I awoke to the screeching sound of my mother’s yelling voice. She never yells, but lately, it’s been happening a lot. Most of it is directed at my rich, Puerto Rican, scary, step-father. He probably deserves it. This time it was bad.

I stepped out of my bedroom reluctantly, scared of what I was about to see. What I saw was not what I expected. The screaming and yelling in the kitchen became mere background noise. My little sister, Lucia and mine’s suitcases were stacked by the door neatly, fully packed; I knew this day was coming, but I didn’t know when.

Lucia and I were being sent off to boarding school.

I walked into the kitchen, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t want to go to boarding school. My mother was still yelling at my step-father. I don’t think she wanted us to leave either. She was scared, and so was I. My mother turned around and saw me, “Sarita,” she said, “everything is going to be okay mija.”

“But it’s not!” I cried. “No one there will look like me, or talk like me! They all live in mansions in Westchester, but no, I live here.”

“You should be appreciative,” my stepfather said, “I am getting you a good education at a prestigious school.”

But I knew the truth. He didn’t want me to live in his house. He never thought of Lucia and me as his children. He thought he could just get rid of us and replace us with new children. And my mother was going to let him do this.

The next day, I found myself staring out the window of my step-father’s 1946 Chevy frowning, thinking about all of my memories with my friends from school. I had a lot of friends. I was popular at school, even the older kids liked me. But I was scared to go to my new school. People outside of where I lived were not always accepting. What if the other girls judge me because I was Spanish? What if they make fun of the way I talk, and of my name?

I spoke perfect English. My real father was a linguist and taught me and Lucia at a young age before he and my mother got divorced. But I looked different. Still, I thought maybe I could pass as white if I really tried. I decided I was going to have to make some changes before I got to my new school.

“Lucia,” I whispered, “your new name is Lucy.”

“What Sarita?”

“No, it’s Sara now. The kids at the new school might not like us. I don’t want to give them a reason to make fun of us.”

I stepped out of the car and glared at the letters engraved in the stone of the building. Sacred Heart Academy. All of the other girls at the school were playing in the front lawn. It was exactly as I expected; they were all white. I only saw one other girl who looked like me and Lucy. She was sitting by herself on a bench, away from all of the others. Lucy ran right up to her. What was she thinking? Lucy was always bold, and eager to make new friends, but I never thought of her as stupid. Could she make it any more obvious that we were different from the others?!

“Hi, I’m Lucia! What’s your name?”, exclaimed Lucy.

I sprinted toward where the girl was sitting and said, “But she goes by Lucy.”

Lucy shot me a confused look and continued talking to the girl, “So, what’s your name?”

“Maria,” said the girl. I could barely hear her.

Two other girls made their way toward us, but they didn’t look too welcoming. One was wearing her hair in a neat braid, and the other down, tucked behind her ears. “Why are you talking to her? She’s dirty,” said the girl with her hair down.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that she stole my favorite hairpin”, said the other girl. They both kicked dirt in Maria’s face and ran away laughing.

That night, in my new, uncomfortable bed, I heard whimpering. It was Maria. I got up and asked her what was wrong.

“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Maria through her tears.

But I did understand. I knew what she was feeling. The fear that one of those girls was going to find out I was like Maria, and start harassing me too. The only difference is that Maria was already experiencing what I feared. I decided to tell Maria my secret, even though I shouldn’t have.

“I’m like you,” I said, “only they don’t know.”

I climbed back into my bed, only to hear the girl next to me whisper, “So you’re just like Maria, huh? Are you gonna steal my things too?”

I cried myself to sleep, just like Maria that night. This was exactly what I was afraid of. Everyone would know by tomorrow. I was Hispanic too, and I wanted nothing more than to be white.