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more I ignored him, the more he pursued. Perhaps it had become a matter of pride for him. After all, what other girl in this school would turn down his attention?
    Tía Isabela wasn’t wrong about the friends I had made and the friends Sophia already had. At lunchtime, we sat far apart from each other in the cafeteria. Otherwise, it would truly be like trying to mix oil and water. I had quickly learned that in one way or another over the years, Sophia had alienated, insulted, or somehow embarrassed most of the girls I found as friends. They were all somewhat suspicious of me in the beginning, because Sophia was my cousin, and I lived in her hacienda , but eventually it was easy for them to see how different we were. Also, the fact that Sophia was so obvious about her dislike and jealousy of me pleased them.
    Sophia did little to help me adjust when I first entered the private school. I didn’t know it at the time, but that turned out to be a blessing. When Edward and Jesse arranged for me to return from Mexico, he and my aunt, with Sophia sitting in and sulking, discussed why I should now attend the private school. They were worried about my continuous exposure to other Mexican teenagers at the public school who knew about Ignacio and his friends and my involvement with them. Edward thought some would blame me, and in the end, it would only bring more trouble to the family. My aunt, to my surprise, agreed quickly and was willing to spend the thousands of dollars for my private-school tuition. Of course, Sophia was not happy about it.
    The private school had a far better language tutorthan Mr. Baker could ever have been, and with my previous experience in the public school’s ESL class, I made very quick progress. There were a few other Mexican students, one being the daughter of a family who owned a chain of Mexican restaurants. I didn’t immediately make friends with her. I could sense she was being snobby. She spoke fluent Spanish but usually avoided it. I thought she had begun to see me as some sort of competition. Her name was Estefani, but she insisted on being called just Fani. She was tall, nearly five-eleven, with a runway model’s figure. Her father was from a wealthy Mexican family in Houston, Texas, and her family was very close to the family of the most influential Indian families in the desert.
    The Indians here owned a great deal of land and made money on the land leases. They also ran casinos and were very wealthy. All of the politicians courted their favor, so Fani was at grand events and parties and often had her picture in the local paper and magazines. The friendliest thing she said to me that first year was, “Maybe I can get you a job as a waitress at our Palm Desert restaurant. We’re always looking for authentic Mexicans.”
    “What’s an authentic Mexican?” I asked. She just smiled. I knew what she meant was someone not as fluent in English and dirt poor.
    I avoided her, which pleased Sophia, because Fani’s friendship was something most of the girls craved, even Sophia. With Fani, Sophia could admit to her mother being Mexican without feeling inferior.
    “We’re alike,” she would tell Fani. “We come from aristocratic Mexican family lines.”
    Sophia concocted some fantastic tale about hermother’s family being descendants of wealthy Mexican businessmen and politicians. I was the only poor relative they had.
    If the girls she told these things to could see where my aunt really had lived, the house she had lived in, they would probably laugh in Sophia’s face, but because no one knew the truth about Tía Isabela, Sophia could make up anything she liked. As long as I didn’t contradict her, of course.
    That first year, she was quick to lay down that rule. She did it as we walked into the building, seizing my wrist and tugging me back.
    “Don’t you dare tell these girls how poor my mother’s family was. Whatever I say, you just nod, and if you’re not sure, you don’t say