That’s when Ms. Bell, the guidance counselor, pulled me aside. She was about to tell me something encouraging when someone else walked up—someone I didn’t expect.
It was Izan. Everyone liked him—not for being loud, but because he was genuinely kind. He looked at the empty pie table and said, “Did you really make those?”
I nodded. He smiled. “Think I could get one for my mom? She’s obsessed with sweet potato anything.”
I managed a quiet “Sure. I’ll bring one Monday.”
Ms. Bell gave me a knowing smile. “This pie? It’s part of your story. You should be proud to share more of it.”
That stuck with me. And that weekend, I decided to do something bold.
On Monday, I didn’t just bring a pie. I brought flyers. “Mele’s Roots – Farm-to-Table Pies. Fresh Every Friday.” By lunch, I had twelve pre-orders and a message from someone asking if I could cater their grandma’s birthday.
Things grew from there—teachers placed orders, students asked for recipes, and yes, I even turned down a trade offer for a designer jacket. (It wasn’t really my style.)
Izan later sent me a photo of his mom holding a slice with a big smile. The message said, “She says this beats her sister’s—and that’s saying something.”
It made me laugh. And it made me proud.
I started baking more with my parents. I learned new recipes, shared stories in class projects, and slowly started to bring more of myself into that polished world I once felt out of place in.
Even the girl with the perfect ponytail? She asked me for a pie recipe. I gave her a simplified version. (The wood-fired oven wouldn’t have helped her much anyway.)
By senior year, my final project was a short video documentary about our farm. I filmed my mom scrubbing carrots, my dad feeding the dogs leftover crusts, and me standing at the county fair next to my pie stand under a hand-painted sign.
When it played in front of the school, I stared at the floor the whole time. But when it ended, the room clapped. Some people even stood.
Afterward, Izan came over and said, “Told you your story mattered.”
I smiled. “Took me a while to believe it.”
Now I know: where you come from doesn’t make you less—it makes you rooted. And that’s something to be proud of.
If this story made you smile or reminded you of the strength in your roots, tap the ❤️ and share it with someone who needs a little encouragement today. You never know what can grow when you stop hiding your story.