A teacher walks up to pull me out. “___.” I turn distracted from the assembly, the African storytellers, but follow. We walk down the hallway to a small office in a corner of the school I never go to. A woman (skinny, blonde, should I tell this?) there behind the desk. She starts to ask questions about my family. “Your mother is going to have a baby.” “Yes.” She says, “Don’t worry, you will still get attention after the baby is born.” She says, “Do your parents do special things with you.” I say, “Sometimes we go to McDonald’s or Bonanza.” She says, “Don’t worry, they will still take time to do things alone with you.” She tells me that I look like she could blow air out her mouth and I would fall over. Alone later with my mother, perhaps over the phone, she says, “No more Spanish.”