With gripping results, this companion novel to Undercover Latina returns to the high-stakes world of the Factory—an international organization of spies protecting people of color. Fifteen-year-old Amani Kendall’s biggest problem is being the only plus-size Black girl at a white private school—until her house burns down and her family is unexpectedly on the run. Suddenly, she’s reeling from the news that her formerly boring mom is being pursued by an ex-boyfriend turned stalker, and her scientist dad has gone MIA. At the same time, she has to navigate an underfunded school in the city, suffering the cultural whiplash of being surrounded by other Black students, including the cute boy who’s an old family friend. How much danger is their family really in, and how untraceable are they trying to be? Her mom offers only half-answers and roundabout lies, so Amani starts to investigate. But her sleuthing has unexpected consequences, uncovering secret family legacies that will change their lives forever. A revealing prequel to Undercover Latina for existing fans, Untraceable also serves as a thrilling introduction to the world of the Factory for readers encountering this fast-paced spy series for the first time. In this YA companion to middle-grade thriller Undercover Latina (2022), a Los Angeles teen’s family tries to escape her mother’s dangerous ex. . . . This body-positive story has an exciting premise and addresses many relevant social issues. —Kirkus Reviews Amani’s voice rings true as a plus-size Black adolescent struggling to accept her own beauty. . . She is her own worst critic; young readers will identify with her anxieties. Amani’s thought processes as she puts two and two together about her parents steadily builds the suspense through the narrative. There are multiple social issues covered, such as abortion and racism. . . A complex Black girl sleuth uncovers a web of lies in this spy thriller. —School Library Journal Aya de León is the AfroLatina author of Undercover Latina , a companion book set in the same world as Untraceable , and several suspense novels for adults, as well as The Mystery Woman in Room Three , a free serialized online novel about two undocumented Dominican teens who uncover a kidnapping plot to stop the Green New Deal. She teaches creative writing at the University of California, Berkeley, and is active in movements for racial, gender, and climate justice. She lives in Northern California. Prologue Los Angeles, CA   Riding on eight wheels turned out to be dangerous.    I knew how to ride a bike and a scooter, and even to skateboard a little bit, but I had no idea how to roller-skate. I wished I had learned earlier. I worried that going skating for the first time as a fifteen-year-old could get ugly. But I didn’t have a lot of friends at school—no close friends at all—so when one of the few invited me to a roller-rink birthday party, I said yes, even though I was afraid I’d embarrass myself.    I had done gymnastics for several years, so I wasn’t totally uncoordinated, but that was back in elementary school. I was definitely gonna be the only Black girl at the party, not to mention the only girl bigger than a size six (like, ten sizes bigger). And I’m tall, too. If I fell down, it would be a long way to the ground and a surefire invitation for someone to tell a fat joke.    Since there was no way I was getting on skates for the very first time at the party, I begged my mom to dig out her old quad skates so I could practice. Yes, that’s right: quad skates, not Rollerblades. My mother was a teenager in the ’90s, but in some ways, she seems like she grew up in the ’70s—she is old school. Her feet were only a half size bigger than mine, so I figured the skates would fit with an extra pair of socks. The boots were scuffed black leather with red wheels. They had red toe stops and red laces. They definitely looked like something out of a 1970s disco.    I headed to the backyard. It wasn’t much of a yard. More like an extended driveway—just a square of concrete with a small strip of grass on the side that was overgrown with weeds. Mom kept saying she was going to plant a garden, but all she had managed so far was to put up a plastic gardening shed. There wasn’t a lot of room behind the house, but I didn’t want to be on the sidewalk in front, putting on a comedy show for the white hipster neighbors this afternoon. I had almost an hour to practice before math tutoring, and I was determined to make the most of it. I planned to skate around our tiny yard, wheeling carefully on the concrete, while holding on to the fence for balance.    I pushed the door open and stepped out in my double-socked feet. The skates were heavy in my hand, tied together and dangling from the knot clutched in my fist.    Standing on our tiny block of a back porch, I pulled out my phone for a selfie. I planned to take a picture of me holding the cheesy disco skates for posterity. I would have taken