Concealed

CHAPTER 1
THE NAME GAME
“YOUR NAME?” THE BARISTA asked, holding the paper cup in the air.
I hesitated. For a moment I couldn’t remember if my name was spelled with one n or two. Not that it mattered much, since by tomorrow I’d have to pick a new one. “Joanna with two n’s,” I replied.
He nodded, scribbled something on the cup, and passed it
down the line to a girl who began preparing the order. My drink wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. A tall vanilla bean frappé with two pumps of cinnamon syrup, hold the whipped cream. Nothing too easy or too complicated. Something quickly forgotten.
Sort of like me. Didn’t matter if my hair was dyed blond, red, or even its current shade of brown, I always played the part of some random homeschooled girl from nowhere in particular who usually kept to herself. I was a mix of people you might know, but could never really remember.
That had been the story for when I was called Ana, Beatriz, Carla, Diana, Emma, Faith, Gina, Holly, and Ivette. Joanna was no different. And tomorrow it would continue, except this time with a name that began with the letter K.
Over the past few years it had all become a game for me. Picking a name while going through the alphabet gave me a sense of order and predictability in my highly unpredictable life. Dad had come up with the idea back when he was still the one choosing my names, but I’d decided to continue the pattern. The question was which K name to choose. It could last me either a couple of weeks, like Joanna, or almost a year, like when I was Carla.
I never knew.
It all depended on when my parents said it was time to move on and start over.
“Ready?” Mom asked me, glancing around the half-empty coffee shop. She’d been standing by the door looking out toward our van while I placed my order. Her hands were stuffed inside the pockets of her quilted jacket and she looked like a ball of stress. Her appearance was the direct opposite of the two women wearing yoga pants and chitchatting behind me as they waited to order their drinks.
“Almost,” I said, stepping away from the line and moving over to the pickup area. “You sure you don’t want anything?”
She shook her head and got closer to me. “No, I’m fine. Just make sure you go to the bathroom. We’ve got about five more hours to go.”
“Seriously, Mom? I’m almost thirteen. I’m pretty sure I can
figure out when I need to go. Ya no soy una niñita.” Mom tilted her head, crossed her arms, and raised a single eyebrow.
“What?” I feigned ignorance, but she was onto me. My using Spanish to soften her up or prove a point was not as effective as it used to be.
“Quizás, but you aren’t grown up either.” She gave me her classic “I’m not playing” stare-down. “No se te olvide.” I raised my hands in surrender. “Yes, I know. And don’t
worry, I already went to the bathroom. Figured that the next
time might involve some sort of hole in the ground.”