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A good day, in the words of D.C. resident Kamiyah Johnson, age 10.

Last week, my mom was crying. But this time it was happy crying, because a woman was giving her a key. The woman said, “You deserve this.”

She said that because we’re living in the hotel. Except it wasn’t a hotel, it was a shelter.

It had a lot of people, and in the hallways, it smelled like feet. And weed. It had a playroom, but it was for small babies. I could go in the parking lot, but I stayed in my room and I watched TV and drank juice and did nothing.

I am in the 5th grade. We are reading “Wonder.” My school was an hour away from the hotel, on the bus. My friends said, “Can I come over to your house?” I said no. I didn’t say why.

At night, we had to be in our room by 9 ’cause that is when the guard comes. My mom slept with my twin baby brother and sister in one bed and she gave me the other. For dinner, we ate Checkers or KFC. Or frozen dinners. Or sometimes my mom said, “Sorry, we’re having sandwiches.”

I said, “That’s ok.”

I say that a lot.

I said it last year at Christmas because my mom couldn’t get me presents.

But this year, we got the key right before Christmas. And the key was to our new apartment. We came in, and it had no type of smell or nothing and I said, “I am going to like this place.”

I might have a sleepover here where we could get our nails painted. I can dance and sing here, like Cardi B. We don’t have furniture except beds, but I get a bunk bed and I get to sleep in the top bunk.

My mom works at — Mom, what’s it called? — the Post Office. She gets off at 12 in the morning. It is seasonal, which means in January she is going to need a new job. But this job pays good, so when we moved in, she went to the thrift store. She got:

One pan

One pot

Two forks

Two spoons

One big dish

And then, she cooked lasagna with red sauce. We sat on the floor and we ate it, my mom, my brother, my sister and me.

— Jessica Contrera

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