Her mother stood at the sink, washing dishes. She was starting a new job as a seamstress today, and she was wearing her uniform. She glanced over her shoulder. “Eat up, sweetheart. We have to leave soon.”

María sat down at the table, but she only ate a few of the beans before her. She didn’t touch the sweet roll or piece of tamarind.

Then, out of the blue, she began to cry.

“Oh, baby,” her mother said, drying her hands on a dish towel and crouching before her. “What’s wrong? Are you worried about your first day of school?”

She nodded.

“Just remember, it’s everyone’s first day. Everyone feels just the same as you.”

“What if nobody likes me?”

“Don’t think that. You’ll meet plenty of friends.”

“Do you promise?”

“Cross my heart. Now go put on your shoes.”

María went to the door, took her book bag from the hook on the wall, and she slid her feet into her Mary Janes.

Her mother frowned at her. “Angela has to stay home today, sweetheart.”

María clutched the doll tighter. “I want her to come with me.”

“You’re five years old now, María. You’re a big girl. And big girls don’t take their dolls to school.”

“I want her to come!”

“No one else will have a doll.”

“I don’t care!”

“Some of your classmates might tease you.”

“I don’t care!”

“María, please…”

“I want her to come! I want her to come! I want—”

“Okay! Okay!” Her mother shook her head. “If you want to take her, take her. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

2

The school was a huge two-story yellow-brick building with a playground on one side and a farm on the other side. The sight of it made María’s heart beat faster. She wanted to turn around and go home, but she knew her mother wouldn’t allow this, so she followed her through the iron gate, up a set of steps, and to the office where a gramophone was playing music.

Her mother spoke to the woman there, signed some papers, then led María through a maze of hallways that smelled of floor wax and wood polish and chalk. Some of the classroom doors they passed were open. The students were seated at wooden desks, and they all seemed to be older and bigger than her.

María hugged Angela more tightly.

They climbed a set of stairs and stopped in front of a classroom. Her mother knocked on the door, even though it was open. “Good morning, Mrs. González,” she said. “I’m Patricia Diaz, María’s mother. I’m sorry we’re late. This is María.”

The teacher consulted the clipboard in her hand and said, “That’s all right. Come in, María.”