Free Dream Things True by Marie Marquardt

embrace.
    â€œIs it always so … emotional?”
    Should Alma tell her and risk disapproval? She had never talked to Mrs. King about her family’s legal status—or lack of status—in the United States. Would she still want to help? Or would she give up on Alma and find a more practical project?
    â€œDid somethin’ happen, sweetheart? You look a little shocked.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. I mean, uh, something happened.”
    â€œWell? Go on.”
    â€œYou know the big Silver Ribbon plant up on the north side of town?”
    â€œ Everyone in town knows the Silver Ribbon plant.”
    â€œThere was a raid, and they took people away. In buses.”
    â€œWho exactly do you mean by ‘they’?”
    â€œICE. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. A lot of people were working there with false papers, you know?”
    â€œYes, Alma. I know.”
    â€œIncluding my aunt and some of my cousins.”
    Mrs. King reached over and took Alma’s hand. “Oh, Alma. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œYeah,” Alma said. “Me, too.”
    Mrs. King pulled into the parking lot of a Krispy Kreme, and they got out of the car.
    â€œWhat will happen?” Mrs. King asked.
    â€œThey’ll get deported. It’s happening all over the country.” Alma said.
    â€œJust for trying to work?”
    â€œMost people think it’s against the law just to be here illegally, but it’s not,” Alma replied. “I mean it’s not a crime . But the people who are working at Silver Ribbon, they’re using false identities. You know, fake Social Security numbers.”
    â€œAnd that’s a crime,” Mrs. King said.
    â€œYeah,” Alma replied. “A serious one.”
    â€œWhat will your aunt and cousins do?” Mrs. King asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Alma said. “They’re definitely not going to find a job in my family’s hometown. There’s no work there. Maybe they’ll go work in the city.”
    â€œI’m so sorry,” Mrs. King said.
    Alma shrugged as they walked into the shop and stared at an array of sweets. Mrs. King pointed to two cream-filled doughnuts glazed in chocolate. Alma ordered black coffee, and they sat down in a booth.
    â€œAlma, we can hold off on discussing your future,” Mrs. King said. “I mean, I understand that you’re shaken.”
    She paused to take a sip of her tea.
    â€œBut I’d like to go on and dive in,” Mrs. King said. “It just might help you feel better.” She pulled a thick envelope from her purse. “I have some scholarship opportunities I want to share with you.”
    Alma figured she might as well just get it over with. She leaned forward and spoke quietly.
    â€œMrs. King. I’m so grateful for all that you’ve done for me, but you need to know something.”
    â€œWhat is it, Alma?”
    â€œI’m not legal. So there’s no point. I really don’t have any way to get legal status. Believe me, I have researched it.”
    â€œGood Lord have mercy, Alma. Stop talking such nonsense. I already knew—or I figured, at least—that you were undocumented. That doesn’t mean we quit trying, child.”
    â€œIt doesn’t?”
    â€œHeavens, no. It’s just another challenge, and you know I love a challenge.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œOf course, really,” Mrs. King said, shaking her head. “Silly child. Some scholarships are available to students regardless of their status .”
    â€œOK, then,” Alma replied, feeling her first glimmer of light all day. “Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”
    While Mrs. King separated stacks of paper into neat piles, Alma thought back to the day she learned that she wasn’t in status —that she was a person who was here but not welcome, embedded in this place but also somehow apart from it. It was middle school; she was