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seemed to see her. One day in the girls' room, she looked at the mirror over the sink, and her reflection was not there.
    The mirror was gone, it's broken shards gathered up in a dustpan and thrown away, but the symbolism was clear.
    "She's stolen my identity," the original Ana lamented after reading an article in the newspaper about criminals stealing information about another person. She chewed a fingernail. Could this
really
happen to her? She was only twelve, but perhaps years from now when she got her first credit card, this new Ana would steal it. Or maybe this new Ana would get in a car wreck and say
she
had been at fault. Then she swallowed from fear. She imagined having a baby that was claimed by the new Ana!
    That night she hardly slept. She listened to a dog overturn the garbage can—or was it the new Ana digging through the trash, gathering information about their family? She peered outside but saw no one.

    During spring break the original Ana learned that her family would be moving. Her father and mother had spoken many times about a new house and often went to open houses on the weekend. Now it was really going to happen—and soon. Her father had gotten a promotion at work and they were moving to Escondido, thirty miles north of their house in Chula Vista.
    "The new place has a pool," her father said.
    A pool! Ana pictured herself diving into the water and fetching a dime on the bottom. She pictured having friends over for a swim party.
I'll be the new girl!
she thought.
I can make afresh start, and that Ana can have my stupid old school.
    "It's going to be nice," she mumbled in bed at night, and wondered about the stick-on stars on her ceiling. They'll have to stay, she assumed, and the girl who lives in my bedroom will have something to look at at night.
    On the first day at her new school Ana was nervous.
Will they like me?
she wondered. She dressed in her new clothes, and pocketed a cell phone, her first, which she habitually opened and closed.
    Her mother escorted her to the office, where Ana was introduced to a counselor, a woman with a face like a pretty flower and who smelled like a flower when she extended her hand. Two girls, office helpers, said hi. A boy, seated in a chair and with a bloodied elbow—he was still hugging his skateboard—managed to put a smile on his face.
    It's nice here,
Ana told herself as the counselor led her from the office. Ana could see that the school was clean and modern. The flower beds were flush with yellow and red flowers, and a custodian was mopping up a spill in the hallway.
    "Here she is, Ms. Carroll," the counselor announced lightly.
    Ana's new teacher approached. Ana liked her right away, and liked how she took her hand in hers.
    "I hear you're a very good reader," Ms. Carroll encouraged.
    "I guess," Ana answered simply.
    Together they entered the classroom, Ms. Carroll prodding her gently. Another girl was hunkered down at her desk, holding a pair of large scissors.
What is she cutting?
Ana wondered, then surmised that she was making a collage.
    Ms. Carroll said to the girl, "Ana, I want to you to meet..." She stalled, uncertain how to continue. Then she said it: "I want you to meet Ana Hernandez, our new student. Funny, you both have the same name."
    The girl glared at Ana, and her scissors chopped at the air. That day, the original Ana became the new Ana. The
new
new Ana couldn't help but falsely praise, "What a nice collage." She brought her hand to her hair and the bracelets on her wrists jangled. The students entering the classroom asked, "Who's she? What's her name?"
    "Me?" She turned around in a neat pirouette. "I'm Ana Hernandez."

You Decide
    FROM HIS BEDROOM, thirteen-year-old Hector Bustos could hear his parents' voices. They echoed like voices coming down a concrete hallway at a baseball stadium, at a hospital, or the back entrance of a hotel, where bundled trash is tossed into a Dumpster. You open the door, hear freeway noises, and