Where I live now, none of my classmates speak English. The writing on the blackboard, the text in my books, all is written in a foreign language I have no hope of understanding. Why couldn’t I have at least gone to the international school? At home, I was at the top of my class. Here, I am at the bottom. At least I think I am. The report cards came home last week, and I can’t even understand their grading system.

Even though I am in junior high, we still have recess here, out in a big open field. Usually, I walk around the perimeter, just thinking, but other times, I try to listen to the kids speaking, hoping I will pick up some key phrases. Today is one of those days.

I understand a little bit from my translation stuff, but these kids talk so fast! I don’t even have time to see if I can comprehend.

I hang back from the other kids, but a girl approaches me. She smiles and takes my hand. And I realize that some things are the same in every language.