Lucia pressed her forehead to the airplane window. “Snow,” she whispered. “I’m really going to see snow.”
But her heart ached. “Mami said it’s just for a few weeks,” she reminded herself. “Just until she comes.”
As she stepped into the arrivals hall, she spotted two familiar faces. “Tía Valentina! Tío Juan!”
“¡Lucia! ¡Mira cómo has crecido!” her aunt exclaimed, hugging her tightly. “You’re almost taller than me now,” Uncle Juan laughed. “What are they feeding you in Caquetá?”
In the car, Lucia stared out at the icy streets. “Why did you leave Colombia?” she asked. Uncle Juan’s voice was soft. “La guerrilla came to our mountain. It wasn’t safe anymore.”
“We thought we’d go back,” added Tía Valentina. “But it’s not the right time.” Lucia frowned. “So… I’m not just visiting?”
They exchanged glances. “No, mi amor,” her aunt said gently. “You’re staying. For a while.”
Lucia’s eyes filled with tears. “But what about Mami?” “She’s coming,” her uncle promised. “She’s packing everything. She’ll be here soon.” Lucia nodded slowly.
That night, she wrote — Dear Mami, I miss you already. I know you didn’t want to tell me we were moving forever. But I understand. I’ll be brave. I promise.
A few days later, Lucia stood at the curb, bundled in her winter coat. “That’s your bus,” said Tía Valentina. Lucia’s eyes widened. “It’s huge!”
“You’ll be fine,” her aunt smiled. “Just smile at the driver.” Lucia took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try.”
She climbed aboard and scanned the seats. “Hi,” said a girl with blonde hair and glasses. Lucia blinked. “Um… hola?”
The girl said something else, but Lucia didn’t understand. Her throat tightened. She turned to the window and saw her aunt waving. A tear slipped down her cheek. The girl gently handed her a tissue.
The bus pulled up to a massive building. “École élémentaire Sainte-Thérèse,” said the driver. Lucia stepped off, clutching her backpack. A teacher greeted her. “Bonjour, Lucia! Come with me.”
Inside the classroom, the teacher smiled. “Take off your coat and stand here so everyone can meet you.” Lucia hesitated.
Then she spotted the girl from the bus—now wearing a yellow sweater. Lucia whispered, “Is that… the same girl?”
The girl smiled. “I’m Amanda.” Lucia smiled back. “Lucia.” Amanda pointed to her sweater. “Different color, same person.” Lucia giggled. “You look like sunshine.”
The teacher handed out crayons. “Let’s draw a bonhomme de neige!” Lucia held up a carrot. “Is this his nose?” Amanda nodded. “And sticks for arms!” Lucia laughed. “He looks like he’s dancing!”
The bell rang. Amanda jumped up. “Recess!” Lucia followed her outside. “Whoa,” she gasped. “That slide is taller than my house!” Amanda grinned. “Race you to the top!”
They were breathless from playing when a lunch lady approached. She looked worried. Amanda whispered, “I think she wants us to go inside.”
In the lunchroom, kids sat at long tables, eating from colorful lunchboxes. The lady asked Amanda something. Amanda shrugged and pointed toward their classroom. Lucia watched her walk away, confused.
The lunch lady showed Lucia a picture of a school bus. Lucia’s eyes widened. “Oh no… I forgot!” She followed the lady to the office, heart pounding.
The principal looked kind but serious. “Let’s call someone,” she said, picking up the phone. Lucia sat quietly, trying not to cry.
A boy walked in. “Hola,” he said. “I’m José. I speak Spanish.” Lucia’s shoulders relaxed. “Gracias.” He asked, “Why were you outside during lunch?” Lucia’s face turned red. “I forgot about the bus…”
She remembered her aunt’s words — “At lunchtime, look for Mr. Lucas and bus 778.” “I messed up,” she whispered. “I thought I was lost forever.”
José smiled kindly. “You’re not lost. The principal called your aunt. She’s coming.” Lucia sniffled. “Really?” “Really. You’re safe.”
When her aunt arrived, Lucia ran into her arms. “I thought I missed you forever!” Her aunt kissed her forehead. “Never, mi amor. Never.”
In the car, her aunt explained again. “Bus 778. Morning, lunch, and after school. Mr. Lucas will always wait.” Lucia nodded. “I’ll remember this time.”
That night, over arroz con pollo, Uncle Juan asked, “So, how was school?” Lucia smiled. “I made a friend. Her name’s Amanda. She gave me a tissue.” Her aunt laughed. “That’s a good friend.” Lucia nodded. “The best kind.”
The next morning, a bright, sudden flurry turned the street into glitter. Lucia tied a small red bracelet from Mami around her wrist and felt less alone.
At school, the children buzzed about a snowman contest after class; Lucia wanted to help, but in the middle of recess the bus routes were paused because of a sudden white-out.
Tía Valentina had to run an urgent errand; she hugged Lucia, then hurried away, promising to be back after work. Lucia’s stomach turned. She had to trust school people now.
When Mr. Lucas called to say buses were delayed, many parents stayed away. Some children began to cry. Lucia felt fear, then something else: she remembered how Mrs. Valentina said to be brave for a little while.
Lucia stood up. In Spanish and then in clumsy French, she told the younger children where the teachers were and where to line up for snacks. Voices quieted. Amanda grinned and joined her.
That afternoon, the principal announced that the school would keep children safe until parents could come. Lucia felt proud — she had helped. Then the unexpected happened: the bus driver, Mr. Lucas, stepped forward with a small package addressed to Lucia.
Inside was a hand-knitted hat and a letter — Mami’s handwriting on the envelope. The letter explained that Mami had been helping people in another town and couldn’t fly right away, but she would come as soon as she could.
Lucia read the letter aloud to the small group — Mami wrote about the mountain and about being proud that Lucia was learning to be brave. Rebecca (a tiny classmate) hugged the hat like it was a treasure.
That evening Lucia placed the hat on her backpack and walked to the window. Snowflakes made tiny patterns on the glass, like a secret message. She whispered, “I’ll wait for you, Mami.”
A few mornings later, a knock at the door filled the house. Lucia flew to open it — and there stood Mami, smiling and snowy, holding a small bundle of warm things.
Mami hugged her so tight Lucia felt every worry melt. “I promised I would come,” Mami said. “And I brought stories of our mountain.”
In the weeks that followed, Lucia learned that staying could mean growing — learning a new language, making new friends, and holding a promise in her pocket until it became real.
On the day of the snowman contest, Lucia and Amanda built their bonhomme together; it wore Mami’s knitted hat and two sticks for dancing arms. When their snowman won a small ribbon, Lucia didn’t feel like she’d been left behind at all.
That night, Lucia tucked Mami’s letter under her pillow and whispered, “Thank you for teaching me to wait.” She fell asleep with the promise snug in her heart.
In the morning, Lucia woke to find a tiny paper snowflake taped to the window with a note: ‘Brave — Mami.’ Lucia smiled and ran outside to play, the city and the mountain both feeling a little closer.
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