Who knew there was a wrong way to shape frybread?

"Yéigo!" My nálí says.

I sigh, "I can't try any harder, Grandma!"

Kids on TV don't make their own breakfast. Pancakes with gooey syrup are just waiting for them when they wake up.

I smooth out the edges of my dough.

"Is this better?" I ask.

My nálí motions to the frying pan with her wrinkled lips.

I toss the dough into the pan. Hot grease splatters all over.

My nálí says words in Navajo I'm not allowed to say in English. 

"Coo-coo! Coo-coo!" The crusty clock above the door sings.

"I'm late! Bye, Grandma!" I say as I toss my backpack over my shoulder.

"Feed the sheep!" My nálí yells.

My nálí doesn't know much English. But she says, "Feed the sheep!" perfectly.

I point at the clock. "I'm late!" 

My nálí places a round piece of frybread in my hand. "Feed the sheep," she says again.

Grandmas on TV say, "I love you," before their grandkids leave for school.

I wonder if "Feed the sheep!" is Navajo for "I love you"?

Warm frybread melts on my tongue as I run to the shed.

"What took you so long?" Panda asks.

Panda's real name is Johnny Bitsili. He's got a round head, round eyes, and a round body.

He looks more like a Panda than a Johnny.

I throw a block of hay into the wooden sheep corral. The sheep baa happily.

"I failed at frybread lessons again," I explain.

"Making frybread isn't hard. You'll get it," Panda replies.

I dust off my hands. "That's easy for you to say."

"My bread's not that good," he says with a smile.

"You're right..." I shove Panda playfully with my shoulder. "Your bread is as tough as mutton compared to my nálí's bread!"

Panda shoves me back. "Your bread probably tastes like manure!" 

We chase each other down the dirt road.

Three scrappy dogs join our run. Panda jumps over a prickly pear cactus.

One of the dogs jumps in front of him at the same time. The dog yips as Panda's foot crushes its tail.

"Careful!" I pull Panda back before he falls into horse manure.

Horses along the road throw their heads back, laughing.

"We should walk."

Panda nods his head. "Did you fill out your goals sheet?" he asks.

"No," I reply. "It's dumb. Why are we talking about goals in Culture class? Shouldn't we be making baskets or something?"

"It is kind of dumb..." Panda says quietly.

"What did you write down?" I ask.

Panda twists his hands around his backpack straps. He looks at the ground. "I... want to be a chef." He quickly adds, "I don't want to be a fancy chef! I could work at the restaurant here."

"You probably could," I reply.

Panda holds his head up high. I think he even skips a little.

"You're smart. I bet you could get into college." Panda says.

I snort. "I don't know about that."

"You gotta dream big! The sky's the limit, dude!"

I hold my hands up to the turquoise sky. My fingers stretch as wide as possible.

No matter how hard I try, the sky doesn't fit into my hands.

I think about the kids on TV. Does the sky fit in their hands?

I look down at the trailers around me.

Tires weigh the roofs down, so windstorms don't blow them away.

Patterned blankets hang over windows to keep cold out.

Rusty old trucks that used to run on miracles are buried in the sand. 

"The sky's the limit," Panda said.

That might be true, but not here.

All we got here is "Rez life."

That's all I'll ever have.

"I want to be a dlanii when I grow up," Aaron says proudly.

Mr. Tso doesn't blink. "Be serious."

"I am being serious," Aaron replies. "I'll collect tourist tips and drink beer all day. What's better than that?"

Aaron's sidekicks. Ray and Everlyn snicker.

Mr. Tso pinches the skin between his eyebrows. "Being a dlanii is not a job, and you shouldn't beg tourists for money."

Aaron and Mr. Tso argue back and forth.

I don't know why Mr. Tso bothers. Dlanii is probably the best Aaron can do. 

I raise my hand.

Mr. Tso turns to me. He still looks annoyed.

"Yes, Kai?"

"I have something to say." I turn to look at Aaron. "I support you and your dreams."

Aaron leans back in his chair and laughs like a choking goat. The class laughs with him. 

Mr. Tso's arms cross over his chest like an Indian chief in a John Wayne movie.

"What are your goals, Kai?" he asks in a low voice.

I cross my arms like Mr. Tso. "I'm going to be Navajo Nation president."

"Yeah, right!" someone says.

"I mean it! I'm going to make a difference around here. All of you will be begging for my picture!"

Mr. Tso uncrosses his arms. "What kind of changes do you have in mind?"

I slide down in my seat and mumble, "I don't know."

Mr. Tso shakes his head. "I thought so."