Excerpt from Butterfly Yellow by Thanhha Lai, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Burps. A rotten sourness invades her air. Her nostrils enlarge. Various organs realign, blood rushing and readying for a crash. Saliva triples every second. Tiny beads of sweat bubble atop her nose. Boring, familiar nausea that clung like saltwater while she was at sea.

Hằng has just enough time to reach into a side pocket for a plastic bag and position it underneath her mouth. Plenty of plastic bags, plenty of preparation. Ginger rakes with pointy nails coming back up. Her nose bridge burns. A tell-all stench floats on the icy fake wind to the back of the bus.

Groans, hisses. Hằng understands nothing when English is spoken with such speed and disgust. An entire childhood spent repeating after Clint Eastwood, shredding grammar books, translating National Geographic, yet not a word.

The driver yells, maybe at her, maybe at passengers in back. Startled, she misaligns the plastic bag and the next eggy gingery rush lands on her cousin's white shoes.

Now the driver shouts directly at her. The bus-boat slows and veers off the highway. Screeches to a full stop. A rough right flings her to the window frame. Left into a parking lot. Jerks to park. The eels in her gut are furious.

The door flips open and flaming air invades, contrasting with gray ice inside. Her temples begin to thump. The slimy yellow splatter bleeds into her shoes.

The Others

Tongues click, heads shake.

As passengers march out, each gets a bird's-eye view of the girl's shapeless cropped hair. Before this nuisance, while judging the back of her head, some had tsk-tsked the type of parents who would send a mere child on the bus, alone. Furthermore, they didn't even have the decency to put her in shorts or a sundress. Just looking at her, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt buttoned to her throat, cranks up the temperature.

One woman in all red from hat to heels says to no one in particular, "These newcomers, they don't bother to learn the law."

"That's the thing, no law says who can be parents," another voice answers.

"You'd think once we let them in, they'd do their part to not drag trouble around with them," says the one in red.

A third voice, "Now, now, the poor child got carsick, that's all."

No one helps her.

They hurry inside the rest stop. They might be from here, but it doesn't mean they have taken a liking to the West Texas heat and wind. In crisp air-conditioning, greeted by ice cream, pizzas, burgers, and a multicolored row of self-served slushies, they collectively sigh.

The driver comes out of the bathroom holding two rolls of paper towels, one wet, one dry. As soon as the offending girl staggers out and squints at the sun, he waves her over and hand signals instructions before going in search of an air freshener.

When he and the others return to the bus, each clutching a heavy plastic bag, the air has regained the comfort of sugar and salt. He sprays Vanilla Cupcake to get everyone settled.

Neither the girl nor her backpack is on the bus. He honks a faint warning, waits ten beats before easing back to West 287. After all, he did announce before they exited that those who diddle-daddle will find themselves without a ride.

Kindness From the Stomach Out

Hằng has put on her aunt's hat, wide as an umbrella, yet the sun soaks past the fabric, past coarse blue-black hair to sink into her skull. Unlike gooey sticky vapors back home, the dry air here claws moisture from her skin and leaves bee stings in her throat.

She reaches where the bus should be, touches nothing but scorching waves of heat. More grains of dust land on her cracked lips, cling to watery eyes. She retreats inside.

Panic begins its slow gnaw as Bà's words unravel from Hằng's most inner coils. Deep breath, again, now strategize your next immediate task, no matter a heart drumming thùng thùng, no matter arms and legs softening to noodles.

Excerpted from Butterfly Yellow by Thanhha Lai. Copyright © 2019 by Thanhha Lai. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins Children's Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.