Chapter 1

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DEDICATION

For every child who has ever been the new one — and for every child brave enough to say hello first.

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There was an empty desk in Room 12.

It sat in the second row, right between Olivia Chen and Marcus Williams. It had been empty since the first day of school, and nobody knew why.

"Maybe it's for a ghost," said Marcus one Monday morning.

"There's no such thing as ghosts," said Olivia, but she scooted her chair a tiny bit away from the empty desk, just in case.

Their teacher, Mr. Baxter, smiled from the front of the room. "That desk won't be empty much longer," he said. "We're getting a new student this week."

Olivia's eyes went wide. "A new kid? In the middle of October?"

"People move at all times of the year," Mr. Baxter said. "And when they do, we make them feel welcome. That's what Room 12 does best."

Marcus drummed his fingers on his desk. "What's their name?"

"Her name is Yasmin, and she just moved here from far away. I'd like all of you to think about what it feels like to be somewhere brand new, where you don't know anyone."

The class got quiet. Olivia thought about the time she went to summer camp and didn't know a single person. Her stomach had hurt the whole first day.

Marcus thought about when his family moved from the other side of town two years ago. He'd eaten lunch alone for a whole week.

"It's not easy being new," said Mr. Baxter softly. "So let's make sure Yasmin feels like she belongs."

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On Wednesday morning, a girl with dark curly hair and big brown eyes stood in the doorway of Room 12. She wore a green jacket that was a little too big and held a brand-new backpack so tightly her knuckles were white.

"Everyone, this is Yasmin," said Mr. Baxter. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Yasmin, welcome to Room 12."

"Hi," Yasmin said, so quietly that only the front row heard her.

"HI, YASMIN!" the class shouted back, which made Yasmin jump.

Mr. Baxter laughed. "Why don't you sit right there, between Olivia and Marcus?"

Yasmin walked to the empty desk — which wasn't empty anymore — and sat down. She didn't look at anyone. She opened her backpack and took out a pencil, then put it back, then took it out again.

"I'm Olivia," whispered the girl on her left. "I like your jacket."

Yasmin looked surprised. "Thank you," she whispered back.

On her right, Marcus leaned over. "I'm Marcus. Fair warning — Mr. Baxter tells really bad jokes."

"I heard that, Marcus," said Mr. Baxter, and the class laughed.

Yasmin almost smiled. Almost.

At recess, Olivia looked for Yasmin on the playground. She found her sitting alone on the bench near the fence, watching the other kids play.

"Don't you want to play?" Olivia asked.

Yasmin shook her head. "I don't know the games."

"What if nobody wants me to play?"

Olivia sat down next to her. "I want you to play. And Marcus will too. Come on."

Yasmin looked at the kids running and laughing on the field. Then she looked at Olivia's outstretched hand.

She took it.

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By Friday, Yasmin had learned the names of most kids in Room 12. She knew that Olivia loved drawing horses and that Marcus could burp the alphabet (though Mr. Baxter wished he wouldn't).

But lunchtime was still hard.

Yasmin sat at the end of the table and opened her lunchbox. Inside were flatbread wraps with herbs, a container of rice with saffron, and small cucumbers cut into sticks.

"What IS that?" asked a boy named Derek from across the table. He wrinkled his nose.

"It's... my lunch," Yasmin said quietly.

"It looks weird," Derek said. "Why don't you eat normal food?"

Yasmin's face turned red. She started to close her lunchbox.

"Hey," said Marcus, sliding his tray next to Yasmin's. "That rice looks amazing. Is that the yellow spice my grandma uses?"

"Saffron," said Yasmin.

"Yeah! My grandma puts it in her rice too. Can I try a piece of your bread?"

Yasmin blinked. "You want to try it?"

"Obviously. I'll trade you a chicken nugget."

Yasmin broke off a piece of flatbread and handed it to Marcus. He took a big bite and his eyes went wide.

"This is SO good. Olivia, you have to try this."

Olivia was already reaching over. "Please? I'll trade you my apple slices."

Soon Yasmin's flatbread was being passed around the table, and she had a pile of traded snacks in front of her — apple slices, a granola bar, two carrot sticks, and half a cookie.

"Your mom is an incredible cook," Olivia said with her mouth full.

Yasmin smiled — a real, full smile this time. "I'll tell her you said that."

Derek was quiet for the rest of lunch.

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The next week, Mr. Baxter announced a class project. "We're going to make a map of the world," he said, unrolling a huge sheet of blank paper across the floor. "But not just any map. This is going to be OUR map — showing every place our families come from."

He handed out sticky dots in different colors. "Talk to your families tonight. Find out where your grandparents, or great-grandparents, or even further-back relatives came from. Tomorrow, we'll put our dots on the map."

That night, Olivia called her grandmother in San Francisco. "Nai Nai, where did our family come from before America?"

"Guangzhou, China," her grandmother said. "And before that, a tiny village in the mountains. I'll find you the name."

Marcus asked his dad over dinner. "Where are we from, Dad?"

"Well, my side is from Georgia — but before that, my great-great-grandparents came from West Africa. And your mom's family is from Jamaica and also from Ireland."

"Ireland? Really?"

"Really. Families are complicated and beautiful, Marcus."

Yasmin didn't need to ask. She already knew. Her family had come from Iran, and before that, her great-grandparents had lived in a small town near the mountains.

The next day, the floor of Room 12 was covered with the big map, and twenty-three kids were crawling around it, placing their colored dots.

"My family is from Mexico AND the Philippines!" shouted a girl named Rosa, placing two dots.

"Mine is from right here," said a boy named Tommy, putting a dot on their town. "Four generations."

"That's cool too," said Mr. Baxter. "Every story matters."

When all the dots were placed, the class stood back and looked.

The map was covered — dots in China, Nigeria, Mexico, Iran, Jamaica, Ireland, India, Korea, the Philippines, Guatemala, right there in their own state — dots everywhere.

"Look at that," Mr. Baxter said quietly. "The whole world is right here in Room 12."

Yasmin stared at the map. Her green dot sat right there in Iran, connected by an invisible line to the desk in the second row where she sat every day.

She didn't feel so far from home anymore.

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One morning during sharing time, Yasmin raised her hand. This was surprising because Yasmin almost never raised her hand.

"Yes, Yasmin?" said Mr. Baxter.

"I was thinking," she said, her voice a little shaky. "About the map. Everyone's family came from different places. And in those places, people tell different stories and eat different food and celebrate different things."

"That's right," Mr. Baxter said.

"So... what if we had a day where everyone shared something from where their family comes from? Like a food, or a story, or a song?"

The classroom buzzed with excitement.

"A culture day!" Olivia shouted.

"A world fair!" said Marcus.

"I love this idea," said Mr. Baxter. "Yasmin, would you like to help organize it?"

Yasmin's eyes went wide. She hadn't expected that. She'd expected to suggest the idea and then let someone else take charge, like she always did.

But Olivia grabbed her arm. "We'll do it together."

"The three of us," Marcus added.

Yasmin took a breath. "Okay," she said. "Let's do it."

They spent the next week planning. Olivia made sign-up sheets. Marcus designed posters. And Yasmin — who turned out to be the most organized person in Room 12 — created a schedule showing when each family would present.

Twenty-one families signed up. Rosa's mom was making tamales. Tommy's grandmother was bringing cornbread. A boy named Preet's father was going to teach everyone how to tie a turban.

And Yasmin's mother was going to make her famous saffron rice and teach the class a Persian song.

"I'm nervous," Yasmin told Olivia at recess.

"About what?"

"What if people think our stuff is... weird?"

Olivia looked at her seriously. "Yasmin, Marcus almost cried when he ate your mom's bread. Nobody is going to think it's weird."

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The World Fair was on a Friday afternoon, and Room 12 was transformed.

Every desk had been pushed to the walls. In their place were tables covered with food, crafts, photographs, and flags. The air smelled like a hundred kitchens combined — spices and sugar and bread and fruit all mixed together.

Parents and grandparents filled the room, each standing behind their family's table. Rosa's mom had trays of tamales with green and red sauce. Tommy's grandmother had cornbread and collard greens. Preet's father had colorful fabrics draped over his table and was already wrapping a turban on a giggling Marcus.

Yasmin's mother stood behind a beautiful spread — saffron rice in a big dish, fresh herbs, flatbread, and small cups of tea. She wore a green scarf and kept smoothing it nervously.

"Maman, it's going to be great," Yasmin whispered.

"I hope they like it," her mother whispered back.

They liked it. They loved it.

Olivia's grandmother taught five kids to fold paper cranes. Marcus's dad played a song on his guitar from Jamaica. A girl named Fatima's mother showed everyone how to write their names in Arabic calligraphy.

And when Yasmin's mother started singing a Persian lullaby in her clear, beautiful voice, the whole room went quiet. Nobody understood the words, but everyone understood the feeling. It sounded like love, and home, and a mother rocking her child to sleep.

When the song ended, the room burst into applause. Yasmin's mother wiped her eyes and laughed.

"I think they liked it," Yasmin said, squeezing her mother's hand.

Derek — the boy who had called her lunch weird — was standing at the front of the line for saffron rice, holding out his plate.

"Can I have extra?" he asked.

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After the World Fair, something changed in Room 12.

Kids who had never talked to each other started sitting together at lunch. Rosa taught Preet to count in Spanish. Preet taught Marcus three words in Punjabi. Olivia started drawing pictures of everyone's family stories.

And Yasmin — quiet, shy Yasmin — was right in the middle of it all.

Mr. Baxter noticed. One morning, he brought in a big sheet of paper and taped it to the wall near the door.

"This is our Thank You Wall," he said. "Whenever someone in this class does something kind, or brave, or helpful, write it here. No signatures needed. Just the act of kindness."

"Marcus shared his snack with the new kid in Room 14." "Olivia helped me with math even though she was busy." "Yasmin taught me how to say hello in Farsi — salam!" "Rosa picked up trash on the playground even though it wasn't hers." "Someone left a nice drawing in my desk and it made my day." "Mr. Baxter didn't give us homework on Friday. THANK YOU."

Mr. Baxter laughed at that last one. "Fair enough," he said.

By the end of the month, the Thank You Wall was completely full. Mr. Baxter had to put up a second sheet, then a third.

"You know what I notice?" he said one afternoon. "Every single person in this room is on this wall. Every single one of you has been kind, and every single one of you has been thanked."

"Even Derek," Marcus said, and everyone laughed — including Derek, who had started sitting with Yasmin's group at lunch.

"Especially Derek," said Mr. Baxter. "Growth takes courage, and courage deserves thanks."

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Winter came, and with it came snow days and holiday parties and a gingerbread house competition that Marcus won by building a gingerbread skyscraper (it fell over twice, but he kept rebuilding it).

One January morning, Mr. Baxter made an announcement.

"Class, we're getting another new student next week. His name is Tomás, and he's moving here from Puerto Rico."

The room buzzed.

"Another new kid!" said Olivia.

Mr. Baxter looked at the class. "Now, I could give you all a speech about making Tomás feel welcome. But I don't think I need to. You already know what to do."

He looked at Yasmin when he said it.

Yasmin felt something warm rise in her chest. She thought about the day she had stood in the doorway of Room 12 with her too-big green jacket, holding her backpack like a shield.

She thought about Olivia's whispered "I like your jacket."

She thought about Marcus trading a chicken nugget for flatbread.

She thought about the map with dots all over the world, and the World Fair, and the Thank You Wall, and all the small moments that had turned a room full of strangers into a family.

"Mr. Baxter?" Yasmin raised her hand.

"Yes, Yasmin?"

"Can I be the one to show Tomás around? I know what it's like to be new."

Mr. Baxter smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

The next Monday, Yasmin stood by the door of Room 12, waiting. When a boy with nervous eyes and a red backpack appeared in the hallway, she stepped forward.

"Hi," she said, and her voice didn't shake at all. "I'm Yasmin. Welcome to Room 12. You're going to love it here."

She held out her hand.

Tomás looked at her for a moment. Then he took it.

And the empty desk in Room 12 wasn't empty anymore.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Crimson Ark Publishing publishes fiction for readers of all ages, drawing on the spiritual principles and rich cultural heritage of the Bahá'í Faith. Our stories explore themes of unity, justice, courage, and the transformative power of love — through characters and communities that reflect the beautiful diversity of the human family. Every book is an invitation to see the world not only as it is, but as it could be.

Visit us at crimsonarkpublishing.com