The class hung a big Cultural Fair banner across the room. Mateo slid down behind his desk and twisted his hoodie strings.
At lunch, classmates traded pictures and recipe cards. Mateo drew a house with a crooked roof. Snap — his pencil broke.
A girl with braids leaned over. 'Where's that from?' She spread a wrinkled map across the table.
Mateo touched the map's edge. 'I have a story too,' he whispered. That afternoon, he came back with a small box.
The gym buzzed with flags and music. Mateo stood at the My Heritage spot and lifted the lid.
Yellow ribbons and a tiny piñata tumbled out. The crowd gasped, then cheered.
He handed out slices of cake. Everyone smiled.
By sunset, they stood in a circle. Each friend held a ribbon. They laughed together.
The gym smelled like cinnamon and fresh paint. Mateo's notebook sat on the table, open and full of new drawings.
Mateo looked at the drawings. He thought: my story is ready to be shared.
He closed the notebook and held it to his chest. The ribbons glowed in the fading light.
Tomorrow there would be more stories. Tonight, the notebook was full.