guard could arrest her! Why did she do that?”
The answer struck me.
Because she can!
Miss had the
luxury
of being able to make a scene — something our parents could never afford.
I knew that Rosa was afraid of the man’s uniform. “He’s not a guard — just an usher.”
Rosa mumbled, “We’ll need the
Mentors’
Rescue Center to get her out of jail.”
I grinned — until I realized that I was smiling because Rosa didn’t know stuff.
Red with embarrassment, Miss waited for us to catch up. “I shouldn’t have done that. Do you think anyone recognized me?”
I lied. “No, you’re good. And I still have the candy. We can share.”
Understanding came into Rosa’s face. “I still have the chips! After you threw your stuff, nobody checked me! Did you do that on purpose?”
“No!” After a pause Miss added, “We probably should turn over the rest of the snacks, too.”
puppy-dog eyes. “Please, Miss! We didn’t lie. Nobody
asked
if we had any food.”
She shook her head. “What kind of example am I setting? You need a different mentor.”
I smirked. “No way, Miss!”
Some things make sense. Like French. Maybe it was because I already spoke two languages, but French was easy. What
doesn’t
make sense is deporting people who want to work, but welcoming rude girls who sit and yak in the back of a French class.
The three of them gabbed right through Monsieur Visser’s explanation of the
passé composé
. I was mad, and didn’t consider what Miss or Mr. V. would think. I slapped my pen on my notebook and marched to the back of the room. I stood over those girls with my hands on my hips,
glowering
. I didn’t care that they were older than me. I didn’t care that they were white. The giggling stopped like I’d yanked out the cord on a television.
After the clock ticked off the longest minute in history, I walked back to my seat. Without saying a word.
The class continued.
I glanced at Miss, afraid of what I’d see. Her eyes were leaking, and she bounced in her chair. Her hand covered her mouth. It seemed like she was trying to swallow her lips.
She’s trying not to laugh!
That’s when I realized power doesn’t come from your job or the color of your skin. Real power comes from inside. It’s not something that someone can give you.
And it’s not something that anyone can take away.
WE CELEBRATED CHRISTMAS three weeks early at the Dahls’. Ethan and Cody were going to be with their dad over winter break, so Miss was flying to Florida to visit her mother. Miss had vacation time because she’d worked for 5News since “before the invention of dirt.”
I was irritated. Mamá never got vacation days. When she went to Mexico, she’d had to quit her job.
If I was being honest, I’d admit I was jealous that Miss could jump on plane to visit her mother, while I hadn’t seen Mamá in months. It wasn’t fair that some people get everything.
And maybe that’s why I picked a fight.
“Your mom owns this house. That means you’re
rich
,” I insisted.
“We’re not rich!” Cody and Ethan said together. Like they’d practiced it.
I looked to Rosa for support. She concentrated on the kernel she’d threaded onto her popcorn chain and wouldn’t join the argument. The Dahls’ household was new to her.
Ethan said, “We’re middle class.
You’re
poor. You use the food bank.”
“I am never talking to you again, Ethan Dahl!” I shouted.
Miss whisked around the corner, carrying a plate of spicy cookies shaped like little people.
“Ethan.”
“I’m just stating a fact!”
“Enough.”
He stomped out of the room. Miss sighed, then looked from Rosa to me. “It’s all relative. I’m sure your family in Mexico thinks of you girls as rich Americans.”
“We’re not Americans,” I said.
“You were born in Denver, right?”
“Yes, but —”
“Then you’re Americans.”
I blurted, “We’re
Mexicans
. We’re proud to be Mexicans!”
Miss opened her mouth to argue
The answer struck me.
Because she can!
Miss had the
luxury
of being able to make a scene — something our parents could never afford.
I knew that Rosa was afraid of the man’s uniform. “He’s not a guard — just an usher.”
Rosa mumbled, “We’ll need the
Mentors’
Rescue Center to get her out of jail.”
I grinned — until I realized that I was smiling because Rosa didn’t know stuff.
Red with embarrassment, Miss waited for us to catch up. “I shouldn’t have done that. Do you think anyone recognized me?”
I lied. “No, you’re good. And I still have the candy. We can share.”
Understanding came into Rosa’s face. “I still have the chips! After you threw your stuff, nobody checked me! Did you do that on purpose?”
“No!” After a pause Miss added, “We probably should turn over the rest of the snacks, too.”
puppy-dog eyes. “Please, Miss! We didn’t lie. Nobody
asked
if we had any food.”
She shook her head. “What kind of example am I setting? You need a different mentor.”
I smirked. “No way, Miss!”
Some things make sense. Like French. Maybe it was because I already spoke two languages, but French was easy. What
doesn’t
make sense is deporting people who want to work, but welcoming rude girls who sit and yak in the back of a French class.
The three of them gabbed right through Monsieur Visser’s explanation of the
passé composé
. I was mad, and didn’t consider what Miss or Mr. V. would think. I slapped my pen on my notebook and marched to the back of the room. I stood over those girls with my hands on my hips,
glowering
. I didn’t care that they were older than me. I didn’t care that they were white. The giggling stopped like I’d yanked out the cord on a television.
After the clock ticked off the longest minute in history, I walked back to my seat. Without saying a word.
The class continued.
I glanced at Miss, afraid of what I’d see. Her eyes were leaking, and she bounced in her chair. Her hand covered her mouth. It seemed like she was trying to swallow her lips.
She’s trying not to laugh!
That’s when I realized power doesn’t come from your job or the color of your skin. Real power comes from inside. It’s not something that someone can give you.
And it’s not something that anyone can take away.
WE CELEBRATED CHRISTMAS three weeks early at the Dahls’. Ethan and Cody were going to be with their dad over winter break, so Miss was flying to Florida to visit her mother. Miss had vacation time because she’d worked for 5News since “before the invention of dirt.”
I was irritated. Mamá never got vacation days. When she went to Mexico, she’d had to quit her job.
If I was being honest, I’d admit I was jealous that Miss could jump on plane to visit her mother, while I hadn’t seen Mamá in months. It wasn’t fair that some people get everything.
And maybe that’s why I picked a fight.
“Your mom owns this house. That means you’re
rich
,” I insisted.
“We’re not rich!” Cody and Ethan said together. Like they’d practiced it.
I looked to Rosa for support. She concentrated on the kernel she’d threaded onto her popcorn chain and wouldn’t join the argument. The Dahls’ household was new to her.
Ethan said, “We’re middle class.
You’re
poor. You use the food bank.”
“I am never talking to you again, Ethan Dahl!” I shouted.
Miss whisked around the corner, carrying a plate of spicy cookies shaped like little people.
“Ethan.”
“I’m just stating a fact!”
“Enough.”
He stomped out of the room. Miss sighed, then looked from Rosa to me. “It’s all relative. I’m sure your family in Mexico thinks of you girls as rich Americans.”
“We’re not Americans,” I said.
“You were born in Denver, right?”
“Yes, but —”
“Then you’re Americans.”
I blurted, “We’re
Mexicans
. We’re proud to be Mexicans!”
Miss opened her mouth to argue
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