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    Chelsie slammed her bedroom door behind her, letting herself vent her frustration physically so she didn’t go insane. She dropped her backpack on the floor and collapsed face-first on her double bed.

    “This has got to be the worst day in history,” she growled. “Dumped by both of my boyfriends, prom is canceled, and now my ‘best friend’ Harley started a rumor about me! Ugg!” she pummeled her formerly fluffy pillow in anger. “No way this day could be any worse.”

    After beating up several more pillows and thrashing around on her bed in a full-out temper tantrum, Chelsie paused to catch her breath. After she composed herself, she rolled off of her ruffled bed to redo her hair in her vanity mirror.

    Fifteen minutes and half a bottle of hair spray later, her hair was back in all its perfect glory, and Chelsie decided to raid the downstairs for something edible.

    But not too fattening, she warned herself. I’ve been putting on weight lately. Wouldn’t wanna have a flabby stomach for the summer.

    As she thundered down the stairs toward the fridge, she managed to stumble on the clean laundry her mom had left on the staircase for her to grab on her way up. Oops.

    But as she failed to regain her balance, Chelsie’s pulse began to quicken, and she flailed at the handrails in an attempt to stop her fall.

    She caught and righted herself, but as she regained her breath, she glanced down at her hand, and her heart nearly stopped.

    On her left hand, her ring finger, was a broken nail.

    “MOOOOOM!” she wailed.

    Instantly, her mom was gasping at the foot of the stairs. “What is it, Chelsie? Are you alright?”

    “No! Look at this!” she held out the shattered nail. “I paid twenty bucks for this and it’s ruined!”

    Her mom’s shoulders slumped with…relief? “Oh, goodness, sweetheart. I was afraid you were really hurt.”

    “I am! Just look at this ruined manicure!”

    Her mother didn’t reply, but instead gestured toward the refrigerator. “How about you eat something, and afterwards I’ll take you to the nail salon? I’ll pay to have it fixed.”

    Chelsea squealed. “Awesome! Thanks.” Her problem solved, she bounded down the remainder of the stairs and to the fridge to search for a snack. Maybe her day wasn’t a total disaster. She was getting a new makeover for free after all; life couldn’t be all that bad.



    Maria smiled, satisfied with her day’s work. Throughout the span of fourteen hours of vigorous, many times tough work, she was able to produce two full meals for each of the five other members of her family, and even one for herself. Most days she made do with only a bite of whatever rarity her family didn’t eat, but today, since she’d worked extra hard and gotten up two hours early, she had managed to procure herself a full meal.

    Swiping her sweaty, dirty hair out of her eyes, she gathered up her food and began the short journey to the shack where her large family took shelter.

    She quickly reached her home and immediately was rampaged on all sides by three of her four hungry siblings. The fourth, her younger brother, presumably hadn’t arrived home from his job yet. Maria got right to work handing out loaves of rough, grainy bread, along with handfuls of edible berries.

    When the cheers and moans of satisfaction subsided, Maria was greeted with a weak call from a pile of blankets in the corner, which she knew was her sickened mother. Her father had left months ago, overwhelmed by the stress of supporting five hungry children and an unwell wife.

    Maria, the oldest of the five children, had taken it under her responsibility to provide for her family. Unfortunately, that sometimes meant going without food, but she was just thankful that she was able to eat at all. She knew of many children her age or younger who were far off worse than she was.

    Smiling, she handed a particularly big loaf of bread to her mother, who wheezed in reply. Maria kneeled by her frail mother’s side concernedly, saying, “Is it getting worse, Mama?”

    The very ill woman shook her head in protestation, beads of perspiration dripping down her forehead to evaporate in the rough cloth that made her bed.

    Maria smiled sadly. “Please don’t lie for me, Mama. I want you to be okay.”

    Her mother sighed and croaked, “I love you so much, Maria.”

    “I love you too, Mama.”

    “Maria! Maria! Come look at me!” called Sophia, the little eight-year-old of the family. “I’m a princess!”

    “Are you, now? Let me see.”

    Sophia had discovered some tattered, stained ribbons somewhere and had proceeded to tie them in lumpy knots in her hair. For her sister’s benefit, however, Maria pretended to gasp in shock.

    “Who are you? You must be a princess. Did you see where my little sister went, Your Highness?”

    Sophia giggled gleefully. “Maria, silly goose. It’s me!”

    “Are you sure? You look awfully like a princess to me…”

    “Yes, I’m sure!”

    Maria beamed. “Well, everyone knows that if you look like a princess, it means you get…” She let the suspense build.

    “What? What do I get, Maria?”

    “A ticklefight!”

    Sophia curled into a ball, a new bout of giggles taking over. “Ticklefight! Ticklefight!” she squealed.

    Alano, Maria’s nine-year-old brother bordering anemia, decided to join in. Plopping on top of his sisters, he tickled furiously and quickly had both of his siblings under his control. Three-year-old Josias looked on with an expression of nonchalant interest.



     Miguel, eleven years old and the oldest child next to Maria, walked into the family’s little hut to see three of his siblings writhing on the ground together amidst crazy laughter and giggles, his mother sitting up in bed for the first time in months, clapping her hands and cheering her children on, and his little three-year-old brother gnawing on the remains of a loaf of bread.

    Miguel smiled. Life was wonderful.