Wish on All the Stars Read online

  “She’s known them a lot longer,” Emma said, trying to make me feel better. “We should be glad she has friends to share things with. Right?”

  Of course Emma was exactly right. I didn’t want to feel jealous. But emotions aren’t something you can choose, like which outfit to wear. They just show up and demand to be noticed. And you can try to tell them to go away, but they aren’t always good about listening.

  “Maybe she’s going to tell us, too,” I said, wanting to believe it. “I mean, we haven’t seen her yet today. Maybe she saw them first and that’s why she told them. It could be something simple like that. Right?”

  Emma shrugged. “Right.” Then she started singing, “Don’t worry. Be happy.”

  We walked by Carmen and her friends and she didn’t notice. I’d just have to wait and see if she said anything to us at lunch.

  As soon as we finished eating, we asked the monitor for some passes and went to the library. We went to our normal table and before we’d even sat down, Carmen said, “I need to tell you guys something.”

  “You can tell us anything,” Emma said in her kind voice. “We’re here for you. Always.”

  Carmen spoke quickly. “I didn’t have time to write my letter. I’m sorry. Last night was super busy. There was a lot going on.”

  Emma and I looked at each other. “Oh,” I said. “That’s okay. Two letters is probably enough. Or you could write a short one now, maybe? Only if you want to, though.”

  “Is everything all right, Carmen?” Emma asked. “We’re trying really hard not to worry, but we saw that you were upset this morning. Before school.”

  “We weren’t spying on you or anything like that,” I said. “We just noticed as we were walking by. Is there anything we can do?”

  Carmen shook her head and picked at her fingernails. “No. There’s nothing you can do. There’s really nothing anyone can do.”

  I glanced at Emma and wondered if she would use those superpowers she seems to have in getting people to share their secrets. She’d managed to get me to tell my whole story about my dad and mom splitting up just a couple of hours after meeting her.

  “But don’t you want to tell us, in case we have an idea for how to help?” Emma said. “Remember, we’ve already proven we’re clever, creative, and diligent. That’s why we’re part of the Starry Beach Club with you, right?”

  “It’s just …” Carmen’s voice trailed off.

  “What?” I asked, rubbing her arm. “What is it?”

  “I don’t want you to think bad things about me.”

  “We won’t,” Emma said. “Carmen, you’re our friend. And we want to know you better. We really do. That’s how friends become close, right? By sharing stuff?”

  “The good and the bad,” I added.

  “It’s hard,” she said softly, “to tell you. To tell anyone, really. You don’t understand what it’s like. How scary it is.”

  I swallowed hard because this seemed to be something much more serious than I’d thought. “But we want to understand. And if you don’t tell us what’s going on, we never will, you know?”

  She leaned in and whispered, “If I tell you, you have to promise not to talk about it outside of your families. Promise?”

  “We promise,” Emma and I said at the same time.

  Carmen nodded as she wrung her hands together. After what seemed like a long time, she took a deep breath before she started speaking quickly but quietly. “I was born in the United States, which means I’m an American citizen. But my parents, they’re not. Citizens, I mean. And when I was seven, my father was deported back to Guatemala. Do you know what it means when someone is deported?”

  Emma nodded, but I shook my head, because even though I’d heard the word, I didn’t know exactly what it meant.

  Carmen explained. “The government made him leave this country even though he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave his family. And he can’t come back, no matter how badly he wants to. Like, even if something happened to me or Oscar or my mother, and he wanted to come and see us, he can’t. He’s not allowed back.”

  Tears filled her eyes. I reached over and squeezed her hand. She kept talking. “The last day I saw him was at a train station. No one told me where he was going. I didn’t really understand why I was saying goodbye.

  “For a long time, when people asked about him, I said he was working. He’d call sometimes and my mom would cry and cry after she hung up the phone. I’m not sure how old I was when I figured out he probably wasn’t coming back. And when I asked my mom to explain why, she told me that they had both come to this country for a better life. But they weren’t citizens, which meant they were here without papers. When she explained everything to me, I was like, you mean you’re breaking the law by being here? I didn’t understand, you know? In some ways, I still don’t. How can trying to live a good life be bad? How can trying to give your kids a good life be a crime? And now …”

  She stopped talking.

  “And now, what?” Emma asked. “Is your mom okay?”

  Carmen looked around before she leaned in and whispered again, “They’re coming after people like my mom. Even though she’s a single mom raising two kids, she’s really scared they’re going to send her back to Guatemala, too.”

  “They can’t do that, can they?” I asked.

  Carmen nodded. “They can. And she’s so scared. People we know are always telling us to be careful. Last night, my mom’s friend who we live with, Antonia, got pulled over by a police officer because she wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Now she’ll have to go to court and she’s scared that when they learn she’s not a citizen, they’ll deport her. That’s why I didn’t write the letter last night. My mom and Antonia were up late talking. They’re trying to get her a good lawyer or something. It’s just …” She paused. “It’s so scary. I thought this Starry Beach Club would help keep my mind off the bad stuff, and it does, but it’s always there, you know? I can’t get rid of the worry, no matter how hard I try.”

  While Carmen put her head in her hands, Emma rubbed her back. I thought about what my homeroom teacher, Ms. Holland, had said at the beginning of the school year back in Bakersfield. She’d told us that now, more than ever, it was important to be kind and compassionate to everyone. That the principal and the teachers were committed to working hard every day to make our school a safe place for everyone, no matter their race or religion or personal beliefs, and we should each do the same. But outside of school? How could we make the whole world safe? I had no idea.

  “Carmen, do you ever get to talk to your dad?” I asked.

  She nodded. “We talk to him once a month. And we send him letters and some of our schoolwork to see, and he writes letters to us. I miss him so much. And my poor mom …” She sniffled. “She misses him, too. I feel so bad for her. She doesn’t know what to do. All she wants is for Oscar and me to be safe. To get a good education. That’s why she stays.”

  “If you ever need a place to go,” Emma told her, “you can come to my house. All of you. Anytime. I mean it. Even if it’s two o’clock in the morning. My family will do anything we can to help you, I promise.”

  “Mine, too,” I said, although for a second, I wondered what my mom and sister would have to say. They’d want to help, wouldn’t they? I decided there was only one way to find out.

  Things I’ve learned about immigration from the internet

  *    An immigrant is someone who chooses to move from their country to another one and hopes to live there permanently.

  *    There are lots of reasons people immigrate—to escape war or famine, because they’re frightened something might happen to them because of their beliefs, or to just make a better life for themselves.

  *    Almost everyone who lives in the United States comes from a family of immigrants.

  *    The biggest wave of immigration to the United States happened from the 1880s to 1920.

  *    The proces
s to become an American citizen seems complicated.

  (That isn’t very much. I want to learn more.)

  After school, I went to the bookmobile instead of going straight home. Emma needed to help out at the ice cream shop for a little while, so I went on my own. Mrs. Button was there by herself, sitting at her desk, writing in her notebook of beautiful things.

  “Good afternoon, Juliet,” she said, looking up at me from behind her reading glasses. “It’s so nice to see you.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Button.” I leaned against the little counter. “Can you share something beautiful with me today? I could really use it.”

  “Aw, I’m sorry you’ve had a hard day. Here is something I wrote earlier, after a tourist brought their emotional support kitty in here with them.” She cleared her throat and read, “Animals have the ability to love unconditionally. It doesn’t matter to them what someone looks like or if they’re rich or poor or if they have health issues. All that matters is being loved and loving back in return.”

  “That is so true,” I said. “Animals are the best. A lot better than humans, sometimes.”

  “I think you may be right,” she said. “Although that doesn’t mean we can’t try really hard to be like them, right?”

  I smiled. “Right.” I paused. “But, Mrs. Button, I feel like I should say, you and Mr. Button don’t just try. You do it. You love books and you really love sharing books with people. I’m dying to know. Why did you decide to turn a motor home into a bookmobile?”

  She smiled. “You probably know that years ago, bookmobiles were a part of the library system. People drove them around and delivered books to rural communities. A mobile library, you see, for people who didn’t have a library nearby. Why, the earliest bookmobile was a book wagon, pulled by a horse.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Yes,” she said. “The bookmobile has quite an interesting history. My mother used to tell me stories of visiting the bookmobile as a child when it came to her little town in Mississippi. She said the black children were especially excited because they weren’t allowed to go into the regular library.”

  It made my heart hurt, thinking about people not being able to get books just because of the color of their skin. “That’s so wrong,” I said. “I don’t understand why some people are so hateful.”

  “I know. Me either. My mother grew up to be a successful attorney, fighting for civil rights. She was my hero. Anyway, I always thought it sounded like such a wonderful thing to do—delivering books to people who needed them. Not many people know this, but for a while after I retired from my librarian job, Mr. Button and I drove this bookmobile around small towns in Eastern Oregon. My parents had gifted us with a cabin they’d owned when they were alive, and we lived there for a time. Juliet, Eastern Oregon is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. But as we got older, we decided we’d like to settle in one place. A sunny place, by the beach. And so, we ended up here. We took most of our inheritance money from my folks and transformed the bookmobile into what it is today.”

  I thought of the boy painted on the front, reading a book in front of a giant sand castle. “Bookmobile by the beach,” I said.

  “I know sometimes people think it’s silly, having a bookmobile when there’s a perfectly good library not too far. But we figure we’re not hurting anyone. And the tourists sure seem to appreciate us.”

  “Lots of people appreciate you,” I said. “Including me!”

  Mrs. Button stood up and gave me a smile that made me feel the way I did while eating a warm muffin, fresh out of the oven. “Well, thank you. You’re very sweet to say that. I do believe it’s important for retirees to find things that give them purpose, and this bookmobile has done that for us. We’ll have to wait and see what new adventures await us, I suppose.”

  I knew she was thinking about what might happen if they couldn’t stay in the store parking lot. If Mr. Strickland kicked them off the property because they didn’t have extra money to pay rent. It almost made me tear up, thinking about it.

  “So tell me, Juliet, how can I help you today? Do you need help finding something or do you want to look around?”

  “I was wondering if you had any books about immigrants? Or immigration? Nothing too boring, though.”

  She chuckled as she walked over to the stacks and looked around before turning back to me. “No. I’d never want to give you something boring. Although I’m sad to say our little library doesn’t have anything for you. The city library, with lots more books than we have here, is probably better suited for your request.” She scanned the shelves as if she was checking to make sure. “I’m sorry, Juliet. I feel terrible that I can’t help you.”

  “It’s okay. I figured it was worth a try. Thank you.”

  “Thanks for stopping in,” she said.

  “See you later,” I told her as I headed back outside.

  “Bye,” she said.

  Outside, the smell of chocolate made my stomach growl. The bakery was probably making those fudge cookies I loved so much. It took all my willpower not to march in there and buy one for a snack. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t shop there until the manager changed his mind and let the bookmobile stay.

  And what a coincidence that at the very moment when I thought about him, I glanced at the store before heading for home and saw Mr. Strickland in the parking lot. He was talking to an older woman wearing purple glasses and a skirt with colorful pictures of doughnuts. Who was it? A customer? An employee? I couldn’t quite tell. But then the woman reached up and gave him a hug, and it seemed like neither one of those guesses was probably correct. She was too old to be his wife, wasn’t she? Maybe it was an aunt or even his mother. Or maybe it was a very kind person hugging him before telling him he was fired for being the worst store manager in the history of the world. Well, a person can dream, can’t they?

  I snapped a photo and sent it to Emma with a text:

  Can you believe he’s hugging someone? That means he actually has a heart. Probably a tiny black one, though. Who do you think it is? That he’s hugging?

  Emma texted back a minute later.

  My mom says it’s his mother. She knows her. Says she’s very nice. Is that even possible? For nice mothers to have mean children?

  I was pretty sure it was very possible, which made me wish, once again, that the world made more sense than it did.

  That night, the three of us were all home for dinner. Miranda and I made tacos, the delicious smell of spices and onion filling up the house.

  When Mom got home from work, she said, “Thanks, girls,” as she threw her briefcase on the sofa and eyed the table we’d set along with the bowls filled with shredded cheese, chopped lettuce, and diced tomatoes. “Such a big help. Do I have time to change or not?”

  “We should probably eat now unless you like cold tacos,” Miranda said.

  Mom took a seat and put a napkin in her lap. “Now works for me.”

  Miranda talked about a project she was working on for school, so I ate quickly, wanting to be done so I could ask Mom the question that had been on my mind since lunch.

  “What about you, Juju Bean?” Mom asked. “Anything exciting happening with you?”

  “I want to ask you something,” I told her.

  “Okay. Go for it.”

  “If someone felt afraid …” I stopped, trying to think how to word it exactly. “If a family who was here from another country felt afraid that they were going to be caught and the mom might be sent back to the country she came from, what would you say to them?”

  Mom stared at me for a moment as she wiped her mouth. “Hm. Well, now. That’s quite the question. I think I’d probably tell them a good immigration lawyer might be helpful.”

  “Is that all?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Juliet. Is this someone you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone from school?”

  “Yes. My friend Carmen. And Emma told Carmen th
at they were welcome at their house anytime, if they needed a place to stay. And I guess I’m wondering if you feel the same.”

  Mom pushed her plate forward, then folded her hands as she rested her elbows on the table. “Of course they’re welcome here, sweetie. I would never turn away someone who needed help. How did this come up, anyway?”

  I told Mom and Miranda everything Carmen had told us, hoping Carmen wouldn’t mind. She had made us promise not to tell anyone outside of our families, which meant she understood it’s hard to keep things from your parents. And I trusted my family. It wasn’t like they were going to turn them in or something terrible like that.

  “The immigration issue is a complex one,” Mom said. “There are no easy answers. But Carmen was born here?”

  “Yes. Her younger brother, too.”

  “Well,” Mom said, “like I said earlier, hopefully they’re working with a lawyer who will help Carmen’s mom become a citizen.”

  “What would happen to her kids if she was deported?” I asked.

  Mom bit her lip before she finally said, “Unfortunately, they’d probably be put into foster care.”

  Miranda stood up and gathered our dinner plates. “It’s so sad that they have to live in fear of their mom being sent away. That does not sound like a fun way to live. At all.”

  “No,” Mom replied. “Not to mention they probably miss Carmen’s father terribly.”

  I couldn’t help but think of my dad. How I’d been disappointed about our weekend together and, afterward, how I wasn’t too excited about going back. Carmen wouldn’t have cared if she’d had to sleep on the floor of her dad’s place. She wouldn’t have cared if the weekend was about as exciting as watching a golf match. All that would have mattered was being with her dad. Maybe that’s why she’d been so curious about my weekend in Bakersfield—maybe there was a little bit of jealousy underneath the questions she asked me.

  It made me feel bad that I had complained at all about the weekend. Carmen would probably give anything to see her dad again.