When I got home, a reporter from the Anaheim Times was waiting in the front office. Annie Collins explained that she had overheard Hank talking to the ad department when he came in the other day, and while she couldn’t sell him an ad, she’d love to do a piece on immigrants and weekly residents banding together to buy a motel.
At the sound of the words feature story, Hank’s eyebrows shot up. He immediately jumped into action, showing the reporter around the motel and introducing her to the customers, my parents, and the other weeklies, while I speed-dialed Lupe. Where was she? She did not want to miss this.
“Hey, it’s me! Why weren’t you at school today? Anyway, you won’t believe it, but a reporter from the paper is here and she’s interviewing all of us for a story,” I said breathlessly. “Come quick!”
Lupe shrieked in equal excitement on the other end and put the phone down to go ask her parents. When she came back on, she said in a sad voice, “I’m sorry, I can’t. My parents don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be in the paper … given the circumstances.”
She sounded truly bummed.
“No, it’s okay.…” I tried to persuade her. “She’s not going to ask about that!”
“I’m sorry,” Lupe said. “Plus, my grandma’s sick. It’s just not a good time right now. I have to go.”
I sighed as she hung up the phone.
There was a knock on the glass door. “You ready, Mia?” Annie asked.
It was my turn to be interviewed. My palms started sweating; I hadn’t thought at all about what I was going to say!
I followed Annie out to the pool area, where my parents and the weeklies were gathered. My mom was in her best pale blue linen dress, not as nice as the bright red satin one she had to return, but still lovely. She was sitting next to my dad, who had dug something out of his suitcase of clothes from China. He smelled of mothballs and mouthwash. Annie turned to me with her reporter notebook and pen.
“So, Mia, how old are you?” she asked.
“I’m eleven.”
“What’s it like working at the front desk of a motel as an eleven-year-old?”
I told Annie about my day-to-day duties and some of the difficulties I had at first, like trying to get the adults to take me seriously.
“But I’m better at that now,” I said, glancing at my parents, who looked on proudly.
“I bet you are,” Annie said as she scribbled. I noticed she was writing in shorthand, scribbles that only she could read. Like her own secret language. My eyes widened, fascinated. I’d never seen a real writer in action before!
“What do you like the most about working at the Calivista?” Annie asked me. Her eyes twinkled. “What do you think makes it special?”
I closed my eyes for a second, thinking about the question. There are so many things that make the Calivista special to me, but if I had to pick one …
“Here we treat everyone like family,” I said. “No matter who you are and where you came from. That’s what makes it special to me.”
Annie smiled. “That’s a beautiful answer!” she exclaimed. “And do you think we need more of that right now in California?”
I nodded. “Oh, yes.” I thought about the lines from my essay on immigration, wanting to say them but hesitating because I didn’t want to get another C in real life. But then I remembered what Jason said when I went over to his house, how it didn’t matter what grade I got, if I liked something, that should be enough. So I cleared my throat and added, “America is a nation of immigrants. Our founders were immigrants. They worked hard to create a country that would welcome everyone. It says so on the Statue of Liberty.”
Annie’s bright eyes sparkled in surprise. “Well said.”
I looked over at my dad, who wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his old checkered shirt.
Annie closed her notebook and announced she was all finished. As she was leaving, I asked her how she became a writer.
“I wrote a lot as a kid and eventually got published,” she said.
“Published?” That seemed like the moon to me. “Like a book?”
“Like writing letters to the editor and submitting them to newspapers.”
When she said that, I almost jumped into the air.
“I love letters!” I squealed.
I felt my heart fill with possibility. It was the most validating day ever! Listening to Annie talk about being a professional writer, fireworks exploded inside me even louder than the fireworks at Disneyland! The only thing that could have made the day better was if Lupe had been there.
The next day at school, I told Lupe all about Annie, the reporter. I could tell she was super disappointed to have missed out on the opportunity, so I hoped the excitement of our new club would cheer her up. At recess, when I led her over to the tree, there weren’t three kids there. There were six! Kareña, Tomás, and Jorge had each told a friend. Our club was growing!
Lupe grinned and got out her sketchbook to draw our new club logo while I welcomed the new members, Rajiv, Hector, and Sophia, under the tree. Once we were all introduced, we decided on the club rules:
Be gentle, be kind.
Say what’s on your mind.
Cone of silence!!
As far as number two went, I wasn’t sure how much Lupe wanted to tell the group. When it was her turn to share, she talked about how her grandmother was sick in Mexico, but she couldn’t visit her.
“Why can’t you visit her?” Sophia asked.
Lupe gazed at the leaves that had fallen onto the ground.
I immediately jumped in. “Uh, because their car’s in the shop, right, Lupe?”
Lupe quickly nodded. “Yeah, and also my parents work all the time,” she said.
About halfway through recess, Jason strolled over to our group.
“Can I join?” he asked.
I looked to the others, who politely scooted over. Lupe scooted the slowest, moving like a sloth. I knew she wasn’t crazy about him being there, but there were no hard and fast rules about who could join Kids for Kids. It was a club for everyone. That was the whole point.
“What are you guys doing?” Jason asked. “Having some sort of meeting?”
I nodded. “Yup, this is our new club.”
Jason looked amused. “And what do you do in this new club?” he asked.
“We talk about what bothers us,” Tomás told him.
Jason’s eyebrows jumped. “That’s it?”
We nodded.
“Seriously?”
Lupe crossed her arms. “If you’re going to mock it—”
Jason held up his hands. “No, I’m not, I promise,” he said.
We looked at him, and I could tell we were all trying to decide if he meant it.
As if to prove that he did, Jason said, “All right. You want to know what bothers me?” We nodded. “Mia here walked out on dinner at my house the other day.”
“That was so not my fault!” I protested.
“It still hurt!” he shot back.
Lupe jumped in. “She didn’t feel like staying. Why’s it so important to you anyway?”
Everything got quiet, and I cringed. Please, don’t say you like me again! I peeked at Jason.