Your Priceless Advice

Excerpt

Your Priceless Advice
Celeste Castro © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

“Reservation under Sophie Turner,” Sophie said as she approached the restaurant host. She balanced her cell phone in one hand, her purse over her shoulder, and her laptop bag slung over the other arm.

“For two?”

“Correct. He’s on his way.”

“Of course. Right this way.” The host walked her to the table.

“Thank you,” Sophie said as she settled in. She welcomed a few moments to herself. She’d just started reading an infuriating article in the Washington Post about a group of elementary school teachers in the state of Idaho who had dressed up as stereotypical portrayals of Mexicans for their school Halloween party, and another group had dressed up as Trump’s border wall. As a Latina herself, this kind of shit pissed her off and fueled her drive to fuck shit up. In Sophie’s line of work as an equity consultant, stories like this weren’t out of the ordinary, unfortunately.

She continued reading, feeling something familiar. “What?” she muttered. “No way.”

Valley View Elementary.

A light flickered in her mind. Sophie had gone to school there. Ages ago. Her family had moved shortly before her freshman year of high school. She caught glimpses of her life way back when and of her childhood best friend. She smiled as she always did when she remembered that time in her life.

Sophie continued reading, shaking her head at the stupidity, and the absurdity—the unapologetic display of racism and the degree to which the administrators defended their staff.

“Was this in poor taste? Sure,” Principal Dennis Wheeler had stated. “Was it done with malicious intent? No.”

Sophie was heartened to read about a small but growing group of teachers, parents, and community members asking for resignations and changes at their school.

What this school needed wouldn’t come about easily or cheaply, not to mention the culture shock shake-up this type of change would require. Sophie wished she could offer her services, but she didn’t have the bandwidth to take on something else this year. She should hire another consultant—yet another to-do on her never-ending list—especially if the work kept coming in at its current pace.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Dad.” Sophie stood and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked, sitting opposite her.

“Just got here. I was reading about—”

“I ran into a bit of traffic on my way, and parking was a nightmare.”

“Good afternoon,” their waiter said cheerfully, filling their glasses with ice water while another waiter set down a basket of sourdough bread. “It seems your entire party is here. Are you interested in something else to drink besides water?”

“Actually,” her dad said after sipping his water, “there is one more person we’re waiting on.”

“What?” Sophie asked, her chest tightening.

“Surely, I told you.” He tore off a piece of bread and shoved it in his mouth.

“You know you didn’t.”

“What’s one more?” Her dad brushed the crumbs off his fingers.

“This is a table for two. Clearly.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Their waiter smiled eagerly, oblivious to the growing friction. “So, one more?”

“One sec. Dad?”

“Odette’s coming.”

Sophie closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you this is wildly inappropriate? We aren’t together anymore. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. You of all people need to accept that we’re getting a divorce.”

“You’re not divorced yet.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You can work it out, honey. If you really want to.”

“Dad.”

“So, a chair?” the waiter asked through a perfect grin.

“Hold on.” Sophie’s dad raised a finger in the air.

“No chair,” Sophie pleaded.

“No chair?” The waiter eyed them suspiciously.

“It’s not like I planned it. We were talking, and I invited her. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Then you weren’t thinking.” Sophie didn’t usually make it a habit of talking to her dad so boldly, but this warranted it.

He gave her the look, and she dropped her gaze and slumped her shoulders.

“You know she lives in the area. I thought that was why you chose this place. It’s rude not to invite her. What’s the harm?”

“Why are you still talking to each other?”

“You two were together for nine years, Sophie. She’s like a daughter to me.”

“Chair?” The waiter shifted from foot to foot while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Please, another chair would be great,” her dad said, sending the waiter on his way. He returned a short while later with another chair and an additional place setting.

“Fuck’s sake,” Sophie muttered under her breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“You can still be friends with her, Sophie. You can still be decent to each other.”

“Dad, I can’t be friends with an abusive—”

“Stop. Right now.” Her dad shot his hand up so quickly he almost knocked over his glass of water. “You’re being dramatic. You can’t blame Odette for being strong in her convictions.”

Sophie scoffed. “Strong in her convictions? Try verbally abusive, controlling, and manipulative.”

“Okay. Okay. You made your point. Can we move on? Please?”

Sophie placed her hand over her chest, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. A dull pain stabbed behind her eyes. To top it off, Odette arrived at that moment, all swaying hips and smiles, as if the last time they’d talked hadn’t resulted in a screaming match.

“Hey, girlie,” Odette said, turning her cheek toward Sophie, obviously expecting a more affectionate greeting than Sophie rolling her eyes.

“There she goes again, rolling her eyes like a fifteen-year-old.” Odette shared a smirk with Sophie’s dad. They kissed each other on the cheek and sat down.

“Sophie, I didn’t raise you to be this rude.”

“Clearly, you did.”

“She takes after her mother, I’m afraid.” Her dad winked at Odette and shoved another piece of bread into his mouth.

“Oh, I’m fully aware,” Odette said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Can you both leave my mother out of this? Please.” Sophie kept her tone steady. “You never even knew her, Odette.”

“Jesus. Calm down.” Odette sipped her water. “So, did you tell her yet?” She shared a look with her dad.

“Tell me what? Dad?”

He avoided eye contact when she glared at him.

“Drinks first.” Odette clapped her hands before waving down the waiter.

“Good afternoon. Looks like we’re all here. Are we ready to order?”

“A glass of the Pinot Gris from Oregon. Make it two, right, Soph?”

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

“Bring it just in case, would you please? I have a feeling we’ll be celebrating.” Odette rubbed her hands together.

“Very good. And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have a Jameson. Neat.”

“Right away.”

Sophie eyed the closest exit in case she needed to make a break for it.

“So,” Odette said. “Do you want to hear what we might potentially be celebrating?”

“Not really.” Sophie reached for her water and downed the entire thing.

Odette sighed. “I’ve talked to a few of the partners at Turner. They’ve agreed to brush everything under the rug. They’re willing to give you a second chance.”

“I quit. Remember? Two years ago. It was very expensive for the firm, if you recall.”

Odette blinked several times. “Sophie, we have a lot of equity work coming in right now that I think you’d be great at.”

“Did you just compliment me?”

“What?”

“I’m very happy where I’m at.”

“Still trying to get your little consulting firm up and running?”

“Trying to,” her dad said, sharing a condescending look with Odette.

Sophie hated when they conspired because she knew what came next—a full-on gang-up on Sophie, a made-for-TV moment.

“As much as I want to defend my ‘little consulting firm,’ it’s none of your business.”

“How cute.”

“It is quite cute, Odette. Thank you.”

“Sophie. This is serious work.”

“And consulting with schools on their equity strategies and undoing centuries of systemic racism isn’t?” Nope. Nope. She shook her head and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to let them drag her down by getting defensive.

“At least think about it. We have millions of dollars at our disposal for this type of work. Dollars you’d be responsible for managing and can direct however you see fit. All your little passion projects could become a reality.”

“This isn’t about passion projects, Odette. You obviously weren’t listening to me when—”

“You’re right. I didn’t listen as well as I should have. I’m listening now, and I wish you’d listen to me for once.”

“For once?”

For once! Sophie had listened plenty in their relationship. She’d followed without question. She’d been a good little robot and devoted wife who did everything asked of her in every sense of the word. She’d searched deep within herself and had somehow found the strength to convince Odette to move out—to give her space, as a trial—if only to give Sophie time to “come to her senses” so they could “fall in love all over again.” The more time Sophie spent alone, the clearer it became. She’d endured nine years of emotional abuse at the hands of the woman sitting across from her. She’d been in an abusive relationship. An abusive relationship. Just thinking about it caused her a tremendous amount of shame even though everything she’d read about the topic said she shouldn’t be ashamed. Well, it wasn’t as easy as they claimed.

“So?” Odette said.

“Was there a question in there for me?”

“Seriously?” The tips of Odette’s ears flushed.

Sophie counted the moments until the real Odette, in all her terrible glory, broke through. Sophie wasn’t above creating a scene. They’d fought in front of her dad and in public before. But she didn’t want to go there. She didn’t want to fight. Not here. Not now. Sophie wished she could lie down and sleep through the next few months.

“Honey, just think about it, okay? This is something Odette actually knows about much better than you.”

Her dad had never been on her side, never backed her up. Never protected her. So typical.

“Yes. Please. That’s all I’m asking. Look. Sophie. You made your point when you quit the firm. Equity work is important. You have everyone’s attention now. I know you’ve been desperate for this moment. We want you back at Turner. You’re a decent attorney.”

“I was the best goddamn lawyer at Turner.”

“That’s debatable.”

“I made partner after two years.”

“Don’t you think making partner at Turner, a firm my dad started, had something to do with me?”

“Were you recruited by law firms from all over the world?”

“Whatever, Sophie.” Odette crossed her arms.

“I’m the one who worked eighty-hour work weeks, I racked up millions of dollars in billable hours over the last decade of my life, and all I have to show for it is stress-induced high blood pressure and crippling anxiety.”

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t handle your mental health.”

The all-too-familiar feeling of shame washed over her.

“Our friends ask about you all the time, Soph, and trust me, I get no pleasure telling them how you’re wasting your time on whatever it is you’re doing now. Think about it, okay? Please.” Odette placed her hand atop Sophie’s, but Sophie pulled back.

“God forbid I touch your hand,” Odette scoffed, her cheeks blushing. If there was one thing Odette hated the most, it was public embarrassment. So naturally, Sophie dug in.

“Okay. I’ve thought about it, and I’ll come back.”

“You will?” Odette said, resting her hand against her chest. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Are you serious?”

“I’m completely serious. Under one simple term.”

“I’m listening.”

“Agree to a divorce, and I’ll be at work first thing on Monday.”

Odette laughed. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Think isn’t really the right word.”

Odette flared her nostrils, but Sophie held eye contact and smiled.

The waiter returned and placed their glasses down. “Okay. A whiskey neat for the gentleman, and Pinot Gris for the ladies.”

Sophie pushed her wineglass toward Odette.

“Really?” Odette said. “It’s just wine.”

“I said I didn’t want wine.”

“Are we ready to order?” their waiter asked, his voice cracking.

“Give us just another minute,” Sophie’s dad said.

“Of course. No worries.” He left, no longer displaying his winning smile.

“So,” Odette said before sipping her wine. “I’m having some work done on my place.”

“What do you have planned?” Sophie’s dad asked as he swirled the whiskey in his glass.

“I’m having the downstairs guest room remodeled and the kitchen totally gutted. I should get a nice little profit when I sell early next year.”

Sophie eyed the glass of wine, knowing it would soothe her nerves. She really wanted to pop a Xanax, but didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they’d burrowed under her skin. She should have popped one before lunch. Nine times out of ten, interactions with her father resulted in anxiety. She shifted in her seat.

“When does construction begin?”

“They’ve already started on the guest room, but they plan to start the kitchen work right around Thanksgiving, so…” Odette and Sophie’s dad shared another look.

“You’ll be out a kitchen.”

“I know.” Odette pouted. “I might spend the holiday with my sister’s family.”

“Nonsense. You should spend Thanksgiving with us, right, Soph? I’ve already invited her; it would be rude to renege.”

“You’re too kind,” Odette replied.

“It’ll be great to have my two girls together again.”

Sophie would pass out if she didn’t start breathing. Breathe in. Hold for five. Breathe out. Do it again. She’d read about this technique somewhere as a way to cope in stressful situations. Breathe in. Hold for five. Breathe out. Do it again. What a crock of shit. It didn’t help. At all.

“I’d only need a place to stay for a couple of weeks, a month max,” Odette said. “It could be fun, Sophie, right?” Odette’s voice had gone exceedingly soft. It was the same voice she used when they were intimate, but this moment didn’t warrant intimacy.

Odette’s voice made Sophie sick. She had to do something. She had to say something, anything. She didn’t know how to stand up for herself with one of them, let alone both. She’d have to stoop to their level and lie. Fight fire with fire, and all that.

“No,” she blurted.

“What?” Odette said.

“Dad. Didn’t I tell you?” Sophie said through a lump in her throat.

“Tell me what?”

“I’m going to be out of town and can’t host Thanksgiving this year.” She hated when her voice trembled.

“The Smiths are coming over and Michelle and her son.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“You’re going to have to speak up,” her dad insisted.

“Sorry. I can’t.”

“You’re sorry? Not good enough. You’re going to have to cancel. You’ve already committed.”

“I’m taking a new job.”

“Where?”

“In Idaho.”

“In Idaho?” Odette blurted.

“I’ll be gone until December, through December—late December, actually. Maybe January.”

“January? You never said anything about a new client,” her dad said.

“Yes, I did. I know I did. Right around the time we discussed today’s lunch with Odette.” The look on her dad’s face both terrified and thrilled Sophie. She stood and gathered her belongings. If she didn’t leave now, she’d never be able to leave again.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I forgot. I have a meeting. Right now. With the client. Yeah. Yep.” She nodded furiously.

“You expect us to believe you?” Odette’s shrill voice set Sophie’s nerves on edge.

“I don’t expect anything from the either of you.”

“Quit being a fucking idiot, Sophie.”

“I’m sorry, Odette. I really can’t help it.”

Sophie raced to her car, hyperventilating the entire way. The moment the car door latched, she could finally breathe. She leaned against the steering wheel, its coolness helping ground her.

“Holy shit.” Had she really stood up to them? Kind of. Maybe? Even though she’d lied, she was taking the win. How she’d managed to make it thus far, she’d never know. She laughed at the absurdity of hanging on by a single thread. For now, she’d have to settle for the cut and run.

As she calmed herself, Sophie made a mental list of everything she’d need to move around so she could go after that Idaho project—to get her the fuck out of California for the remainder of the year.

*****

Bennie Carlos clapped furiously, making her hands sting. Elsa Hernandez, the school’s newly appointed president of the board of trustees, addressed the crowded school gymnasium for an emergency Saturday meeting. Parents, students, teachers, volunteers, local and national reporters, members of the community, staff, administrators—everyone who called the Valley View Elementary School community home—stood shoulder to shoulder to hear, as Mrs. Hernandez held people accountable for their actions for the very first time.

“While I am deeply inspired and moved by the bravery of the students who organized the walkout in protest of the truly terrible and insensitive actions committed by several employees of Valley View Elementary School, none of this should have happened.”

A chorus of laughter, cheers, and applause reverberated inside the overcrowded gymnasium.

“I am at liberty to share that those who engaged in those racist actions have been suspended. Those who had the ultimate responsibility for the well-being of the students at Valley View, including Principal Dennis Wheeler and Assistant Principal Ken Jacobs, have been put on unpaid administrative leave pending further investigation.”

Assorted reactions circulated throughout the gymnasium. Bennie added her voice to those in support of the firings, helping drown out the opposition. Pumping her fist in the air, she whistled loudly. Bennie’s colleague Ramón covered his ears at the shrill blare and elbowed her gently in the ribs.

“Students should not need to stage a protest because those in charge of protecting them failed to listen. Failed to acknowledge that a racist and oppressive act had been committed. Failed to right this wrong.” Mrs. Hernandez used a deeper voice and exaggerated air quotes. “It was a joke. The students thought it was funny. It’s not like they did brownface.”

She paused before continuing. “There was no recognition of how these staff members’ actions deeply offended the Latino members of the student body, staff, and community. As a former student and as a parent with children currently enrolled at Valley View Elementary, I am disappointed.”

“‘Disappointed’ and ‘deeply offended’ aren’t strong enough descriptors. Try embarrassed. Ashamed. Humiliated. Distraught,” Bennie whispered to Ramón.

“Completely shook AF,” he added.

They’d both witnessed the school’s Latino students wrestle with their identities and try to distance themselves from their heritage after a group of white teachers and administrative staff had dressed up as “Mexicans” for their school Halloween festivities. They must have researched every Mexican stereotype. They’d worn sombreros, thick mustaches, and ponchos. Someone had brought plastic maracas from the dollar store. Another group of teachers had dressed up as Donald Trump’s border wall, complete with the “Make America Great Again” slogan painted on the cardboard. Apparently, they’d coordinated their cringy costumes.

Bennie inhaled deeply, remembering working with her students through every confusing and complicated emotion that had surfaced over the last couple of weeks—all the fights she’d broken up, the hurtful words cast by bullies who’d become more emboldened than before. Her students had helped her in their own special ways as she, too, worked through her own shame and worthlessness as an out-and-proud Latina in a majority-white rural Idaho.

“Our students came together, didn’t they?” Ramón said as if reading Bennie’s mind.

Their students had been wildly successful in organizing a walkout in protest, complete with demands including firings and other needed changes.

“I’m proud of them.” Bennie couldn’t stop smiling.

“I’m proud of us.”

If it weren’t for the dedicated group of teachers, the new members of the PTA, the parents, and the students’ bravery, this wondrous day of reckoning wouldn’t have happened. Their story went viral thanks to social media and national news outlets, including the Washington Post. The change her students brought about made Bennie proud, but the glaring target some staff now had on their backs, put there by an entitled group of teachers—led by the most entitled of them all, Sharon Lewis—overshadowed their success.

“Per the suggestion of our legal counsel,” Mrs. Hernandez continued, “we’ve retained the services of a consulting firm with experience working with academic institutions on their equity and inclusion strategies.”

“Is that really necessary?” someone said from behind Bennie and Ramón. “Didn’t they already make their point?”

Bennie and Ramón turned in tandem and gave the offender a glare.

“We’ll be working with the organization, Respect at School, who will conduct a thorough investigation of policies and procedures and document our culture to help us better understand how we arrived at this point in time. As president of the board of trustees, I won’t hesitate to implement any and all recommendations, including future terminations as events unfold.”

Bennie’s anxiety flared, and she blew out a quick couple of breaths. “I’m going to get fired. I just know it.”

“Don’t worry,” Ramón whispered. “Nothing is going to happen to us. We’re not the bad guys here. We didn’t do anything except help our students get a larger mic and a bigger stage. We’re not going to get fired.”

Bennie rolled her neck from side to side, releasing tension.

“Breathe and trust the process,” Ramón added.

“Like I have a choice.”

“At this time, we’ll start the open comment portion of our meeting,” Mrs. Hernandez said.

“Oh. Oh. Ramón. Go.”

The two of them raced to join the line forming near the makeshift stage, in front of a single microphone. A woman Bennie didn’t recognize tapped the mic, and the feedback reverberated against the walls of the gymnasium.

“Mrs. Hernandez, members of the board of trustees, I’m Clare Johnson. My son Hunter is an eighth grader here, and we’re quite upset at the sudden firing of his teacher. Number one, Mr. Myer skillfully incorporated current events and politics into his lesson plans and did so in a creative and fun way. Number two, Mr. Myer was fired without due process. It’s alarming, to say the least. Can anyone get fired if they look at someone the wrong way and ‘deeply offend’ them?” she said with air quotes. “Can my son stage a protest and get a teacher he finds offensive fired?”

A mix of supportive and opposing murmurs circulated at Mrs. Johnson’s comments.

“Thank you for sharing your perspective, Mrs. Johnson,” Mrs. Hernandez said. “Let me see if I can make this easy to understand. This school has a clear policy on harassment and the procedures which outline a path for resolution. This policy protects not only those who work here, but also those who attend school here. Mr. Myer’s actions were, number one, racist, and number two, resulted in vulnerable students being harassed. The procedure was ignored, and that’s grounds for termination. Let me also assure you and anyone else who would like to use the open comment portion of our time together to ask about the firings that Mr. Myer—as with the others—was given full due process according to the letter of the policy.”

“They thought it was funny!” Mrs. Johnson interjected. “My son is friends with Lalo Alvarez, who is a Hispanic, by the way. They think it’s funny.”

Bennie closed her eyes, willing herself to stay calm so she wouldn’t grab the mic from this woman and smack her upside the head with it. Ramón’s hand on her shoulder reminded her that she could use her words instead of resorting to violence.

“Unfortunately, nothing in our procedure states that amusement supersedes a clear violation of policy.”

“If it weren’t my son’s last year here, we’d go elsewhere for his educational needs,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Valley View Charter School is accepting new students.” She directed her comment toward the audience.

“Mrs. Johnson, I appreciate you putting your son’s educational needs first and foremost.”

“Might I also remind you that my husband and I are major donors, and the decisions made after today will affect our charitable giving?”

“Noted, Mrs. Johnson, and thank you for sharing your opinion. If you’re done, could you please step aside?” Mrs. Hernandez said with a flick of her wrist. “We have a rather long line forming.”

“This is wrong,” Mrs. Johnson said, walking away. “These were good teachers!”

“Who made some pretty terrible decisions.”

The crowd clapped and shouted gleefully as Mrs. Johnson stalked away.

“I like Mrs. Hernandez,” Bennie said in a rapid whisper as they edged toward the front of the line.

“She’s a legit HCIC.”

“HCIC?”

“Head Chingóna In Charge,” Ramón said.

Bennie laughed as they neared the mic. “It’s your turn!”

“Mrs. Hernandez, hello again. For the record, I’m Ramón Briano, fifth-grade teacher and one of three staff liaisons to the PTA. I’ve been here for seven years. Congratulations on your new appointment and to all those newly appointed to the board of trustees. I know you all have a difficult job ahead, and I thank you in advance. I’d like to raise some concerns for your response.”

“Thank you, Mr. Briano. Go ahead.”

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened at our school. How is this time any different than the other times we’ve tried to make a change here?”

“I’ve been around a very long time as an alumnus and have put six children through these walls. This is the first time the entire board of trustees, involved staff, and the school principals have been fired or put on administrative leave. We hope this action sets the tone for the change we intend to make.”

Ramón nodded and clapped along with others who did the same.

“Everyone, please, as exciting as it is to be on the verge of making much-needed change in our community, we need to get through the open comment period. Please hold your public displays, appreciation, or otherwise for the time being, so we’re able to hear from everyone in line. Thank you, Mr. Briano. And are you done?”

“Not quite. Would you say the only reason we’ve taken these measures is because of national attention? Is the board—this board—” He motioned to the individuals on the stage. “—committed to actual change or only covering the school’s butt, legally speaking?”

Bennie clapped and cheered Ramón on, along with a good portion of the crowd.

“Unfortunately, it’s all part of it, Mr. Briano. However, as a Latino woman raising Latino children in rural Idaho—a very conservative area of the United States—and through my power as board president, I am committed to doing everything I can to ensure nothing like this ever happens again at this school. Because it is the right thing to do and in the best interest of our children.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hernandez. One more question. As you know, the student body has a growing Latino presence, but if you look at the staff and administration, what’s left is still majority white. In addition, if you look closely at the pay and promotion structures, they aren’t transparent. I’ve done the research and am prepared to present it to our new consultant. There have been several instances where favoritism, pay increases, and promotions have benefited white teachers over equally qualified teachers of color. Will this consulting firm work with us on these issues as well?”

Bennie bit back the urge to whoop and holler—for the sake of efficiency, of course.

“Respect at School will undergo a complete review of all our policies and procedures impacting the student body as well as those impacting staff.”

“But will the school act on the recommendations?” someone from the crowd asked.

Mrs. Hernandez raised a quelling hand. “That is the entire point.”

“Can I ask about the vetting process and how the board selected Respect at School?”

“Valid question, Mr. Briano. Because our situation gained national attention, we were approached by several consulting firms specializing in equity, inclusion, and belonging. After carefully reviewing the credentials of the firms in question, the board voted overwhelmingly to work with Respect at School, which has a solid track record of turning around educational organizations on the brink of collapse.

“Yes,” she said, her voice elevating significantly as the crowd’s reaction grew again. “Valley View Elementary School is on the brink of collapse. We’re taking all necessary steps toward viability, including working with the founder of Respect at School, Mrs. Sophie Turner, who brings a strong legal background along with experience working with academic institutions of all types, from large school districts and universities to private institutions and small, rural schools like ours. We’ll be in capable hands.”

Bennie’s attention always perked whenever she heard the name Sophie or Sofia, reminding her of her childhood best friend, Sophie Morales. She’d developed the hugest crush on Sophie during their eighth-grade year. Bennie sometimes wondered if her failed relationships were a result of no one measuring up to the girl she’d fallen in love with so long ago. Bennie recognized the absurdity in her line of thinking. But even after all this time, despite not knowing what love really meant at the tender age of thirteen, Sophie was her first love. Bennie wondered where Sophie lived and what kind of life she had, and if she was happy.

“Bennie. Hey. Look alive,” Ramón said, and he snapped his fingers.

“Huh?”

“Your turn.”

“If you don’t have any comments, please take a seat,” Mrs. Hernandez said.

“No, yes. No. I do have comments, uh, questions. A lot of them.” Bennie resettled her eyeglasses and shook off the past. “My apologies,” she added, pulling up her phone’s word pad. She began listing them off.