Top Story

Top Story – A Story of Courage and Voice

By Kelly Yang

Narrative-style summary (800+ words)

Mia Tang was no stranger to speaking up. After all, she’d helped run a motel, exposed unfair labor practices, and stood up to racism—all before turning 13. But now, she was about to face something even more intimidating: the world of professional journalism.

It was winter break, and instead of relaxing at home, Mia had won a coveted spot at a prestigious journalism camp for kids run by a national newspaper. For Mia, who dreamed of becoming a reporter, this was everything she’d hoped for. She imagined bustling newsrooms, urgent stories, and the thrill of telling the truth. Most of all, she hoped to share stories about her community—her Chinese-American heritage, her immigrant family, and her friends. She wanted the world to see what she saw.

With excitement (and a little nervousness), Mia packed her notebook and boarded a train to San Francisco. She’d be staying in Chinatown, which thrilled her—it felt like a piece of home. The streets buzzed with red lanterns and smells of sesame oil and fresh dumplings. She was surrounded by culture, history, and resilience. Mia knew there were powerful stories here. She just had to get someone to listen.

At the camp, she met other young journalists—some were serious and quiet, others confident and loud. Her group included a Japanese-American boy named Kenji, a Native American girl named Sky, and a white girl named Amanda whose father was a well-known editor at the paper. They were assigned mentors—real journalists who worked for the paper—and told to pitch stories for the “Young Voices” column.

Mia’s first idea was about a nearby mural being painted by local artists to honor Chinatown’s history. But when she presented it, her mentor frowned. “I’m not sure there’s a big enough audience for that,” she said. “Can you find something more universal?”

Mia blinked. Wasn’t identity universal? Wasn’t history something we all shared?

Undeterred, Mia pitched a story about Ishi—the last known member of the Yahi people—whose story of survival and dignity echoed in local museums. Again, the idea was dismissed. Too niche. Too historical. Not current enough. She watched as other campers’ stories about fashion trends and technology got nods of approval. Slowly, doubt crept in.

Was her voice not what they wanted?

Meanwhile, things back home were shifting. Her best friend Lupe was feeling the pressure of a big math contest, Jason was acting a little weird (was he into someone else?), and Mia found herself worrying more than usual. The mural she wanted to cover? It was vandalized. Someone had spray-painted anti-Asian slurs across it. The hurt rippled through the community—and through Mia.

She was furious. And more determined than ever to speak up.

But every time she tried, it seemed like the system didn’t want to hear it. Editors redirected her. Mentors stayed quiet. Even other kids at camp told her to pick something “lighter.”

Then came an idea.

What if they made their own newspaper?

Kenji, Sky, Amanda, and a few others agreed to help. They called it “True Voice,” and they started reporting the stories that weren’t being told: racism in public art, overlooked minority histories, the barriers young writers face when trying to share diverse perspectives.

They wrote at night, edited together, and printed copies using the school printer. On the morning of a major camp event—a tour of the main newsroom—they handed out the papers to everyone in sight.

The response? Explosive.

Some editors were impressed. Others were outraged. One called it “unprofessional.” Another said, “You can’t just print whatever you want and call it journalism.”

But Mia stood tall.

She explained how she and her friends had pitched real stories—important ones—and had been shut down not because of quality, but because of discomfort. She spoke about the mural, about Ishi, about Sky’s experiences on a reservation and Kenji’s grandfather’s internment during WWII. She asked why those stories weren’t considered “universal.”

Silence filled the room.

Then, one editor—an older woman who’d been mostly quiet during the camp—spoke up. She applauded Mia. “Journalism isn’t just about what people already want to read,” she said. “It’s about what they need to read.”

Suddenly, things shifted. The “True Voice” article was published as a guest piece on the paper’s website. Mia’s story about the mural made the “Young Voices” column. And even the mentors started reconsidering how they chose stories.

By the end of the camp, Mia felt changed. She hadn’t just learned how to report. She’d learned how to fight for her right to report. For her right to tell stories that mattered—even when others didn’t see their value at first.

Back home, she reunited with Lupe and Jason, stronger than ever. The mural was being restored. And Mia, now more than ever, believed in the power of her voice.

Because in a world where stories shape reality, Mia Tang was