We stopped on the side of the road to take a break after five hours of biking. It's just farmland and desert out here, and it's really hot. Larrana's complaining about her hair being hot (it's black. I'm glad mine's blue!), so I tried to cook a granola bar on it. María laughed so hard she fell backwards down the hill behind us and landed in a bush. We're about to leave now, and I'll write back when we're on the bus.
XOXO, Clara
YOU ARE READING
Home of the Brave
Short StoryImmigrants are often viewed as waves of unwanted citizens. You don't see their faces or hear their stories. Read from the journal entries of Clara, a sixteen-year-old crossing Mexico at an attempt to cross the U.S. border with her friend Larrana and...
