Page 35 of Love and Other Goals

Three dots.

Well, this brings up a crucial relationship question. What Hogwarts house would you be in?

Gryffindor, obviously. Where all the cool kids fighting injustice want to be

I don’t know, I was always fond of Cedric Diggory myself. I think Hufflepuff might be the sleeper of Hogwarts houses

Considering Mateo’s patience, loyalty, hard work, and genuine care for others, he’d make a perfect Hufflepuff.

I’ll be right there

Ten minutes later, Mateo walks through the door, searching the room for me. I catch his eye and wave him over. He sits across the table and asks what I’m working on.

In a low, library-level voice, I tell him, “I’m supposed to be working on my personal statement for my law school application. But I don’t know where to start. I’m never going to get my application submitted by the end of the week like I was hoping.”

“What’s the essay about?” Mateo asks, leaning forward. He’s oblivious to the number of people casually sneaking glances at us, so I decide to choose oblivion also.

“Why I want to go to law school, pretty much,” I answer. “Being an immigration lawyer is the one thing I’ve wanted for so long that I’m having a hard time condensing my thoughts. It just feels like part of my DNA. How do I explain that?”

Mateo sits back for a moment, thinking. He runs his hand through his hair and rests it on the back of his neck, a thoughtful motion I wouldn’t have classified as incredibly attractive until now. He leans closer again and says, “You’ve seen the shortcomings and challenges of the immigration system your whole life. You’ve met the real people affected by it. But there are a lot of different ways to help immigrants and refugees, Lana. Immigration attorneys are just one piece of the puzzle. What was the moment you felt in your gut that you had to be this part of the solution?”

I sit back in my chair. “I’ve never thought of it that way before.” I think for a minute before recognizing that I know the exact moment.

“I was thirteen. My mom was invited to speak to a class at UC Davis about her experiences with asylum seekers in El Paso and transition to working with refugees in Kansas City. She decided to take me with her for some one-on-one time.”

Mateo leans his chin on one hand, listening intently.

“Mom told the story of two families of asylum seekers we knew in El Paso. One family had a daughter, Maria, who was in my class at school. I never knew the specifics of her family’s story, I just knew she didn’t play at recess at first, that she’d drop to the ground shaking at the sound of a door slamming. That fear seemed to be her baseline emotion.

“My mom was representing the other family in court, pleading their case to receive asylum, but Maria’s family didn’t have a lawyer. Mom’s clients won their case and were granted asylum, but Maria’s family apparently wasn’t well-organized going into their hearing. The judge denied their request, and they were deported.”

I realize I’m crying at the memory when I feel a tear drip off my chin onto my arm. “At the time, I didn’t know that Maria’s family was deported. All I knew was that my friend was there one day and gone the next. It wasn’t until I heard Mom share the story that I understood why Maria had left, that it was because her family didn’t have a lawyer helping them present their case.”

I swallow hard. “I knew I had to make sure that families who were in danger in their home countries weren’t sent back. That’s when I knew I had to be this part of the solution.”

Mateo reaches over and brushes a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “That’s what you write about, Lana.”

I nod. My mind is suddenly charged with thoughts organizing themselves. My fingers are itching to start typing everything out while the inspiration is flowing.

Sensing my thoughts, Mateo smiles at me and says, “Well, I’ll let you get to it. I know you have your ELL tutoring and Bible study tonight, so you better get typing while you have time. Glad I could see you for a few minutes today.”

He stands up, but I reach out and grab his hand to stop him from walking away. “I’m glad I got to see you today too, Mateo. And not just because you helped me figure out the answer to my essay,” I say with a soft laugh. “I’m just glad to see you.”

Mateo slowly grins at me, then promises to text me later with a wink.

Turning to my computer, my essay essentially writes itself as my fingers fly across the keyboard. An hour later, I’m proud of what I’ve written as I read back through it. I email it to my mom and shoot her a text asking her to look it over.

I pack up my backpack and leave the library feeling a hundred pounds lighter than when I arrived. As I walk back to AOPi, I text Mateo to ask for his email address. I forward the email with my essay to him.

Seemed only fair to let you read what you inspired

Mateo

I didn’t inspire your answer, Lana, it was already in you. I just asked the right question to get it out

The next morning, I wake up to my phone vibrating with a call from my mom. Panicking that something might be wrong, I sneak out of the room and answer in a whisper. “Mom? Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Hi Sleeping Beauty, I was just driving to the office early today and wanted to call you,” she answers.

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