Morning creeps through the window. Jose sits at his small desk, scribbling words into his notebook under the warm glow of his lamp.
The sun climbs higher. Jose closes the cover and presses the notebook flat against his chest. 'Jose, breakfast!' his mother calls from the kitchen. He doesn't move.
At school, Jose stands by the bulletin board. Papers dance on strings in the wind. He lifts his notebook like he might tape it up, then shrinks back and hides it behind his leg.
A neighbor walks by, humming. Jose walks home, his notebook tucked under his arm.
At the community plaza, Jose opens his notebook. 'Once upon a time,' he reads aloud to the pigeons hopping at his feet. One by one, more pigeons gather.
Two children wander over to listen. Jose snaps the cover shut so fast the notebook nearly hits the ground.
That night, Jose hides all his notebooks under his bed. 'No one will ever see them,' he thinks.
His father finds one. He sits on the edge of the bed and begins to read it out loud. Jose peeks from behind the bedroom door.
The father's voice fills the room, smiling at every line. He looks up and holds out the notebook toward the door.
Jose carries his notebook to the dining table and opens it to a fresh page. His father reads the newest story out loud while Jose listens.
His shoulder brushes his father's arm. Outside the window, a bird lands on the sill and chirps along.
The father keeps reading. Jose listens, and the bird keeps singing. The notebook waits for tomorrow's story.
