I am Jamera

My name is Jamera Renee Gonzalez. I’m sixteen, and today is the first day of sophomore year. As I stand in front of the bathroom mirror—staring at my awkward braces, thick wavy red hair, and acne peeking through freckles—I already feel like the day is lost before it’s even begun.

“Jamie, hurry up in there!” Mira pounds on the door, snapping me back. She’s my older half sister, who moved in just a month ago. Dad thoughtit would be “best” to keep his daughters in one place while he and his wife moved a town over for work. Mom agreed, though grudgingly. She loves Mira, but dad ? Not so much.

“Usa el otro baño, Mira,” I shout, grabbing my detangler brush.

“Speak English!” she yells back, still pounding. “You know I don’t understand you!”

“Then maybe you should learn.” I drag the brush through myhair. “We have other bathrooms—pick one.”

“This is the best one,” she complains. “The lighting’s perfect for makeup.”

“Mira, you literally have a full vanity. Usa eso.”

Before it can escalate, Mom’s voice cuts through from thestairs. “¿Cuál es el problema? What’s with the yelling?”

“Mrs. Gonzalez,” Mira calls back, “I’m trying to use the bathroom and Jamie’s hogging it!”

“Mira, just call me Rita,” Mom corrects. “Además, go use the one downstairs. We have plenty of bathrooms.”

Mira stomps off, muttering. Mom sighs in Spanish under her breath, then turns toward me.

“Mija, ándale. You’ll be late if you stay in there.”

“Okay, Mamá,” I answer, still tugging at my hair. Ican’t decide if I want it up or down, but it needs to be out of my face.“¿Qué hay para desayunar?”

“¡Ven a verlo por ti mismo!” she yells as she walks off.

I finish up, rush to my room, and shove supplies into my backpack. I overslept, so everything’s a mess. Mom wouldn’t let me buy a newbag this year—said my old one was “perfectly fine.” Maybe, but the faded straps and dingy fabric scream otherwise.

Downstairs, the smell of bacon, toast, and eggs fills the house. John, Mom’s boyfriend (future stepdad, technically), sits in his work clothes scrolling his phone and sipping coffee. He’s a good lawyer—though awkwardly enough, he met Mom after a few too many traffic violations landed her in court.

“Buenos días, John. ¿Cómo estás?”

“Buenos días, Jamera.” He looks up, confused. “And I don’t know what the other thing was.”

“¿Todavía no sabes español?” I tease, biting back laughter.

“Sé amable, Mija,” Mom warns from the stove.

“Cómo estás,” I repeat. “It means ‘How are you?’”

“Oh. I’m good, gracias.”

“De nada.” I grin and snag a piece of toast. “Any new cases?”

“Just the usual—traffic violations, drug possession.”

“Oh, like Mamá,” I joke.

“Páralo,” Mom laughs, tossing him a look. John and I crack up.

“Excited for your first day?” John asks, sipping his coffee.

“Eh, más o menos,” I shrug. “It’s just tenth grade. Same as last year and the year after. Plus, I still have Mira to deal with.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mira breezes in, still fixing her makeup. Next to her, I look like a little kid in my plain T-shirt.

“Nada,” I say. “It’s just—everyone knows we’re related, and that’s all I ever hear about.”

“It’s not my fault I have a fan club.” She smirks, sliding into a chair. “Maybe if you did your makeup and dressed better, people would talk about you instead.”

“Mija, eres hermosa, no te preocupes,”Mom says, setting plates in front of us. Then, more firmly: “Y Miranda, be nice to your sister.”

“I am being nice, Rita,” Mira protests. “She’s just…so awkward around people.”

“She’s just a little…” Mom snaps her fingers, searching.“Cómo se dice… tímida.”

“Shy?” I cut in, annoyed. “Mamá, I’m not shy.”

“Mija, you barely talk to anyone,” Mom says, rinsing the skillet. “Your teachers say you hardly speak in class.”

“I just don’t have anything to say,” I mutter.

“Nothing wrong with that,” John says. “I was really shy in high school too. I focused on grades, graduated, went to college, then lawschool. And I still managed to land the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“So sweet, mi amor,” Mom smiles.

“See? There’s hope for you still, Jay,” Mira teases.

“Eres muy molesta,” I mutter, standing to grab some orange juice.

“Did you just call me a molester?” Mira blinks at me.

“Molesta,” I correct, pouring a glass. “It means annoying.”

“Well, you’re molesta too,” Mira shoots back.

“Deja de discutir,” Mom snaps. “Stop bickering. You two need to learn how to live with each other.”

“Sí, Mamá,” I sigh, handing Mira the juice.

“I’ll try,” Mira says, giving me a sideways glare.

We finish breakfast as quickly as possible—or at least I do. Mira just scrolls her phone between bites. We’re supposed to catch the bus, but Mira’s friend Tessa pulls up instead.

She’s…cool, I guess. Just your run-of-the-mill blonde with blue eyes. But she’s rocking sunglasses like she’s auditioning for a spy moviein her blue sedan.

“¡Hola, chicas!” Tessa shouts from her rolled-down window. “Who’s ready for school?”

“Hey, Tess!” Mira squeals, practically shoving me into the bushes to grab the front seat. “I can’t believe you got your license!”

“Nope—still a permit,” Tessa admits. “But my dad gave me his old car. He says I can have my license for my birthday.”

“Hi, Tessa,” I say as I slide into the backseat, my rightful spot apparently.

“Hola, hermana,” she greets me, dragging out the h like every non-Spanish speaker ever.

“Air-mah-nah,” I correct automatically. “No h.”

“Air-mah-nah, got it.” She grins. “I don’t think we’ve ever talked before, but I remember you from last year. Didn’t even know Mira had asister.”

“Half-sister,” Mira says quickly. “Same dad, different moms.”

Always with the disclaimer. Heaven forbid anyone confuse usfor being too related.

“Still lucky,” Tessa shrugs, fixing her hair in the mirror. “You don’t know what it’s like living with brothers. They hogged the bathroom all morning, and now it reeks of Old Spice and Axe.”

“Hmm, hogging the bathroom?” Mira looks back at me pointedly. “Sounds familiar, Jamie.”

Typical Mira—like I’ve secretly launched a bathroom monopoly.

“We have three bathrooms,” I glare. “Or do you need todos los baños?”

“English,” Mira snaps.

“That means ‘all the bathrooms,’” Tessa says, glancing at me in the rearview. “I’m learning slowly. We live in Texas, figured I should at least know something.”

“¿Cuánto español sabes, Tessa?” I ask, testing her.

“Um… hablas pocito español?” she stumbles.

I burst out laughing. Mira’s glare could set the car on fire.

“Did I say it right?” Tessa asks nervously.

Not even close. But at least she tries, unlike Mira.

“Close,” I chuckle. “You meant Hablo un poquito español. I was asking how much Spanish you knew.”

“Well, feel free to help me anytime,” Tessa says, smiling atme through the rearview mirror.

I don’t think Mira approves of the idea. God forbid her bestfriend talk to her half-sister—it’s like sharing eyeliner or oxygen. Completely unacceptable.

We pull into school with maybe ten minutes before the first bell. Perfect—enough time to settle in, check my schedule, and brace myself forthe day. Mira bolts from the car with her bag, walking ahead like she doesn’t even know me. Honestly, she probably hopes people think she’s an only child. Tessa at least smiles and waves before jogging to catch up with her, leaving me to walk in alone.

“Jamie! Wait up!”

I turn and see Ava—my best friend since seventh grade—running toward me. She greets me with a side hug, and even though we talked basically all summer, we act like it’s been years.

“Buenos días, chica,” I grin as we walk inside. “How was your morning?”

“I didn’t sleep,” Ava admits, clutching her binder like it’s life support. “I was too nervous about this year. I mapped out all my classes,organized my folders, even researched all the teachers.”

“Dios mío, Ava.” I gasp. “¿Por qué?”

“Because I like being prepared,” she says, pulling out a notebook like a magician producing a rabbit. “For instance—Mr. Connors is going to be tough. Last year his class read The Great Gatsby and wrote essays about how it relates to today’s society. Mr. Grant—Geometry—is new, shy, but nice. He loves Star Wars, so you should get along.”

I raise a brow. Should get along? What does she think, I’m going to bond with him over lightsabers?

“And Ms. Ramirez had her baby this summer,” Ava adds, satisfied with herself.

“You do too much,” I shake my head. Ava’s always been the overachiever—color-coded binders, schedules, the works. If she could plan her own funeral, she would.

She tucks the notebook away. “So, how was your morning?”

“Besides oversleeping, dealing with Queen Mira, and hitching a ride with her royal chauffeur? Fantastic.” I let the sarcasm drip. “At least Tessa’s nice to me, even if Mira silently hates it.”

“That’s something,” Ava says, glancing around. “Have you seen Nani yet?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “She probably got here early. First day jitters.”

Nani’s the third in our trio. She moved here from Haiti after a hurricane and stuck with us ever since. Her real name is Naïke—pronounced Nah-ee-Kay—but since everyone kept calling her Nike, she just rolled with Nani. She’s also the only one of us who speaks French, which is both unfair and impressive.

“Do you think we have the same classes?” Ava asks. “I haven’t talked to her all summer—she was in Haiti, then Nigeria. No clue what her schedule looks like.”

“I think she’s in more advanced stuff this year,” I admit.“ She’s actually serious about school. She signed up for GT classes.”

“Wow, Nani,” Ava mutters. “Way to leave your besties behind.”

“También somos inteligentes, Ava,” I tell her. “We’re smart too. Just… maybe not Nani-level smart.”

“Yo sé.” Ava stares down at her shoes. “I’ll just miss her this year.”

“We still have lunch together at least,” I say, trying to offer comfort—to her or maybe to myself. “And maybe we can hang out after school.”

“True.” Ava finally smiles. “It’s not like she’s leaving.”

The bell rings, cutting us off. Ava heads toward Chemistry, notebook clutched like a Bible, and I drag myself toward English with Mr. Connors. My stomach knots.

Honestly, I’m dreading this class. I just hope Mr. Connors can manage the bare minimum: pronounce my name right and not say something wildly offensive. Like last year, when a teacher actually told me, “You speak English really well for a Spanish speaker.”

Yeah. That happened.