Chapter 1

When you grow up in Staten Island, you learn to blend in, to be just another face in the crowd. It's not like Manhattan, where everyone's trying to stand out with their unique style or bold personalities. Here, conformity is the rule of thumb. If you're not loud, if you're not bold, you're invisible.

I'm living proof of that.

Lila Rivera is the name I was given at birth seventeen years ago. I don't consider myself to be unattractive. I have average looks, with chestnut brown hair that falls in gentle, unremarkable waves to my shoulders, and hazel eyes that don't quite stand out the way I wish they would. I'm not the type of girl who commands attention when she walks down the hallway. I'm the kind of girl who prefers the solitude of the back of the classroom, savors lunchtime alone, and returns home to an apartment that's as quiet and lonesome as it sounds.

My mom works two jobs and is always tired. She leaves early in the morning for her shift at the diner and doesn't come home until late from her second job cleaning offices. When she's home, she's exhausted, and our conversations are brief and functional: What do you need for school? Is there food in the fridge? Can you get pads on your way home from work? My little brother, Alex, is nine. He's at the age where he's more interested in his video games and his friends than his boring big sister. We used to be close, but it feels like he's drifting away, finding his own world to live in. And Dad? He left years ago. Divorce did that to us. He lives somewhere in Queens now, with a new family. We talk occasionally, but it's not the same.

There's a girl in my school who goes by the name of Isabella Marino, and she possesses everything I lack. She is stunning, with lengthy, curly, dark hair that falls like a mesmerizing river. Her eyes are a captivating shade of blue, and her smile has the ability to illuminate an entire room. She effortlessly pulls off these incredible long-sleeved outfits that I could never imagine wearing. Always impeccably stylish and flawless, she exudes a kind of grace that I can only dream of embodying.

Isabella is a magnet for people. She effortlessly draws in friends who hang on her every word, and her boyfriend's adoring gaze makes it seem like she's the center of his universe. Her self-assured demeanor exudes a warmth that is as captivating as the sun. There are moments when I find myself observing her, pondering what it must be like to walk in her shoes. To experience that palpable shift in the room when she enters, and to be missed by friends whenever she's absent.

She's consistently tardy to school or completely absent, yet her absence doesn't go unnoticed. The teachers inquire about her, her friends bombard her with texts, and her empty seat seems to create a void in the entire classroom. I can't help but imagine that she comes from a picture-perfect family, with immaculate attire and an idyllic life. It's hard not to feel envious. I visualize her parents showering her with affection, outfitting her in stylish clothing, providing her with the kind of love and attention that I used to yearn for.

I'm aware that my life is far from terrible, but the isolation sometimes feels overwhelming. My mom loves me in her own way, but she's preoccupied with the endless cycle of work, and Alex is too young to understand. The walls of our small apartment close in on me, and I often feel like a ghost drifting through my own existence, unnoticed and unremarkable.

In a place where standing out is a foreign concept and blending in feels like a necessity, I sometimes wish for a break in the monotony. I dream of a day when my presence is acknowledged, when I'm not just another face in the crowd but someone who matters. Until then, I continue to navigate the quiet corners of my life, hoping that someday, something will change.