An attempt at children's lit

Maica is my neighbour. She lives next door. But she comes from far away. She left her hometown in Africa when she was a baby but she still remembers her granny and her grandad. They told stories to the children. They laughed. They sang.

Maica’s mom and Maica herself came to live here, in New York. But Maica was no longer happy. She did not tell nor hear stories, she did not sing and she did not laugh any more. She missed the hot sun of Africa. She got cold esaily. And she just hide away when people screamed at her.

I met Maica the day I lost my keys. I was searching for them in the stairs and I found her hidden behind the postboxes. She was shivering, and crying and longing for her granny to sing a song to her. I couldn’t help it, but I fall for her immediatelly.

I sat nexto to her and started sobbing myself. She looked at me astonished and made a timid attempt at a laugh. I smiled and gave her a tissue. While she wipped the tears off her face she told me her story. She didn’t like to be here, but her mom had a very nice job here in New York. She missed the hot sand of her homeland but her mom didin’t. She was happy here earning money and going out for lunch with her new friends.

These long ago days, Maica was a solitary soul here in New York. She didn’t talk much. She was afraid of the neighbourhood, she was afraid of school, she was afraid of anything that souned different from her homeland but she finally loved my cheesecake. I offered her a piece and that was the beginning of our friendship.

Now Maica has grown up. She goes to high school. And you woudn’t tell she is not a genuine New Yorker. She hangs out with her gang. She plays basketball at school. And she has a Brooklyner boyfriend. But she still loves my cheesecake and each Monday, when she smells the owen is on in my apartament, she comes to see me and I offer her the same piece of cheesecake that began our friendship while she sings me one of her African songs.