“What was that you said?” my dad inquired.

    “Nothin’” I said as I once again filled my mouth with the taco hot dish, catching a particularly large and spicy pepper in the process.

    “I heard about that,” my father said, pouring more hot sauce over his food as I took a deep drink of milk.

    “Isn’t she in your grade, Esteban?” my mom asked nosily. I swallowed the milk and mumbled,

    “Yeah,” my mouth burning.

    “Her poor mother,” my mom began. “First to lose her husband...let’s see...was it twelve years ago already? And now her daughter disappears...the poor woman.”

    “Now, Mercedes...” My father’s voice revealed a hint of anger. “You make it sound like the man died. He up and left Karen with a three—year—old child to care for. He didn’t even bother to file a divorce. You know she’s still waiting for him to come back!”

    Ah, the advantages of small town life. Everyone knows your personal life. Get used to it.

    My father was always really touchy about the subject of Halyn’s dad, Mr. M. My dad is kind of old fashioned, and even though we moved here almost ten years after Mr. M abandoned his family, my dad despises him. I mean, there’s no way that my dad and her dad could have ever met; yet still my dad hates him. My mom thinks that Mr. M is as much a victim as Halyn or her mom. Usually, in small town soap operas, it’s the other way around, with the guy not caring and the woman being really upset about things like that. And no, I’m not weird; I have two older sisters, one of whom was obsessed with soap operas.

    “She’s back,” I mumbled. I certainly didn’t want my parents to get into yet another argument about the Mugarsons. Because my mother would start defending Mr. M and my father would call him a dishonorable man, and then they would start fighting. And I would sit there wondering why in the world they got so wrapped up in something that didn’t even affect them.

    “What did you say?” my mom wanted to know, busybody that she was.

    “Speak up, son,” said my dad.

    “She’s back,” I repeated. “Halyn’s back — that’s why I was over at her house today.”

    I didn’t want to tell my parents about the void and the hair tie and all that weirdness, so I made up a half — truth: “I... eh... heard her playing piano and we started to talk.”

    “Did you kiss her?” Marcos asked through a mouthful of food. What is it with little brothers and asking the most annoying, embarrassing things in the whole world? I wondered as my face started to get warm and I was undoubtedly blushing, which was weird and embarrassing and I tried to control it. You did the same thing to your sisters when you were his age, my brain reminded me. Shut up, brain. I told it.

    “No!” I finally said, wrinkling my nose at him, and again pondered the behavior and workings of the mind of the strange species that is the little brother.

    “You’re...” Marcos began again in that obnoxious tone that all older siblings learn to hate.

    “Really?” My dad said, cutting him off while glaring icily at Marcos, who promptly shut up and resumed stuffing his face.

    “Did she tell you what happened? Or where she disappeared to?” My mom is such a gossip. “Did she go to find her father? Did he come back?” Oh Mamá, you had to bring Mr. M back into it!

     “No, he didn’t come back, and Halyn didn’t tell me where she went and I don’t think she ever will,” I snapped. My parents looked so shocked by my outburst that I felt I needed to add, “Look, it was weird, okay?” I swallowed the last of my hot dish and excused myself from the table, clearing off my dishes. “Where are you going?” my mom wanted to know, as usual. “Gonna go work on stuff for my band,” I replied shortly as I hurried up to my room.

     “Hijo,” my father said, stopping me on the stairs. “Have you come up with a name yet?”

     “Umm... actually, someone gave me an idea at school today, and I think I like the sound of it — Kafele.”

     “Was it Helen’s idea?” Marcos asked, again butchering Halyn’s name in the way my family is famous for. I didn’t even answer him; I just glared.

      “Is that some sort of new swear word or drug?” my mother asked suspiciously.

     “¡Ay! ¡Claro que no, Mamá!” I said, so shocked I reverted into a bit of Spanish. “It’s just a word I heard someone make up today, that’s all.” I knew what it really meant — Halyn had told me on the way out of the void. It was one of the Gewete’s strange words he had called her in the void, along with other words like Ilori. Kafele meant “worth dying for” and besides, it sounded cool. It reminded me of something like Relient K, which was the type of music my band played anyway. I play lead guitar and do vocals, and my friends Dan and Max play drums and bass guitar respectively. We just can’t seem find a decent keys player, no matter how hard we look.I sat down at my computer and put my iTunes to shuffle, trying to scout out more songs for us to cover for our upcoming gig. And then...the perfect song came on. I listened to it a few times, then looked up the chords and began to play along on my acoustic guitar. After a few times through, I felt pretty confident, so I added it to my list of songs to learn with a special note next to it: H’s song.