Three miles from the exit to Andromeda, Utah, population 1,500, our old Chevy Silverado slowed down, then rocked forward and backward.
“Keep going, keep going,” I chanted, as if the truck could understand me.
Papi said his own kind of muttered prayer behind the wheel. He had to make it to the class where he taught teachers and medical professionals Spanish on Saturdays, and I couldn’t be late to horsemanship practice, my weakest queening event.
Public speaking? No problem. I could outargue my almost-lawyer mom. (She was still studying for the Utah bar exam.)
Presentation? In my Abuelita Irma’s words, I was stunning in my parade clothes.
But queening was more than a pageant or a debate. A rodeo queen represented the town for a whole year, carrying the American flag at events like parades with pride and honor. She was the face of the rodeo, the representative of the sport that ruled here in the West.
The voice of my riding teacher, Melinda, echoed in my mind. “If you’re going to be the next Andromeda rodeo queen, you must be perfect, Coralí. Punctuality is a mark of respect.”
Whatever reason I had for being late today, she’d say it was an excuse.
“Come on,” I said.
The truck tried. But a few seconds later, the engine sputtered its apology, and finally an ominous hiss broke the expectant silence of the desert.
Papi maneuvered the dead truck to the shoulder of the road. “¡Ahora sí estamo chava’o’!”
My native Spanish was rusty from lack of use, but I understood his words. This was bad.
We’d come from Puerto Rico to Utah 10 years ago, when I was 7. Back then, we were some of the only Spanish speakers in the area.
In the States, there was only time for work. And all of my family’s work and sacrifices were for me and my future. If I became the next rodeo queen, the scholarship to the University of Utah that came with it would open doors to opportunities that now were only dreams. If I became rodeo queen, it would make all the years trying to put down roots in this area worth it. It would mean there was room for my family this far from home.
A few months ago, during one of our weekly calls, Abuelita Irma had suggested we sell pasteles and other Puerto Rican foods to pay for my queening expenses. So we did. Our friends shared my Instagram posts with their neighbors and friends. Now even non-Latinos eagerly waited for our homemade pasteles. Our customers had so much hope invested in me. I had to win.
But now our truck was dead.
Island Rodeo Queen
Does Coralí have what it takes to win the crown?
Learning Objective: to write a short personal narrative inspired by a fictional narrative
I put my phone away before I was tempted to check my social media. Ever since I’d become a finalist, there’d been a mix of comments from proud well-wishers and people doubting I had what it took to represent the town. Sometimes I also got hateful private messages from anonymous accounts. I never told anyone about those. I didn’t want to give haters the power to make my family and friends unhappy. But the truth was, the seed of doubt had taken root in my heart—and with the rodeo only a week away, the dark voices blared louder than the positive ones.
“It’s like being inside an oven!” Papi said, pointing at the thermometer on the dashboard. It marked triple digits already in early June. The air outside the truck shimmered with heat.
We got out. Papi opened the hood, and I went around to the back and got two bottles of Malta India from the cooler. I handed one to Papi and we sipped, the flavor taking me back to hot days at Jobos Beach in Isabela where Mami surfed the ocean waves that crashed around us.
Just then, a minivan stopped, and a man a little older than Papi got out and walked toward us, his legs bowed in true cowboy fashion.
“You folks need help?” he asked.
“We got overheated,” Papi said. His accent turned stronger when he got nervous.
“I have some coolant.”
Papi’s shoulders relaxed. “Great. Thanks.”
The man came back with a bottle of blue liquid. While he worked on our truck, he asked, “Where are you from?”
Every time we met someone new, it was only a matter of minutes before we got that question. The man’s tone was friendly, though. “We live in Andromeda, but we’re from Puerto Rico,” Papi said.
The man’s face lit up. “I’ve been to San Juan on a cruise! Beautiful place!” Then a cloud dampened his enthusiasm. “How is it there now?”
“You know,” Papi answered, “the metropolitan area is booming, but the rest of the island is still suffering.”
The man nodded as if he understood, but did he really? Even I had a hard time picturing what Abuelita Irma had gone through during Hurricane Maria and the terrifying days after. The storm had blown the roof off her house, and when she’d gone outside, she saw the highway covered with mud and dead palm trees, torn buildings, and broken electricity poles. When she could finally call and tell us how things were, it seemed she was narrating the plot of a horror film. Things still weren’t much better, especially in the small towns. The electricity went out every time it rained or the wind blew.
“Well,” the man drawled, “now that Puerto Rico is back on its feet, they have to help themselves.”
“Puerto Ricans are American citizens too you know,” I blurted, a little louder than would be considered polite.
“Coralí . . .” my dad said and made a calm-down gesture. My face heated, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.
Had I overreacted? I wished I could take my words back. A rodeo queen had to be diplomatic, after all.
“I’m sorry if it sounded like I have anything against the island. I don’t,” the man said, putting his hands up in a conciliatory sign. He looked at me, and his eyes widened in recognition. “I know who you are!” he exclaimed. “The surfer who wants to be a rodeo queen!”
I bit back my next words. I wasn’t a surfer just because I was Puerto Rican.
“Actually, she was never much of a surfer, but she sure has a way with horses.” Papi’s voice was full of pride.
“Nice to meet you,” the man said, and shook my hand. His palm was calloused in exactly the same places mine were, from the rub of the leather reins.
“I’ve seen you in some events, and let me tell you, for a Spanish girl, your form on the horse is a thing of beauty. Being the rodeo queen—those are big boots to fill. But the Western way of life has room for all if they adapt to it, don’t you think?”
I looked at my dusty checkered Vans as I considered which part of his statement to address first: the fact that he’d called me Spanish or that I had to prove I was adapting to the Western way of life. At what point would I get to be someone who belonged?
But I didn’t have time to respond.
“We got it!” Papi called, starting the engine. After a small cough, the truck came back to life. “Now let’s get you to the ranch.”
The competition included a speech, which I could recite in my sleep. Then there was a question-and-answer section, about the sport of rodeo and current events. I’d long ago learned all there was to know about rodeo, and I spent every spare moment staying up-to-date on the news.
My uniform of jeans and a light-blue shirt for the reining portion of the contest was already packed along with the blue dress for the Q&A and the white riding outfit that Mami and I had spent hours modernizing with sequins and expensive Swarovski crystals. Mami had even added a design of Puerto Rican and American flags entwined inside a heart.
I could picture myself acing the speech and questions, but when I envisioned myself performing my reining pattern, the ugly private messages blared in my mind, until I saw myself fumbling with the reins and falling, looking ridiculous in front of the whole town. Pretty clothes could only help my confidence so much when my insecurities were so loud.
At the ranch, the familiar scent of horse manure tickled my nose. I put on my boots and headed for the corral, where Sugar was waiting for me. He was spontaneous and mischievous, which made him perfect for practicing. For the actual competition, I’d have to ride a horse I’d choose randomly by selecting a number from a lottery bowl. This was supposed to make it fair, but I was nervous. Horses can sense fear and insecurity. With anyone else, I could fake my confidence, but a horse would know my real feelings as soon as I got close.
Sugar greeted me with a twitch of his ears. While I placed the saddle, he flicked his long tail, trying to swat my back. He snorted, and I laughed as I guided him to the indoor arena. Three girls who couldn’t have been older than 10 were walking out. One was golden blonde. The other two were as dark as I was. They looked like sisters, probably Latinas. The trio was arguing in hushed voices, but I caught the last words the older Latina girl was telling the younger: “. . . not like you can become a queen, Jazzy. Some girls are cut out for royalty and others—”
The girl’s jaw fell when she and I made eye contact.
“You’re Coralí Estrada! One of the finalists.”
The other two girls looked at me in wonder.
“Hi, Jazzy,” I said to the younger Latina girl. I paused. What would younger me have needed to know?
“Girls aren’t like fabric or leather. We aren’t cut out to be—or not to be—anything. We’re like light. You can fit into any spaces you want to fit into, OK?”
The words felt hollow and fake. If I didn’t win the crown, would I still feel like I fit in here, in this town?
As if reading my mind, Jazzy said, “My cousin who lives in Nephi says you won’t win. The girl from Provo has family in the area, and the judges will go for someone local.”
I knew what she meant by “local”: not Latina.
I swallowed. They were just repeating stuff they’d heard; I shouldn’t take it personally. Inside, though, a storm to rival Hurricane Maria bellowed in fury.
“I am local,” I said.
“Late again, Coralí.” Melinda shook her head.
She held the reins for me as I jumped in the saddle. Sugar trotted to the hay feeders, the opposite of what I wanted him to do.
“Control him,” Melinda said, her voice matter-of-fact. “Relax your shoulders and unclench your jaw. You’re too tense.”
I exhaled to relax my upper body while I pressed Sugar with my legs, leading him on a trot around the arena. Then it was time to practice the reining pattern—eight maneuvers around three markers.
Sugar bolted before I was ready, and in the millisecond it took me to recover, I imagined myself falling. It was only a moment, but Sugar sensed my distraction. He turned before we had completed our first left circle.
“No!” I gasped and tugged the reins.
He circled to the right sharply, then beelined to Melinda, who wore a grim expression. If I couldn’t control a horse I rode every week, how did I expect to control one I had no connection with?
“I’ll try again,” I said.
Suddenly, Sugar shot out. I lost one of the reins. When I finally managed to grab it, Sugar reared his head, and inertia sent me flying off him. I rolled, curling my body and protecting my head. My ears thundered with my rushing blood.
“Are you OK?” Melinda’s blue eyes bored into me.
Unable to speak, I nodded.
“You’re distracted, Coralí.” Her voice was soft, but the words cut me deeper than the sharpest knife. “Let’s end practice. You have a week to figure out what you really want.”
With that, she walked out of the arena, taking Sugar with her.
As the week stretched on, Melinda’s question never left my mind. What did I really want?
The part of me that was an island girl—that would be forever—wanted to swim in the blue ocean, hug my grandmother, and help her rebuild her home. The part of me that wanted to be a rodeo queen fit so completely into a Western lifestyle that she sought a crown that had only ever been bestowed on girls whose families had been here for generations.
I didn’t know how to be both at the same time.
The day of the rodeo, I woke before dawn, restless. I rolled over and turned on my phone. A flood of notifications dinged through my silent room.
From Jazzy, who’d followed me on Instagram after we’d met: “After the rodeo, will you sign my hat? For me you’re already a queen.”
From the man who’d helped us on the highway: “Best of luck, surfer queen! Your island will be proud of all your hard work. As are we.” My chest swelled with emotion.
Friends from school sent their good wishes. Even the girl competing against me, the one from Provo, said she was proud to share this journey with me.
Family from Puerto Rico I hadn’t seen in years commented with crown emojis and hearts.
But it was Abuelita Irma’s video message that pierced through the fog of fear and self-doubt. “You’re the queen of my life,” she said. “Whether you win or not, what makes you a warrior is that you keep trying. Seeing you live your dreams makes the distance a little easier to bear, mamita. Your light shines bright, Coralí!” She blew me a kiss and I felt it in my soul.
Some people thought that, to become a rodeo queen, I had to shed all the parts of me that didn’t perfectly match up with the Western way of life. But after all, what was this way of life based on? Its foundations were the same values I’d grown up with: courage, optimism, hard work.
Courage was leaving your home and starting over in a new place. Courage was getting back up on your horse after the worst, most embarrassing fall of your life.
Optimism was Abuelita Irma tending to her orchids again after the storm.
And hard work? Hard work was reciting Spanish poetry while doing chores to not forget the rhythm of your mother tongue, like Papi did. Hard work was coming home from a long day and making pasteles so your daughter could afford to take riding lessons, like Mami.
I dressed in silence, trying to savor every second.
Later, after I delivered my speech from the heart, embracing my Puertoricanness and my Western life, I sat on a white-spotted bay horse named Patchwork. I smiled at my friends and family, who roared back cheers and encouragement. Papi and Mami waved Puerto Rican and American flags. Melinda smiled because she could see I now knew what I wanted.
The sign went off for me to shoot out for the first maneuver, and the horse followed my lead. Each maneuver of the pattern felt like a part of me, the island girl, the Western girl, and the third, unknown part of me filled with hope and light.
On the horse, I moved with the grace I’d learned from my salsa-dancing father and the speed of my surfing mother. I commanded the horse with all the authority I’d learned from Melinda. I was unstoppable. I felt like one more star in my town, Andromeda, a galaxy tucked in the mountains.
And I let my light shine and spread to fill in the gaps.
“Island Rodeo Queen” by Yamile Saied Méndez. Appears in Rural Voices: 15 Authors Challenge Assumptions About Small-Town America. © October 13, 2020, originally published by Candlewick Press. Used with permission by the author.
Writing Prompt
Throughout the story, Coralí reflects on the many things, including people and places, that help make up her personality and who she is. In a short personal narrative, discuss the people, places, or things that make you who you are.
This story was originally published in the September 2025 issue.
Close Reading, Critical Thinking, Skill Building
Essential Questions: What shapes how we view ourselves and others? How and why do our identities change over time? How do we find where we belong?
1. Prepare to Read
(20 minutes)
Preview Vocabulary (10 minutes)
Project the Google Slides version of Vocabulary: Definitions and Practice on your whiteboard. Review the definitions and complete the activity as a class. Highlighted words: bestowed, conciliatory, diplomatic, inertia, maneuvers, ominous, spontaneous. Audio pronunciations of the words and a read-aloud of the definitions are embedded on the slides. Optionally, print the PDF version or share the slideshow link directly to your LMS and have students preview the words and complete the activity independently before class.
View a Slideshow (10 minutes)
Project the Background Builder slideshow on your whiteboard. The slideshow provides information about Puerto Rico, where the protagonist of “Island Rodeo Queen” was born.
2. Read and Discuss
(75 minutes)
Read the “As You Read” box on page 19 or at the top of the digital story page.
For students’ first read, have them follow along as they listen to author Yamile Saied Méndez read her story aloud. The audio read-aloud is located in the Resources tab in Teacher View and at the top of the story page in Student View.
Optionally, have students reread and annotate the story independently. Here are some symbols you might have them use:
❗= I'm surprised.
❓ = This is unfamiliar.
⭐ = This is important.
💭 = “I wonder . . .” (add comments or questions)
💙 = I love this.
Divide students into groups to discuss the questions in the story along with their annotations. (The discussion questions appear in the margins of the print magazine or by clicking on the bolded words on the digital story page.) If you’d like students to respond in writing, an interactive and printable Discussion Questions activity is available in your Resources tab.
Discussion Questions (30 minutes)
1. What kind of figurative language does Coralí use in this paragraph? What does it reveal about how she feels about the truck? (figurative language) Coralí uses personification to describe the truck, stating that it “tried” to start and that it apologized for breaking down. This use of personification tells you that Coralí has a positive feeling about the truck. Perhaps she thinks of it as a reliable old friend and feels grateful for all the years it has allowed her family to get where they need to go.
2. In your own words, explain why becoming the rodeo queen is important to Coralí. (character) One reason becoming the rodeo queen is important to Coralí is that the title comes with a scholarship to the University of Utah. Attending college is important to Coralí not only for the opportunities it would give her, but also because she thinks it would make her family’s hard work and sacrifices on her behalf worthwhile. In addition, Coralí believes that becoming the rodeo queen will prove that she and her family belong in Andromeda—that they are not the outsiders that some people see them as.
3. What does Coralí mean when she says that “the dark voices blared louder than the positive ones”? (figurative language) Coralí means that the negative comments were louder or more prominent in her mind than the positive comments. In other words, she thought more about the negative comments than the positive ones.
4. What does the word though tell you about other people who’ve asked where Coralí’s family is from? (inference) The word though tells you that other people who have asked Coralí’s family where they are from have done so in an unfriendly way.
5. Do you think the man meant to offend Coralí? Can it still be hurtful if someone says something offensive or rude by accident? Explain. (inference, critical thinking) It does not seem that the man intended to offend Coralí; he does not seem to understand why his comments were problematic. To answer the second question, students are likely to say that yes, an offensive or rude comment can still be hurtful even if it was not said with the intention of being hurtful. An offensive or rude comment often reflects ignorance or hurtful assumptions.
6. Why do you think it was so hard for Coralí to be both parts of herself at once? (character, critical thinking) Answers will vary. Perhaps Coralí felt like she couldn’t fully be either part of herself if she was something else at the same time, and that felt uncomfortable. Coralí was also likely worried that if she held on to the “island girl” part of herself, she would never be fully accepted by the people of Andromeda and would not be seen as someone who could be rodeo queen. It’s also possible that Coralí worried that adapting to Western culture would be a betrayal of her Puerto Rican heritage.
7. What does Coralí want? (character) Coralí wants to bring her whole self to the competition, to embrace both her Puerto Rican identity and her Western identity. She wants to show the world that she is proud of who she is, refusing to hide or change any part of herself. She wants to be identified as a person who belongs to more than one culture—because that is who she is.
8. Why might the author have decided not to tell us whether Coralí wins the competition? (author’s craft) Answers will vary. Perhaps the author chose not to say whether or not Coralí wins because what is more important is that Coralí has resolved her inner conflict and feels good about her performance in the competition.
3. Write
(20 minutes)
1. Have students use the Featured Skill Activity: Narrative Writing to help them respond to the writing prompt on page 23 in the printed magazine and at the bottom of the digital story page:
Throughout the story, Coralí reflects on the many things, including people and places, that help make up her personality and who she is. In a short personal narrative, discuss the people, places, or things that make you who you are.
2. Alternatively, have students choose a task from the Choice Board, a menu of culminating tasks. (Our Choice Board options include the writing prompt from the magazine, differentiated versions of the writing prompt, and additional creative ways for students to demonstrate their understanding of a story.)
Connected readings from the Scope archives