Then she said, "Is it, like—immigration stuff?"
I handed her the passport. She looked at the baby for a long time. She turned to the visa page, and then to the little white card stapled in it, and I watched her read the date, and do the math, and understand.
"Oh," she said. "Oh, Maya."
"I didn't know," I said. "I swear to God, Yusra. I didn't know until seven o'clock this morning. I thought I was born at Danbury Hospital. I thought there was a fire. I've been telling you about the fire since we were eleven."
"The fire in your aunt's building with the baby pictures."
"There was no fire."
She was quiet again. Then she said, "Can't you just—I don't know. Apply? For citizenship? Like, you've been here since you were a baby, you speak better English than me, you're going to get a five on AP Bio, you literally volunteer at the nature center—"
"I don't think it works like that."
"It should work like that."
"I know. I don't think it does, though."
I knew I didn't actually know anything. I had known all about the Galápagos and nothing about myself. I knew the beak depth of Geospiza fortis to a tenth of a millimeter, and I did not know what my own status was called, or whether it had a name, or whether the people who decided those things even thought of somebody like me as a person with a status or only as a problem.
"What happens now?" Yusra said.
"I don't know," I said. "My parents are home freaking out. My little brother's at the neighbor's pool. Dr. Brindle's giving my spot to some kid in Tucson." I picked the passport up off her knee and closed it. "And I have to go home and find out who I am. I guess."
She opened the paper bag. Inside there were two arepas wrapped in wax paper, still warm, the cheese leaking out at the edges. She handed me one. I hadn't eaten since the night before. I ate the whole thing in about a minute, sitting on Mr. Quennell's bench, with the green heron standing motionless at the end of the pond, waiting for something to come up and look.
"For what it's worth," Yusra said, with her mouth full, "I'm not telling anybody. Not my mom. Not anybody. Ever. Unless you want me to. Okay? It's yours."
"Okay."
"And also I'm kind of mad at your mom."
"Yeah," I said. "Me too."