A Maple Among Elms [2017]

Chapter 1: Stress

A while before I was born, even before my parents bought my house, my yard was lined with twelve elm trees surrounding our large property. Thirteen years ago, on the day of my birth, my parents had a maple tree planted directly across the yard from my bedroom window. It is about fifteen feet tall, barely half the height of each elm. The strongest branch holds a rope swing. I spend most of my free time underneath my tree or on my swing drawing, reading, or staring at the branches. Papa often jokes that my fate is intertwined with that of the tree.

My name is Esperanza. I'm in seventh grade at Rodriguez Middle School in Los Ebanos, New Mexico. I am the daughter of Sarah and Antonio Arce. My mother is a businesswoman. My papa works with programming computers. They met when my father was a Mexican exchange student in America. I am fluent in both English and Spanish, as are both my parents. Our family name, Arce, means "maple."

Many people say I am a perfect mix between my parents. I have a complexion lighter than my father's, but darker than my mother's. My hair is a mix of Mom's auburn and Papa's chocolate brown. The shape of my face belongs to my mother, but my brown eyes are my father's.

I am an only child. I am not popular at school, and I do not try to be. I answer questions when asked, but do not volunteer. I sit alone at lunch. I blend in with the crowd. No one notices me and I do not mind.

I don't have birthday parties, partly because I have few friends, and partly because my birthday is August 28th, so it gets caught up in the insanity of the start of a new school year. This year it is the first day of seventh grade.

I dress in a white tank top, embroidered skinny jeans, and my favorite sandals. I braid my waist-length chestnut-brown hair as I walk downstairs. Papa greets me in the kitchen with a cheery smile and a fresh batch of crepes full of chocolate, whipped cream and strawberries.

"Well, if it isn't my beautiful teenager!" he says in his thick Spanish accent. "Happy birthday, Esperanza!"

"Gracias," I say, smiling and grabbing a plate.

"Ready to take on grade seven?" Papa ruffles my hair.

"I guess so." I smooth it back down.

"Are you nervous?"

"A little." It's true. It is my first year at Rodriguez, and I don't know anyone.

I fill my crepe with chocolate fudge, strawberries, whipped cream, and blueberry syrup. Papa glances at my plate with amusement. "Such a healthy breakfast!" he laughs. I love his laugh-- a loud, bellowing sound.

"It has strawberries," I point out with a grin, "which are nutritious."

Papa grins from the sink, where he is drying dishes. "All right, you win."

"As always," I gloat jokingly. He swats me with a dish towel. Papa is playful and often goofy, unlike my neat, proper mother.

Mom appears in the doorway and whirls around the kitchen, getting ready for work. "Happy birthday, Esperanza," she says to me, then glances disapprovingly at my crepe. "Honestly, Antonio, you can't just give her dessert for breakfast. You need a healthy breakfast for your first day. Here." She hands me a granola bar and a banana. I sigh and peel the banana.

"You've got all your supplies?" Mom asks. I nod. Both my parents kiss me goodbye as I put on my backpack. Mom hands me my lunch and says, "Make some friends, okay?"

I haven't made new friends before, I want to say. Why do you expect things to change?

"Hurry, you don't want to be late!" Mom calls. "Bye, sweetie!"

"Have a great day!" Papa yells.

I wave and set off down the road. My new school is walking distance from my house, so I walk to school. I reach the campus in about five minutes. Kids are crowding around the closed doors, riding bicycles and skateboards, socializing, and getting off buses. I step onto the sidewalk and someone shoves me aside. I nearly fall, but regain my balance in time to see a girl yell, "Watch where you're going!" and vanish into the crowd.

The school doors open and students surge in. I'm not very tall, so I can barely see. Suddenly, the girl who pushed me earlier appears and slams into me again. "I said, watch where you're going!" she snaps. Then she is gone again and I am on the ground, my shoulder aching.

I scramble to my feet to avoid being trampled. The school is far bigger than my old school, but I find my way to my homeroom. There is only one person I recognized, and that's the girl who has now tripped me twice. She sees me and her lips purse, her eyes narrowing. I look away from her steely glare. The teacher, a tall, bearded man, sees me and smiles. "Hello, I'm Mr. Davis. What's your name?"

"Esperanza," I say.

"All right, here you are!" He runs his finger down his attendance clipboard. "It's nice to meet you, Esperanza. I'll be your homeroom and English teacher." He hands me my schedule, labeled Esperanza Arce, Grade 7. I find a seat near the back of the room. Most of the kids have arrived, so Mr. Davis claps his hands. "Attention please! Welcome to seventh grade. I'm Mr. Davis, and I'll be your homeroom and English teacher for this year. I'm going to take attendance, so please raise your hand as you say here so I can learn your names. Esperanza Arce!"

There are giggles at my last name. It's pronounced "ar-say," but many people mispronounce it. I raise my hand. "Here."

"Jayla Benner!" The girl who pushed me earlier raises her hand.

Mr. Davis goes through the whole list. Then he says, "Okay. Anyone with an empty seat in front of them, move up. Esperanza, why don't you move up here, next to Jayla?" He patted the desk two rows in front of me. Jayla groans loudly, to the amusement of several students. I slowly slide my backpack off the back of my chair and take a seat next to Jayla, slipping my schedule onto the binder rack under my chair.

As Mr. Davis turns to write on the whiteboard, Jayla turns to me. "Listen, punk," she hisses fiercely. "Just 'cause I'm stuck with you doesn't mean we're gonna end up best buds or anything like that. You got that?" She brandishes her pencil threateningly. "I said, you got that?"

I nod mutely.

Jayla leans in and lowers her voice. "And any funny business and I'm going to make your life torture."