering.

“I’m fine. This sandwich cured me,” I mumble around a mouthful of cheese and bread. “It’s magic.” I like the sweet burst of tomatoes and the slight bite of the onion in the salsa.

But Dr. Sandoval isn’t fooled. “What’s ailing you, mija?” I love it when he calls me that, like I’m his seventh kid. “Everything okay at school? How’s pre-calc?”

“School’s fine, I promise.”

“Tell me about it while I make Carlos another sandwich.” Dr. Sandoval reaches for the bread.

“I wish I had time for another one before work,” Carlos says, climbing to his feet. “I can’t wait until I’m back on first shift again. I’m going to put the baby in the crib and head out.”

“I’ll put her down,” Dr. Sandoval says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I give her kisses?” I ask. I’m obsessed with the baby.

Carlos hands the baby over to me, and Mia and I immediately rain kisses all over her baby chick head. She smells like milk and lavender.

Carlos gives us a few minutes to coo before taking the sleepy baby to Dr. Sandoval. “Thanks, Pops. Melissa will be here by dinner to pick her up.” He’s a cop. His wife, a nurse, works opposite schedules so that they don’t have to put the baby in daycare. “Love to Mom.” He disappears through the garage door with a jingle of keys. Dr. Sandoval heads upstairs with the baby curled against his chest.

Mia lowers her voice. “Did something happen at school? Was peer counseling heavy?”

Yes. “No. For real, I’m good.” I usually tell Mia everything, but this is one thing I’ve never talked to her about.

“Nope, I don’t believe you.” She cocks her head and studies me. “Was it the college preview assembly? Because you don’t need to stress. You’ll get an academic scholarship to Boulder.”

I seize on this as an excuse for my quiet because Mia is relentless. “It’s going to take more than grades. I need amazing extracurriculars—”

“You have them.”

“No, I don’t. I’m the secretary of everything and the president of nothing. Writing an essay to NYU about how I’m the very best at being slightly above average won’t get me in, much less a scholarship.”

She scoffs at the mention of NYU and pushes one of her curls out of her brown eyes. Her head is a corkscrew riot, like her hair knew what her personality was going to be and grew to match it. “Boulder is a great school.”

It is. It would make Mom happy if I go there. But she and Mia don’t get it. The world feels bigger than Adobe, our dying steel town. It feels bigger than Colorado. Mia has roots here as deep as the oaks outside. Even her brothers who have moved away are still just in Denver and Boulder, coming back to Adobe often.

I go back to my sandwich. I’ve been peer counseling the same freshman girl all semester, and today she was stressed over family drama. Her dad ordered one of those mail-in DNA kits so he could learn more about his ancestry. He was hoping to figure out where his family emigrated from in Europe. Instead, he found a half-brother he didn’t know about, and now he’s in a huge fight with her grandparents and she feels caught in the middle.

In peer counseling, it’s my job to listen without judgment. And I love my job. I’ve listened to my peer mentee decompress about school and friendship drama all semester. I almost always relate. But I never expected to relate this much, and I barely heard anything she said after she brought up the DNA test.

I’ve grown up with just Mom. And that was fine until high school. But the more I figure myself out, the less alike we are, and sometimes . . .

Sometimes I wonder who I am like. I’ve thought about taking a DNA test before and always decided against it. It would hurt her. She thinks we’re great as we are, just the two of us.

But I’m so overdue for answers.

Except . . . what if I find answers I don’t like?

But I haven’t been able to think of anything else since peer counseling.

I’m still trying to figure out the right move when Dr. Sandoval walks back in.

“Kendall is still being weird,” Mia informs him.

“Mia, stop.” But she doesn’t.

“I think she’s spiraling about college,” she says. “She thinks she’s basic, and she needs to be Wonder Woman or something. Talk her down.”

“You don’t think you’re Wonder Woman?” Dr. Sandoval says. “That’s not true.”

“Not only am I not interesting, nothing interesting has even happened to me. Name one thing that’s exceptional about me,” I challenge him.

“You’re a good listener,” he says. “You are the Wonder Woman of good listening.”

I know he thinks that’s a huge compliment, but it just makes me deflate further. “Great. ‘Dear NYU: You should let me in because I’m a good listener.’ I don’t know, Dr. S. I’m not sure that’s going to shake loose the scholarship money.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Kendall.” Dr. Sandoval’s voice is warm and gentle. “Your interest in people brings out stuff that they wouldn’t share so easily with others. What a gift. You don’t believe me yet, but you’re going to do big good in the world someday.”

Dr. Sandoval talks to all of his kids this way, and his easy inclusion of me settles around me like a dryer-fresh blanket, so much so that I ask the question that’s really weighing on me.

“What do you do when you have to make a hard choice?” I ask.

Mia’s gaze sharpens. “Like what?”

I shrug. “Just a hard choice.”

Dr. Sandoval studies me, his eyes searching mine. “Usually, a choice is only hard if you want two things equally. I assume you’re not choosing between a clear moral right and wrong?”

“I’m not.” Just between hurting Mom or figuring out my biological identity. NO BIG DEAL .

He gives a single, slow nod. “Flip a coin.”

Mia snorts, but he doesn’t smile.

He reaches into his pocket and fishes out a quarter, setting it in front of me. “I mean it. Every choice between two things you want equally should be decided by a quarter, not because it will give you the right answer, but because the moment it’s in the air, your heart will tell you what you really want.”

I take the quarter and run my finger over the edge, the ridges rough against my thumb. “I don’t think it’s that easy.”

“Sure it is,” Mia says, plucking it from my fingers. “Do I want one more grilled cheese sandwich or ice cream?” Then she flips it into the air and yells “grilled cheese” before it even lands. “It worked, Dad. My heart knew it wanted another grilled cheese.”

“My heart wants one too.” I run with the joke so Mia won’t ask more questions about the decision I’m actually trying to make.

We eat and answer Dr. Sandoval’s questions about school while he fries up two more sandwiches.

“All right,” he says, turning off the burner. “I’m going to go sit by the crib and read over my case notes for my surgery in the morning. You girls clean up in here.”

“How’d you get stuck babysitting anyway?” Mia asks.

“Stuck? It’s not like baby Lucy is hard after your brothers.” He points at Mia. “She’s not even as hard as you were. And she always says thank you for cheese sandwiches.”

“Thanks for the sandwich, Dad,” Mia says. “What’s Mom doing?”

Dr. Sandoval waves his hand in the direction of “I have no idea.” “Said she figured out how to end her book. I didn’t have surgery this afternoon, so I came home so she could write.”

Mrs. Sandoval writes a series of crime novels about a nurse who solves medical murders. Dr. Sandoval complains she only married him for his doctor stories even though she didn’t start writing until Mia was in first grade. But it’s been ten years, and even I know what “she figured out her ending” means: Mrs. Sandoval will disappear into her upstairs office for a few days and write until the book is done.

Mia nods. “When do you think she’ll finish?”

“I hope tonight. If not, you better plan to babysit after school tomorrow.”

“Can’t. I have softball. Road game.”

He sighs. “Sorry, sweetie. I don’t think either of us can make it.”

Mia shrugs. “It’s okay. We’ll win. Gabe is driving down from Boulder to watch.”

I keep my eyes on my plate and try not to show any reaction to hearing her brother’s name, but my final bite of sandwich tastes like paper in my mouth.

“Good boy,” Dr. Sandoval says. “He’s my favorite son.”

“I’m telling your other four sons,” Mia says. “Don’t stress. Melissa’s mom will babysit if Mom’s still writing.”

“I’ll do it,” I say. I play with Lucy every time Mia watches her. Ten-month-old Lucy doing baby sign language for “thank you” and “more” is pretty much reason enough to babysit. The cuteness slays me.

“Ah, no, mija. You’re sweet, but we can’t make you do that,” Dr. Sandoval says. “Carlos and Melissa only let family babysit.”

And there it is. I’ve grown up going on Sandoval family vacations and attending confirmations and birthdays—and there were a lot with Mia’s older brothers—but at some point, there’s always a line where I’m not family anymore. Today, taking care of Sandoval babies is it.

I feel it more and more lately. Like when Mia’s brother Adrian got married last month and I was invited to the wedding but not the rehearsal dinner. Or when Mrs. Sandoval bought me Christmas pajamas to match everyone else, but I wasn’t in the sibling gift exchange.

Family, but not family enough.

“Cool. Let me know if you can’t find someone to babysit,” I say, pretending to check my phone so he won’t see that I’m hurt. And I find myself typing in a search for DNA tests.

I skim the first page, then slide the phone into my pocket and slip from the stool. “I better get going. Have to make dinner. Call you later, Mia?”

She nods and waves goodbye as Dr. Sandoval gives me a soft squeeze on the shoulder as I head out of the kitchen.

Usually, I linger at Mia’s house as long as I can, but today I swipe my backpack from its hook and hurry home.

Maybe it’s time to find out who my family actually is.

I stop at the sidewalk in front of our house and pull out the quarter from Dr. Sandoval. Heads, I order the test. Tails, I don’t.

I send the quarter spinning into the air, but Dr. Sandoval is right.

I already know what I’m going to do before it lands.