“Has anyone told you that you look just like Mercedes Miller?” the boy with black hair says.

“I know, right, Ted?” November says. “They’re both in my social studies class—you can hardly tell them apart.”

The girl in pigtails named Sunny says something I can’t understand. “What?”

“You look like twins,” she says. Her voice is squeaky like she doesn’t use it much. “Are you related?”

Sunny is just one more kid who has asked if I’m related to Mercedes Miller today. Social studies, then English, then science. Ms. Garcia, the science teacher, kept calling me, “Mer—Mattie,” as if that was my new name. Mer-Mattie. Like I’m some kind of sea creature.

“Never seen her before in my life,” I tell my lunchmates, returning to my sandwich. Just as I take a bite, November asks, “Where are you from, Mattie?”

People are always asking me where I’m from, especially when they see me with my mom. She has light-brown hair and blue eyes; I have dark hair and brown eyes. She’s tall and angular; I’m still growing and have a bit of what Mai’s grandma calls “baby fat.” My mom—and her family for five generations—is from Minnesota. My father is from Colombia. The one in South America. I’ve never been there. Or met him.

“I was born in Santa Cruz,” November volunteers while I chew, “and Ted is from Los Angeles. Sunny is from Oklahoma. How about you?”

Oh. “Minnesota.”

Sunny mumbles something.

“What?” I ask.

Sunny squeaks, “I was new last year.”

“And I was new in fifth grade,” Ted tells me.

“I’m the welcoming committee,” November says. “We take in new kids.” He looks from Ted to Sunny. “If you want.”

Do I want a welcoming committee? Do I need one? I think about the two weeks with my new stepfamily before my mom and Bob’s wedding. That was supposed to be our welcoming vacation. The five of us stayed in a rented cabin in the woods in northern Minnesota. There was a lake and a boat with a motor that spat black smoke, and there were loons calling in the evenings. Five-year-old Lucas kept asking if we were in Canada. Even though it was a nice place with a good view and a firepit for s’mores, the vacation didn’t feel very welcoming. My two soon-to-be stepbrothers didn’t have much to say to me. Lucas discovered dock fishing and smelled like dead fish most of the time. And it wasn’t until my mom found an old chess set in a cupboard that Kenny acknowledged my existence. That’s when I found out he belongs to a chess club, just like Mai and I did in fifth grade. He still wasn’t exactly welcoming, but at least he couldn’t completely ignore me while we were playing chess—especially when I checkmated him.