In the meantime, Paloma found the word she’d been looking for. “Pájaro,” she said. “Is that the word he used to call me? Little bird?” Her mom tilted her head. “Yes, that sounds about right.” Paloma pulled out a note card from her bag, wrote down “pájaro . ” An immigration officer called them forward to review their passports. Her mom gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Let’s go, my little bird.” When they had gotten through customs, Paloma studied the stamp on her passport: Migración. La República de México. In the mystery books she read at home, Lulu Pennywhistle had already filled her passport with stamps from Dubai, London, and Berlin several times, but Paloma was pretty sure Lulu had never traveled to Mexico. Paloma liked that Mexico, the place where her dad was born, was her first out- of-the-USA trip. She glided her hand over the page with the fresh stamp. “Me gusta mucho,” Paloma said quietly.
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