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My name is María Dolores, but I can't give you my last name or anybody's last name or where we live because I am not supposed to be in your wonderful country. I apologize that I am here without permission, but I think I can explain. My teacher at my new school, Mr. B., said for our first big writing project we could write anything we wanted. So I decided to write to you because I understand you are the one in charge of the United States.

Most of my classmates are writing stories about what they did over the summer. My new friend, Tyler, is writing about seeing the stars through a very powerful telescope in a museum in Boston. Another boy in class named Kyle said he was writing a shopping list of everything he wants his parents to buy him! Mr. B. said that was fine as long as Kyle told a story about the importance of each item on the list. You can't trick Mr. B. for anything, although this boy, Kyle, always keeps trying.

I couldn't think of what to write about my summer, and the list of things I want is so long it could stretch all the way to Mexico! Mr. B. came around, checking on our first paragraphs. When
he saw my blank paper, he suggested I write about my family and our culture.

But I am too afraid to call attention to our family being from Mexico because my classmates might turn us in. And it is not as simple as all going back to our homeland, because there is a division right down the center of our family. My parents and I are Mexicans and my two little sisters, Ofie and Luby, are Americans. It is just like the war of slavery in this country we learned about. Mr. B. explained how sometimes in one family, a son would be fighting for one side, another son for the other. I love what one of the presidents before you, Mr. Abraham Lincoln, said: “United we stand, divided we fall.”

Mr. B. explained that this statement is now true for our whole world. He is always teaching us about saving the planet. We are all connected, he says, like an intricate spiderweb. If we dirty the air here in the United States, it will eventually blow over to Canada and maybe kill a bunch of people there. If some factory poisons a river in Mexico, it will flow into Texas and people will die there.

I even thought of my own example! Those swallows that Tyler says fly to Mexico for the fall and winter. Just a week ago, they all left. Suddenly, the backyard was so quiet. I miss them so, and I worry that something might happen to them on the way to Mexico.

“Our earth is already in trouble,” Mr. B. tells us. Something else I worry about. What if it gets so bad that everyone on the earth will be like Mexicans, trying to get to another planet that won't let us in? But Mr. B. says no other planet in our solar system has the water and air we need. “We earthlings have to get our act together
pronto.”
He winks at me when he says this Spanish word.

Tyler says that is why he is glad he lives on a farm whose name I can't give you even if I could give it to you as the family still has not decided what to name it. Sometimes they all sit around the table trying to agree on a name. This is the way a democracy works, where every person has a vote. My sister Ofie, who is always asking questions, asked Tyler what happens in a democracy when no one can agree. Tyler said, “Then you try to get a majority.”

I have seen you on the television, Mr. President, saying that you want democracy for this whole world. I sincerely hope you get your wish. But that will mean that if everyone in this world gets a vote, the majority will not be Americans. They will be people like me from other countries that are so very crowded and poor. We would be able to vote for what we want and need. So this letter is from a voter from that future when you would want to be treated as fairly as I am asking you to treat me.

Please, Mr. President, let it be okay for my father and uncles to stay here helping this nice family and helping our own family back home buy the things they need. Every week, my father and his brothers each contribute forty dollars to send to our family in Mexico. This total is more than their father used to make in a whole month. He was a farmer, working from sunrise to sunset. But now he is an old man, Mr. President, as old as you are—although he looks much older. But the companies that buy corn and coffee did not pay enough for him to be able to even buy the stuff he needed for the next planting.

I know this must seem like an untruth because coffee costs so much in this country. The other day Tyler's mother took us to Burlington, and after she bought us ice creams, she stopped by a shop where all they sell is different kinds of coffees. A big cup was almost two dollars! Mr. President, please believe me that those two dollars are not reaching my family. In fact, as Tío Armando says, we have come north to collect what is owed to us for our hard work back where we came from.

I wish I could be that bold in thinking I have a right to be here. Most of the time, I am just afraid of
la migra—
that is what we call the immigration police, Mr. President. What if they find me and separate me from part of my family?

I would also feel bad if we brought any trouble to this nice family who treats us like we are related to them. Most every day when Papá begins his afternoon chores, my little sister Luby, who only has school a half day, goes over to the grandmother's house, and when Ofie and I get home we go pick her up.

This grandmother lives all by herself in a big house because the grandfather died not too long ago. Every time she remembers something about him, she cries, and tears start in my own eyes, remembering my own grandmother who died and my mother who has been gone for nine months and one day. When she sees my tears, this grandmother throws her arms around me and says, “You are a sensitive soul, María.” Ofie makes fun, saying that I cry so much because my name is María Dolores, which means Mary Suffering. But Mrs. S., the principal at our school, told us that Ofie's name comes from a lady named Ophelia who went crazy and drowned herself in a river because her boyfriend went crazy, too. My sister better be careful not to spit in the air, because like our father says, it will fall in her very own face!

This idea of a crazy boyfriend makes me think of Tyler. No, he is not a boyfriend, which I am not allowed to have until I am way older. But Tyler is a friend who is a boy. I have watched him carefully since his older sister informed me that
her brother has not been well. A few times, I even asked him how he was feeling, and he looked annoyed that I would think there was anything wrong with him. In fact, the only time he seems worried is when Mr. B. starts talking about the future of the planet, which is enough to worry anybody.

The other day in class, we learned how the ice caps are melting and the poor penguins and polar bears have nowhere to go. Riding home on the bus, I looked out the window at all the red- leaved trees that looked like they were burning up with fever. “Are you sure they're okay?” I asked Tyler, who just sighed because this wasn't my first time asking.

“Mari, it happens every year.”

In North Carolina, where we used to live, the trees changed color in the autumn, and the leaves fell, but here everywhere you look the trees are on fire.

“Tyler.” I lowered my voice. I didn't want the other kids to hear. Tyler might get impatient with me, but he keeps being my friend. “Do you think what Mr. B. says is going to happen to the world will happen?”

“Sure, only like a hundred times worse.” The way he said so, it sounded like he was looking forward to the opportunity to be brave. “But not till we're really old.”

“How old?”

“I don't know. Maybe like Grandma.” Then he unzippered his backpack and showed me a notebook with his plan. According to Tyler, if the planet gets into trouble, farms will be the best place to be. In fact, farmers are going to be the most important people in the world because they will be in charge of the food! But since on this farm I only see cows, I think we will all get very tired of milk for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But Tyler says that out of milk we can make cheese, and the dead cows will be meat, and from the garden we will have vegetables. As for dessert, we will make a syrup from a tree called the maple. I am so glad Tyler has a plan. I feel even more lucky that we have landed on his family's farm.

Also in his notebook was a list of all the people who would be allowed on the farm in case there's an emergency. My family's names were on it, but also the names of some classmates who are not so nice, Clayton and Ronnie. “How come you're inviting them?” I asked. “I'm inviting everyone in our class,” Tyler explained. Later, I was shocked to think I wanted to leave those two boys out … just like I'm being left out of this country.

But, Mr. President, I would not ask you to let in any criminals, and these boys are like criminals. They pick fights and say mean things.

They behave themselves in class but when we are out at recess they turn nasty. I've tried asking Mr. B. if I can just stay inside when the others go out, but when he asks if I feel ill and I say no, he says that fresh air is very important for the human body. These boys say the very same things as the kids in North Carolina used to say about me being an “illegal alien” who should go back to where she came from.

Usually an older brother picks up these two boys at the end of the day. But yesterday for some reason, they rode the bus home. I was sitting with Tyler, who was drawing the night sky and showing me where all the different constellations would be in the next few nights.

“¡Hola, buenos días!”
a voice called out. I could tell it was Clayton without looking up. But Tyler was so absorbed in his lesson that it took him a moment before he realized Clayton was talking to us.

“You got yourself a little Mexican girlfriend.” Clayton and Ronnie had ducked back a few seats and squeezed in with Rachel and Ashley in front of us. The two girls were giggling into their cupped hands like these bullies were funny. Meanwhile, Mr. R., who drives our bus, is so hard of hearing that unless he happens to catch troublemakers in the rearview mirror, they can get away with making somebody's life very unhappy.

“Stop it,” Tyler said, but instead of continuing with his lesson, he put his notebook away in his backpack.

“Stop it,” Ronnie imitated in a whiney girl's voice. “Hey, María, how do you say
stop it
in Spanish?”

If Luby had been there, she would have remembered. But I was too frightened to think of anything except how I could get away from these two boys and still not break the rule of staying in your seat while the bus is moving. Across the aisle several rows up, Ofie had turned around, and her eyes were as big as the roll- around eyes on Luby's little dog. I just hoped she would keep her mouth shut and not tell the whole bus that these bullies shouldn't make fun just because I was Mexican.

“You don't know how to say
stop it
in Spanish?” Ronnie put on this shocked face like he couldn't believe anybody was that stupid. “Hey, Clay, this girl's not just illegal, she's a dummy!”

Clayton must have thought that was funny, because the two boys rocked with laughter. They got so loud that up front Mr. R. glanced in his mirror. “Simmer down back there!” he hollered.

Clayton leaned over so his face was real close to Tyler's. His voice was an ugly whisper. “Your dad's breaking the law! You should all be thrown out along with them!”

This time Tyler didn't say a word. His face just reddened the way white people's faces do when they get upset.

Meanwhile, my sister Ofie was breaking the rules and marching up the aisle toward Mr. R. But instead of getting upset with her, Mr. R. pulled over and came lumbering toward the back of the bus. The minute he saw four kids squeezed into a seat for two, he knew who the troublemakers were. “You and you!” He pointed to Clayton and Ronnie. “I want you up at the front of the bus. Now!” There was no arguing with Mr. R., who might be hard of hearing but is tough on kids who cause trouble. Tyler says he used to be the wrestling coach at the high school.

The rest of the ride was so quiet that you could hear every shift that Mr. R. made in his driving. The whole time, I was hoping that Tyler would look up and maybe smile to show he was sorry for how mean the boys had been. But instead he ignored me like he wanted me to disappear. Finally, when Mr. R. dropped us off, instead of walking with Ofie and me up the driveway like usual, Tyler ran ahead without even saying goodbye.

“He must really have to go to the bathroom,” Ofie said. She always thinks of something smart to say.

Of course, we both knew why Tyler was upset.

I was upset, too. “I wish you'd just keep quiet!” I yelled at Ofie. “You made things worse!”

My sister stopped and faced me, a hand on each hip. “Mari, those boys were being bullies, and Tyler should have told them to stop!” We both knew she was right, but it was easier to be upset with her than with Tyler.

Later, when we were returning from the grandmother's house with Luby, I saw Tyler in the distance coming out of the barn. I waved. At first, he pretended not to see me. But I called out to him and hurried over. Of course, my tail followed. I turned and told my sisters to please go wait for me in the trailer. “This is private.”

“We have to protect you,” Ofie said.

“Doggie too,” Luby chimed in, holding up her little puppy.

“Please,
por favor,”
I pleaded. We always say it twice to be extra nice when we want a favor.
“Dora
is on. Go, hurry, so you don't miss the beginning. I'll be right there.” I knew this was bribery, but I desperately wanted to speak with Tyler alone. My sisters love the cartoons, especially the one about this little girl who speaks Spanish but is American like them. The television is a gift from the grandmother, who no longer needs two. I guess when her husband was alive, he always wanted to watch sports, and the
grandmother preferred other programs, like one where a black lady like our Cristina talks to people about stuff that makes them cry. When she told us about the two TVs, the grandmother herself started to cry.

Once my sisters had left, I walked toward Tyler, who just watched me, no smile or greeting. His face reminded me of the black holes in outer space he has told me about that just swallow stuff up. I slowed my steps as I got close, afraid I would disappear forever inside his frown. I wondered if maybe Tyler was falling ill again with the malady that his sister mentioned was the reason he had been sent away over the summer.