I heard the judge’s words, but I couldn’t believe them. I was going to have to live with Skyla.
I wanted to tell the judge everything. I wanted to say that I needed to live with Gram and Owen because I didn’t know my mother very well and that she scared me. My mind said the words, but my mouth couldn’t form them. With everyone staring at me, a brick wall had sprouted between my words and the world, without a crack of daylight for a whisper to escape.
“Naomi, if you can’t add any different information to this situation . . .”
Skyla sat up straight, wiggled in her seat, and squeezed Clive’s arm.
I closed my eyes and heard my father’s words, “Be brave, Naomi León.”
I felt a rumbling in my mind, the sound a bulldozer makes when it is headed toward you. A sensation came over me, as if someone had unlatched a gate that freed a herd of lunging wild animals. I opened my eyes to find Skyla’s gaze drilling into me.
“Is that what you want, Naomi? To live with your mother?” asked the judge.
I looked at Gram and Owen, and slowly shook my head. “No,” I said.
“A little louder, Naomi. I can’t hear you.”
It was as if the stampede crashed through the wall in front of me. “No,” I said again, and slowly began telling the story from the beginning. How Gram was a widow and lost her only daughter. How Skyla and Santiago got married and took us to Mexico and Skyla gave us to Gram so she could find her life. How Santiago loved us, but Skyla wouldn’t let him have us. How we lived at Avocado Acres next to the avocado grove in Lemon Tree so Owen could have room to be a wild monkey.
I kept talking, louder now. “Gram loves us and takes care of us. She’s been both our parents all rolled into one, until we met our father. Lemon Tree is my home. That’s where I belong. I don’t want to go to Las Vegas to live with Skyla. Skyla said she would hurt Gram. She said something bad might happen to Gram if I didn’t go with her to Las Vegas.”
As if a dam had burst, I couldn’t stop the rush of words. I told how Skyla just wanted me to be a baby-sitter for Sapphire and how she had started drinking again and about the slap and how there was more where that came from. I said I loved my school and my friend, Blanca. I told about my carvings and Children’s Hospital and Owen being an FLK and how Skyla didn’t want him anymore because she thought he was a Blem. Then I told about my father and how we had found him. I told the judge about selfprophecy and how if you wanted something to happen you should say it was going to happen over and over again and how I had been thinking “Everything will be all right. I’ll always be with Gram and Owen” at least a million times since Mexico.
I said all that with Skyla and Clive looking right at me.
Skyla stood up. “Your honor, she has always had an overactive imagination. I need my little girl and she needs me. We belong together, just Naomi and me. Can’t you see that what she’s been telling you is just little white lies?” Skyla sat down and started weeping and blotting her eyes with a tissue. I swore she was making her eyes red on purpose by pressing too hard.
I turned to the judge and said in a very strong voice, “I am not lying.”
“Thank you, Naomi,” said the judge. “You may sit down.”
The judge looked confused. “Ms. Jones, there’s one issue I need clarified before I can rule. Do I understand correctly that you only want Naomi?”
Skyla immediately composed herself. “Yes. That’s all I want, your honor. My daughter.”
“And why don’t you want your son?”
“Well, that’s not the issue. I’m Naomi’s mother and I have a right — ”
“Ms. Jones, I will decide the issue. Now, why don’t you want your son?”
Skyla seemed flustered and looked at Clive. “Well . . . when he was born . . . he had so many problems that I never really connected with him . . . bonded with him. I only had him one year of his life so he doesn’t even remember me, and I really don’t remember much about him. Naomi being older and a girl and all, we’re more suited in a mother-daughter way, if you know what I mean.”
“So you have no intention of taking both of the children away from Mrs. Outlaw,” said the judge.
“Oh, no, your honor.”
“Ms. Jones, did you relay this information to the mediator during the interview?”
“Well, no, I figured that was my own personal choice. See, Owen’s better off in Lemon Tree and Naomi’s better off with me. We should be together,” said Skyla, smiling, and obviously satisfied with her answer.
I looked at Owen, who was on the other side of Gram. Gram had her arm around him and he did not look sad or anything. If he found Skyla’s words upsetting, there was enough tape plastered across his shirt to hold him together.
“Well then,” said the judge. “I don’t need to take additional time to consider this case. I am ready to rule. I rarely withhold parental rights and the mediator did recommend that the children live with their mother. But I believe she did not understand the issue in its entirety, especially since Ms. Jones was not forthcoming. I am extremely hesitant to separate siblings who have lived together their entire lives. That is something I will not do, especially when there are loving, attentive, and responsible relatives to act as their caregivers, such as Mrs. Outlaw and the father, who both clearly want these children. Since Ms. Jones has established her preference to this court, which is clearly not in the best interest of Naomi and Owen, I grant guardianship to Mrs. Outlaw. Ms. Jones, we can set up a supervised visitation schedule for you, if you like, to visit both of your children.” The judge pounded the gavel. “This hearing is over.”
Skyla looked confused. Clive grabbed her hand and they hurried out of the courtroom. He never looked back, but Skyla did. She raised her free hand and gave us a weak smile and a little wave of her fingers before Clive pulled her out the door.
“Let’s go,” said Gram, wrapping an arm around each of us.
She drove us toward home. We were almost to Avocado Acres when Gram turned right instead of left at the corner.
On Wednesday, the first day back to school after the break, Blanca was waiting on the steps for me. “Wow. I missed you,” she said, hugging me tight. “I heard you went to Mexico. Tell me all about it! I’m full Mexican and I’ve never even been there, except for Tijuana, and that doesn’t really count since it’s practically in San Diego. Hey, your bangs are longer. You’ve only got two clips on each side. Big news. There’s someone new at lunch in the library. His name is Midah Bakiano.”
We laughed. Midah Bakiano was a shoo-in for my “Unusual Names” list. I told Blanca as much as I could about everything on our way to class.
Ms. Morimoto gave me a hug, too. “Naomi, finally! You’re back. I was worried you wouldn’t make it to the play this weekend. I’m so happy you’ll be joining us.”
At lunch, Mr. Marble said, “Naomi Outlaw! I’m ecstatic to see you!” (I added ecstatic to my “Splendid Words” list.) “Now we have our little nest of library chicks all back in their usual places,” he said, counting and pointing at John Lee, Mimi Messmaker, Midah Bakiano, Blanca, and me. “All is right with the world.”
After lunch, while Blanca visited with Midah Bakiano and talked his ear off, I got up the courage to show Mr. Marble some of my carvings. I pulled the figures, wrapped in paper towel, out of my backpack and arranged the families of reptiles, birds, tigers, and lions on the check-out counter. I lined up the ducklings and the fish and the elephants. And I told him how I had carved in La Noche de los Rábanos.
He said, “Naomi Outlaw, you are a girl of great talent and many layers. Who knew? Thank you for sharing these with me! I am overwhelmed with delight. Would you allow me to feature these in the glass case for Open House in a few months? I always save the spectacular collections for that event.”
Would I allow him? To be in the glass case for Open House for the entire school and their families to see? It was the highest honor at Buena Vista Elementary. It could be my claim to fame.
&nbs
p; The library lunch bunch crowded around.
“Wow, Naomi the Lion,” said Blanca. “Those are amazing!”
“You carved those?” said Mimi Messmaker. “That looks hard.”
I guessed that was the best I would get from Mimi but I didn’t care.
Mr. Marble considered me in a thoughtful way. “I can already tell you are a different girl since you went to Mexico. Before you were a mouse, but now you have the countenance of a lioness.”
I loved Mr. Marble.
After school Blanca waited on the steps with Owen and me, like always. When Gram pulled up in the Toyota, Blanca said, “Bye, Naomi the Lion. I’ll see you in the morning, right here.” She pointed to the steps.
“Bye,” I called to her and waved.
She looked at me funny. “You know something, Naomi? Your voice is louder.”
On the outside of things, nothing much had changed. Gram still made some of our clothes and we still lived in Baby Beluga at Avocado Acres in Lemon Tree. We went to Spray ’n Play to make sundaes and watch the cars go through the wash. My hair was still unruly, but it finally grew out to where I only needed one clip on each side to keep it back. Some days I wore it half up and half down, just like Graciela.
On the inside though, I was different. I had experienced Barrio Jalatlaco, Las Posadas, and quesillo. I had walked on cobblestone streets and thrown pottery at a church, just for the sake of good luck. Me!
I had discovered my mother. I supposed Owen and I would always long for her a little and wonder what it would have been like if she had been different. Gram said Skyla could clean up her act and try and take us back to court someday but that we shouldn’t count those chickens before they hatched. Gram said it wasn’t likely that Skyla would make the effort to visit us, either, but if she did, I wouldn’t mind. I would like to feel her hands on my head, French braiding my hair again. It was funny how she was nice in a mean way, and mean in a nice way. There it was again, the good and bad all rolled into a meatball.
I had also found my father, who had loved me for a long time without being nearby. How many others were walking around and not even knowing that someone far away cared for them? Imagine all that love floating in the air, waiting to land on someone’s life!
Although we had discovered our parents, our lives with Gram were carved into our beings. We were her prizes, and that was good enough for us.
Santiago had taught me that you must carve what your imagination dictates so that what is inside can become what it is meant to be. In the end, the figure will reveal itself for what it really is.
It was true. In Mexico, I had seen carvings of wooden angels with horns, a parrot with a fish tail, a lizard with wings, a threelegged dog. It worked the same with people, too.
A mother with a cat’s claws.
A father with a lion’s heart.
A great-grandmother with a bird’s protective outstretched wings.
A mouse with a lioness’s voice.
I might have begun with a whisper, but it had been strong enough to make a self-prophecy come true. I found a foot-stomping holler that would be loud enough to say boo to those boys someday. I could now overcome an army of worries. I even made a promise to our father — which I intended to keep — that no matter where we lived, we’d all travel to Oaxaca every year at Christmastime for the Night of the Radishes. After all, a León had been carving in the competition for over one hundred years.
I hoped my father was right, that like the figures we carved from wood and soap, I was becoming who I was meant to be, the Naomi Soledad León Outlaw of my wildest dreams.
Pam Muñoz Ryan’s cultural background is an ethnic smorgasbord of Spanish, Mexican, Basque, Italian, and Oklahoman. She was born and raised in California’s San Joaquin (pronounced wah-keen) Valley, with many of her aunts and uncles and her grandparents nearby. Often her extended family gathered together for a big Saturday midday meal and would “visit” for hours, telling stories — a tradition that Pam cherished.
The oldest of three sisters and twenty-three cousins on her mother’s side, Pam was usually the leader at playtime. She would say, “Let’s pretend this is a circus or a school or a jungle.” In those days, she didn’t think about being a writer; she was too busy being a benevolent queen, an explorer, or a doctor saving people from precarious deaths. It never occurred to her to put down a story on paper. Although she didn’t know it at the time, Pam was already creating stories with a cast of characters.
From about the fourth or fifth grade, Pam’s penchant for imagining grew into a love of reading, and during the hot valley summers, she spent most of her time riding her bike to the public library. It became her favorite hangout and her refuge, since her family didn’t have a swimming pool and the library was air-conditioned. There she read the Little House on the Prairie books, the Sue Barton Student Nurse series, Treasure Island, and The Swiss Family Robinson.
After college, Pam became a bilingual teacher and an administrator but eventually left to care for her four children. Years later, Pam went back to school for her master’s degree in education. When a professor suggested she consider writing, the seed was planted, and after a friend asked her to coauthor an adult book, the idea was cemented. Pam knew what she wanted to do — she wanted to write for children.
More than twenty-five books later, Pam Muñoz Ryan is the award-winning author of the novels Riding Freedom and Esperanza Rising as well as numerous picture books, including Mice and Beans, illustrated by Joe Cepeda; When Marian Sang and Amelia and Eleanor Go for a Ride, both illustrated by Brian Selznick; and Nacho and Lolita, illustrated by Claudia Rueda. Pam lives in North San Diego County near the Pacific Ocean with her husband, children, and two dogs.
For more information about Pam Muñoz Ryan, visit her Web site at www.PamMunozRyan.com.
Pam Muñoz Ryan looks on as a carver creates with radishes.
Q: Like Naomi, your background is a mix of different cultures — Spanish, Mexican, Basque, Italian, and Oklahoman. As a child, were you exposed to each of these cultures? Does each one hold a favorite connection for you?
A: Culturally, I was primarily exposed to the Mexican side of my family because they lived the closest, so I saw many of them on a daily basis. I saw my Oklahoman grandmother almost every Saturday. Also, we did go to the Basque picnic every year in Bakersfield, so there was an element of influence there. My most immediate affectionate connections to all of these cultures are to foods like enchiladas, red mole, rice and beans or to chicken, corn bread, smothered greens, and peach cobblers. And Basque dishes like lamb, pickled tongue, and marinated vegetables.
Q: Out of curiosity, is Lemon Tree a real town?
A: Lemon Tree is based on the city of Lemon Grove, California, in San Diego County. There is a giant plastic lemon on Main Street, and carved on its pedestal is the “Best Climate on Earth.” (See photo below.) I gave an endorsement to their claim in Becoming Naomi León when the characters were able to eat outside on Thanksgiving Day.
Q: Are you a list maker like Naomi? If so, what kinds of lists do you keep? What do you do with them?
A: Oh yes, I have always loved to make lists — of all sorts of things: to-do lists, goals, potential book titles, groceries, menus, favorite quotes, funny-sounding names. One of my greatest satisfactions comes in crossing things off of to-do lists. Some lists are in journal-type books and I have left them there. Others get torn out and I carry them around with me and they get so wrinkled I have to throw them away. Now, with the computer, it’s easy to set up a file with a special list and keep it going. I have one for quotes I love, manuscript ideas, and books I want to read — things like that. As a young girl, I also liked to copy things out of books. Once, I tried to copy an entire encyclopedia page!
Q: Didn’t avocados play a role in your novel Esperanza Rising as well? Do avocados hold significance for you or is this just coincidence?
A: It’s a coincidence that is influenced by how prevalent avocados are in southern California. Nort
h San Diego County, where I live now, was once covered in avocado groves. Our lease describes our lot as part of “Avocado Acres.” There is a trailer park in our area called Trailer Rancho. I put those two phrases together and used them as the name of the trailer park in the book. Besides that, I love to eat avocados!
Q: Your characters are all so distinct, so one-of-a-kind. Do their traits sprout from your imagination or are they drawn from people you know?
A: Ideas for a book or fictional characters are similar to a confluence of rivers. The thoughts stream in from various paths and the final idea is the roiling water in the middle. I loved to make lists when I was a young girl and hang out at the library, so those were traits with which I was familiar, and they lent themselves to Naomi’s personality. Naomi evolved from personal knowledge and imagination. The same was true of Owen. Over the years, I have known many boys who had traits similar to Owen’s, but no one who had all of his characteristics. I did know a boy who had to have tape on his shirt each day, and another who was diagnosed as an F.L.K. Someone else had similar physical challenges, yet an optimistic attitude like Owen. Then, there are a few similarities between Gram and my Oklahoman grandmother. For instance, many of the sayings came from my grandmother, and she was a tiny woman, but Gram is much more contemporary and feisty than my grandmother. All the characters are composites who evolved from many facets, real and imaginary.
Q: Baby Beluga is so much a real character, another member of the Outlaw family. Does that authenticity come from personal experience? Did you ever live or travel in a trailer?
A: No, I never lived or traveled in a trailer. When I was in high school, I often went with my best friend to her family’s “summer trailer,” which was stationed in a park near Pismo Beach. I was always fascinated by all of the compartments and the efficient design. Over the years, my friend and I spent a lot of fun times in that trailer. Years ago, my husband and I bought a Chevy Suburban, and we called it Baby Beluga because we thought it looked like a miniature whale. Our children always called it that, too, so that’s where I adopted that name for Naomi’s home.