Chapter 1 Miguel

The late summer afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Brooklyn sidewalk as Miguel hurried towards the subway station. His headphones pumped salsa music, a contrast to the usual grit of his walk to his volunteer job at the community placement center for immigrants. Every summer, Miguel, who was fluent in Spanish, served as a translator for the Spanish-speaking immigrants.

Suddenly, a wall of bodies slammed into him, sending his phone clattering across the pavement. The music died. The green bandanas they wore obscured their faces, but the glint of hate in their eyes was unmistakable.

Before he could react, a fist connected with his jaw, sending a jolt of pain through his head. Miguel's vision swam as he stumbled back. Panic clawed at his throat, the metallic taste of fear filling his mouth. He fought back, adrenaline surging, but it was a losing battle. The attackers were bigger, faster, fueled by an abhorrence he couldn't understand. Blows rained down on him, each one a new wave of agony. Through the haze of pain, a single, horrifying thought echoed in his mind : they know .

Miguel's world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of pain and darkness. Fear coiled in his stomach as he looked up. Their laughter was harsh, laced with a cruelty that sent a shiver down his spine. The slurred words were filled with homophobic insults, making Miguel's heart crash. This wasn't random.

"Lookie here," the ringleader sneered. "We got ourselves a lost puppy."

Miguel swallowed, forcing down the rising tide of fear. "Just let me pass," he mumbled.

A cruel smile stretched across the leader's face. "Not happening, pretty boy." He shoved Miguel to the sidewalk.

Before he could regain his balance, another blow sent him sprawling. Panic clawed at him. Through the haze of pain, he saw the glint of metal—a switchblade flashing in the dying light.

Instinct took over. He curled into a ball, protecting his head as kicks rained down. His mind screamed a silent plea, lost in the symphony of violence. Then blessed relief. Sirens wailed, growing closer by the second. The kicks stopped. Miguel peeked through his arms to see the gang members scattering like startled roaches. Two uniformed figures approached him. They were cops, good.

His head throbbed with a dull ache; his world was blurry at the edges. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth and fear lingered with an icy knot in his gut. Why me? What did I do?

The slurred words echoed in his head, a cruel reminder of the double life he led as a gay man pretending to be straight. Being gay in the neighborhood where he felt like a target was on his back. Even the rainbow keychain clipped to his jeans felt like a betrayal. Shame burned alongside the physical pain. He had forgotten to change his keychain when he returned from Princeton University for the summer. Rainbow anything sent messages to these punks to attack. Despite knowing this, he still questioned why he couldn't simply be himself without fear of being targeted.

A hand touched his shoulder, gentle but firm. "You alright, son?" a gruff voice asked. Miguel mumbled something that resembled a yes, forcing his eyes open. The officer's face was kind, etched with concern. Relief washed over him, a fragile hope amidst the fear.

He pushed himself up, wincing at the protest from his abused muscles. The other officer retrieved his phone, miraculously intact. The officers, thankfully, didn't pry. They simply sat him in the back of their patrol car and drove him home, the city lights blurring into a tear-streaked mess as Miguel fought back fresh waves of nausea. This wasn't the first time he'd been brought home in a squad car because of gang bullying.

As they pulled up in front of his building, all he wanted was to crawl into bed and disappear. But he knew his mother would be worried sick. With a deep breath, he forced himself out of the car, legs wobbling like jelly. The officers watched him reach the building door. Their silence was a strange comfort.

Riding the elevator alone to the seventh floor, with trembling fingers he fumbled for his keys to unlock the door. As he stepped inside the apartment, the warmth and familiar scents of home washed over him. But for the first time, home felt less like a haven and more like a battlefield—a combat zone where he wasn't safe. Only home for a week of his summer break from Princeton University, and he'd already had two such incidents.

His mother rushed to the living room. "Miguel, what happened to you?"

"I got jumped again."

"You were on your way to help the immigrants, and this is what happens when you do God's work," his religious, widowed mother tiredly said.

"One day, they'll shoot me just like they did, Papa. For no damn reason." The minute he said it, he regretted it. Any mention of Papa made his mother sad.

"Stop saying that. Lie on the couch. This is the last time, Miguel. I warned you what would happen if you came home like this again."

"You can't afford to send me away for the summer, Mama. Let me get a job and help you and Maria."

"Not here. I'm going to call Uncle Javier. We have a plan."

Maria, his fifteen-year-old sister, rushed into the living room. "What happened, Miguel?"

"Got jumped again." Miguel felt a deep sense of shame as he realized he couldn't put up a stronger defense for himself. If he could find a new daddy to protect him here, he'd be safe. His last daddy moved to California, leaving him behind, and he didn't know where to find another one.

"He's not safe here, Mama." Maria sobbed. "Look at him. They're going to kill him."

"Don't worry, I'm going to take care of this. Stay with Miguel while I call your uncle."

"No!" Miguel shouted from the couch. "I'm going to get a job for the summer in the city."

"Not here, you're not," his mother ordered. "I have just the place for my hard-working Miguel for the summer. You don't deserve this." She stepped out of the room to call Uncle Javier, his father's older brother. He had stepped up to help the family in any way he could since his brother's murder. Miguel, six years old at the time, would be haunted forever by the vivid memories of what he'd witnessed that unforgettable day.

About an hour later, Uncle Javier arrived. He smiled warmly at Miguel, his kind eyes flecked with hazel and green. As always, his silver hair was professionally styled. He looked every bit the seasoned attorney he was. He was dressed in a casual, short-sleeved shirt and jeans, prepared to embark on a drive with Miguel.

"Not again, Miguel. Did you do anything that would make you a target?"

"Nothing."

"Javier!" his mother shouted. "Miguel is a good boy. He was walking to the subway to go help the Spanish-speaking immigrants at the community center."

"I thought I told you to get rid of that rainbow keyring." He pointed to the coffee table where Miguel had put it.

"I forgot about that." Miguel picked up the rainbow chain and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Your mother and I created a plan for you. Pack your clothes now. I have already taken care of where you will stay and I'm taking you there tonight. Once there, rest for a few days, then look for a job."

"Where am I going?" His uncle, who was known for his wisdom and caring nature, was someone Miguel never argued with because he always had his best interests at heart. He would never disrespect him because he had done so much for Miguel and his family, helping them whenever they needed it.

"New Jersey."

"Where in New Jersey?" Miguel asked.

"A surprise. You'll love our secret plan. We don't want anything to happen to you. Get packing while I have some coffee with your mother."

"I'll help you, mi hermano ," Maria added.

Miguel winced in pain as he pushed himself up from the couch and limped after his sister to his room. In times of need, Maria was a pillar of strength.

"Lie on the bed and tell me what you want to put into your suitcases. It's a good thing you unpacked your college clothes." Maria wasted no time swiftly securing an elastic band to tie up her ponytail. Her hair, usually flowing freely, was pulled back when she meant business or worked, signaling her readiness to support those around her.

Miguel carefully instructed her on what items to pack from each drawer and his closet, ensuring nothing was left behind. She folded everything so neatly that it fit perfectly into two suitcases, each one zipping up with ease.

"I'm going to miss you," Maria said.

"Wherever Uncle Javier is taking me, you can visit."

"I hope so. It's bad enough when you leave for Princeton."

"You'll get your turn to go to college. I'm going to make sure of that."

"I love you, Miguel. Make sure you message me, so I know what you're doing."

Miguel nodded. "Of course. I want to know what's going on with you too."

Miguel took a refreshing shower and dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a cozy long-sleeved shirt. His uncle's sports car had powerful air conditioning, and he always cranked it up to the maximum. His sister, with her small frame, struggled to carry one of the heavy suitcases to the living room as they waited for Uncle Javier to finish his coffee.

Miguel took that time to swallow two aspirins his sister provided for him, hoping it would deliver relief from the pain.

"You look like you're hurting," Uncle Javier said.

"I'm fine." The last thing Miguel wanted was for anyone to think he was a little pussy. He could deal with the pain.

Uncle Javier nodded and picked up both the suitcases while Miguel said goodbye to his mother and sister—goodbyes filled with tears as they all struggled to let go.