James clutched his suitcase as he walked off the ship. Smoke, salt, and a new smell filled the air. People who spoke in various languages, some of which he didn't know and some of which were English, hurried by him. He felt smaller than ever as tall structures soared into the sky. This was his new home, New York City.
  As they rushed through the crowded streets, his mother held his hand. His father went ahead, looking at signs and asking strangers for instructions. People were too busy rushing to get where they needed to be to notice them. Even though James had always thought of America as a place of opportunity, it felt scary to be in the midst of all the commotion and noise.

James noticed some guys kicking a ball in the street as they were strolling. He wanted to join, but he scowled when one of the boys saw him. The boy murmured, "Another one?" and turned away. James didn't get it. What was meant by that? Wasn't he simply a child like them?
    They arrived to a large, dark structure with broken windows after what seemed like an eternity. When his father knocked on the wooden door, a woman who appeared to be exhausted opened it after a long silence. She gave them a brief glance before moving away. With a flat voice, she said, "You can stay here for the time being."

    James's heart pounded in his chest as he followed his parents inside. The walls were worn down, and the air was thick. Knowing that this was his new existence, he gripped his suitcase even more tightly. Although he didn't know what to expect, he knew America wouldn't be so easy.

As they made their way to the top floor, the stairs creaked under their feet. Despite his legs burning from all the traveling, James kept silent. Papa pushed the door open as they arrived, revealing a small, poorly lit chamber. The walls were covered with peeling wallpaper, and there was one window that let in some sunlight. It wasn't much, but it was home for the time being.

A small curtain hung from the ceiling in the room's corner. James's stomach fell when Mama pulled it away. Another family sat behind it, speaking in a language he didn't understand. "We'll let them know," Papa said. James took a deep breath. They had a home of their own back in England. They hardly had half a room now.
James pulled his tiny blanket tighter around himself as he laid on the hard wooden floor that night. The coldness continued to creep in. People argued and shouted outside. It seemed that the city never slept. He tried to ignore the grumble in his gut. Getting here had cost them nearly everything. They would have to find out what happened next day.

James awoke early in the morning to the sound of footsteps. As they prepared for the day, the other family was already up. Papa suggested that we go as well. "James needs a school, and we need jobs."
James's heart was racing as he quickly sat up. There would be new teachers and new individuals at the new school. He couldn't decide if he should be afraid or excited. Would he feel like an outsider all the time, or would they accept him?

James was seated in the center of the classroom at a weathered wooden desk. Students muttered to one another and glanced at the teacher, who was standing at the front, writing on the whiteboard. He lowered his head in the hopes that no one would see him. However, that was short-lived.
The teacher looked directly at James and said, "Read the next passage." As he picked up the book, his throat constricted. His voice trembled as he read the words, yet they were recognizable. A boy behind him snickered as some of his words sounded odd because of his accent.

The teacher frowned and said, "Speak properly." James felt his face flame as the class erupted in silent laughter. He wanted to clarify that this was simply his speech pattern, but he was unable to do so. He sat with his head down and gazed at the desk.
James sat by himself at lunch. A couple of the boys at the closest table looked at him, whispering and laughing. One of them leaned over after a moment. "What brought you here at all? He sneered, "We don't need more of you. "James remained silent while clenching his fists beneath the table. He had nothing further to say.

"Why'd you even come here? We don't need more of you,"

Hey! I'm Marco. I just moved here too. 

James carefully walked to avoid running into rushing strangers as he followed his father through the congested streets of New York. In the hopes that he would learn how to find employment when he grew up, Papa had brought him along today. With carriages clattering past and shopkeepers shouting out prices, the city felt even larger. James held his breath each time Papa paused at a shop. Perhaps someone would say yes this time.
Papa tipped his hat as he entered a butcher shop. "I am seeking employment, sir," he declared. Wiping his hands on his apron, the man behind the counter hardly looked up. "There are no jobs here," he stated bluntly. Then he pointed toward a window sign. "No Jobs for Foreigners."

As they went back outside, James felt sick to his stomach. He had previously seen a sign similar to that one. Some people simply didn't want Papa working in their shops, regardless of how strong or hardworking he was. James clenched his fists in an effort to avoid the growing frustration.
They continued to look, visiting more factories and shops, but the response remained consistent. Some store owners were courteous and just stated that there was no work. Others made it apparent that they didn't want Papa around. "Go back where you came from," one man even sneered. James saw Papa’s jaw tighten, but he didn’t argue. He simply nodded slightly and turned to leave.

James heard the sound of gentle footsteps and woke up before the sun. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and watched his father button his old coat. Papa had been carrying heavy crates at the docks, so his hands were rough and calloused. He was fortunate to have the job, even though it paid very little. Someone else would take his place if he was too slow or late.

Mama was already up, sitting with a stack of cloth in her lap by the tiny stove. As she stitched, her fingers worked so rapidly that James questioned how they didn't cramp. Although she sewed dresses for rich families, she would never be able to purchase the beautiful gowns she created. She worked from dawn until dusk, only taking breaks to cook or tend to James. She was always saying, "Every penny counts."

James considered students whose parents were not required to work in this way. Rather than moving crates, their fathers sat behind desks in offices. Instead of sewing until their backs hurt, their mothers stayed at home and prepared large meals. They never had to worry about going to bed hungry and wore nice clothes without patches.

At lunch, James unwrapped the small piece of bread and cheese Mama had packed for him. He glanced at the other boys with their thick sandwiches, apples, and warm soup in tin flasks. One of them groaned, “Ugh, ham again?” before tossing part of his lunch away. James’ stomach twisted. He would have done anything for extra food, but he just kept his head down and took a slow, careful bite.

That night, James helped Mama fold the shirts she had sewn. She gave him a tired smile. “We work harder because we have to,” she said gently. James nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He didn’t know when, but one day, he promised himself, things would be different.

James quickly made his way to his classroom down the school hallway with his head down. He knew to be quiet to stay out of trouble, but the whispers kept coming. The other boys still pointed and talked about him when they thought he wasn't looking. People laughed at his accent and his old, worn-out shoes. He tried not to think about it, but today he felt different.

A boy named Henry stuck out his foot as he got to his desk. James fell and just barely caught himself before he hit the ground. Henry leaned back in his chair with a smirk, and the whole room laughed. His words to the immigrant were, "Watch where you're going." James made fists and his face burned.

Most of the time, James would have kept quiet and sat down. Like it didn't bother him, he would have pretended not to hear. He wasn't tired of feeling like he didn't belong or being told he wasn't good enough, but he was tired today. He looked at Henry and spoke in a steady tone. He said, "I belong here just as much as you do." "I'm not going anywhere."

There was silence in the room. Henry blinked, showing that he didn't think James would answer. A few of the other boys looked shocked too. James didn't wait for an answer. Even though his heart was still beating fast, he didn't feel small for the first time when he sat down. He stood up for himself.

Marco gave him a pat on the back after class. He smiled and said, "That was brave." James took a deep breath and smiled back. He might not have been so alone after all. He might have been showing that he did belong little by little.

"I belong here just as much as you do, and I'm not going anywhere."

James and Marco walked through the busy streets after school, dodging shopping carts and people who were in a hurry. The city was always moving, loud, and full of people who needed to get somewhere. James saw people sweeping their front steps, vendors shouting about fresh bread, and kids running between strangers' legs. But not everyone looked like they were busy. Some people stood on corners and looked around, hoping to find work.

I saw James's dad talking to the owner of a tailor shop as they walked by. Marco stopped walking and looked very carefully. The tailor, a tall man with well-combed hair, shook his head and crossed his arms. That was all Marco's dad said, and his hands moved as he spoke. But the tailor changed his mind. He waved him off and pointed to the door instead.

The shoulders of Marco's father fell as he slowly left the room. James saw the look on his face. It was the same look Papa got when a door shut behind him. His fists were clenched together. He said in a low voice, "They don't even give us a chance." Even though his voice was low, James could tell he was mad.

When James thought about the "No Jobs for Immigrants" signs he had seen with his dad, he swallowed hard. Their family wasn't the only ones. It wasn't just English people. So many people from Italy, Ireland, Germany, and other places were turned away before they could even prove who they were. All of them were in the same battle.

James said in a low voice, "They think we don't belong." Marco said "yes" and kicked a loose rock to the ground. He replied, "But we do." When James looked at his friend, he knew they would keep trying no matter what. This fight had other people in it.

"They don't even give us a chance."

James and his family strolled to church on Sunday morning, their shoes making a gentle tapping sound on the cobblestone streets. The church was a tall, stone structure with windows made of stained glass that glowed in the sunlight. James saw how packed it was as they entered, with rows and rows of families, some with his accent and others whose voices carried the rhythms of their various homelands. But they were all the same here.

The priest talked about having faith and having faith that adversity will pass. His voice was steady and calm as he said, "God gives strength to those who endure." James listened intently as he sat between his parents. He wanted to think that their hardships were for a reason, that Mama's long sewing sessions and Papa's labors would result in something better. He hoped that things would get better.

Families gathered outside the church after the service, conversing in various languages as the doors opened. All of them had come here to create a better life, whether they were from Germany, Poland, Ireland, or Italy. James understood that everyone outside had experienced similar hardships. His family wasn't the only one attempting to survive, and he wasn't the only one who felt alienated.

Mama gave James a light squeeze on the hand as they made their way home. "James, we are more than just guests here," she said. "This is also our home." He nodded, experiencing a previously unheard-of warmth in his chest. They may not have been accepted everywhere, but they belonged in this city, this church, and their home.

James lay in bed that night and gazed up at the ceiling. He knew life wouldn't get any easier overnight, and he still didn't have all the answers. However, he experienced a new emotion as he listened to his mother's gentle breathing and the slight sound of Papa placing his boots by the door: hope.