“Mijo,” my mother announced from the bedroom doorway, “it’s for you, somebody named Sal.”
“Hello,” I said groggily.
“Jesse,” he said, “it’s Sal Finelli. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I replied, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“Frank asked me to call you. He wants you and your three friends to come in and see him tomorrow at about eleven in the morning, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, “See you then.”
