(Rachel)

The first menstruation is usually a turning point in any girl's life. This often confirms what is already present in the body and attitudes: it's the adolescence coming with no return. I understood well the inevitability of the body's maturation. I could see the fur that invaded my private parts and under my arms. I was never a hairy kid, but my legs were different. I'd look at myself in the mirror and get frustrated with the two lumps that were growing inside my areolas and making them puffy and painful. And my legs were long and disproportionate. Still, I was smaller than my sister.

Brittany already had periods. She got her first period at age 11, but this was a topic Santana avoided because she thought it was a punishment that our friend couldn't fall in the pool or wear her bikini on certain days of the month. I don't mind the pool here at home, but I like to wear a bikini and sunbathe. Brittany had a beautiful body and much more harmonious than my gangly one. My voice was difficult to control because it was changing and maturing. It wasn't like the boys, yet a person with a sensitive ear for music like mine would understand. It was difficult to tame certain notes, especially the higher ones. Sometimes I stumbled into nothingness in my dance classes and the teacher at the community theater company had a hard time fitting me into a part. Either she preferred Dolores, the 14-year-old, for the older roles, or the other 9-year-old girls to literally play the kids. And I was there in that strange in-between plane.

If menstruation meant that all this angst was going to end, so be it. On the other hand, Santana was right when she said it was disgusting to bleed between your legs. Imagine? I sighed in front of the mirror and finished putting on my clothes. There was still snow outside and I needed to go to school, even if I didn't feel like it. I met Santana and my parents in the kitchen having breakfast.

"Buenos días, mi estrellita." Papi was the first to greet me with a kiss on my head.

"Buenos dias, papi." I forced a smile. "Good morning, Dad" I sat down at the kitchen counter and helped myself to fruit, wholemeal bread, jam and tea.

"Did you sleep with me?" Santana grumbled.

"Since when do you care whether or not I wish you a good day?"

"Since when am I civilized and you are a mole."

"Very intelligent! Interesting that your extraordinary ability with numbers cannot be replicated in words or in his ability to produce a good argument. Is this a strange blockage?" I looked at my sister and Santana narrowed her eyes, in that way that promised to come back and made me fear for my physical integrity.

"You two can stop now! My head is going to explode from another silly argument over breakfast." Papi warned. "This speech all days is awful!"

"Haters!" Dad smiled and drank some of his tea.

"Well, they warned us that we hadn't seen anything yet." They exchanged smiles and it was my sister and I's turn to roll our eyes. "Girls… time!" Papi pointed to the clock. I always rushed my coffee, but Santana ignored it. Despite her daily efforts, we weren't late for school.

We finished our meal and all I had to do was grab my bag from the couch while Santana kept going back to her room because she forgot something. I got into the backseat of Dad's jeep, always behind the driver, which was my permanent seat. Santana, as usual, was trying to persuade Dad to let her sit in the front seat. It was a losing fight she insisted on fighting every single day. She ended up, as usual, keeping me company in the backseat. That gave me some satisfaction. We arrived at our small Middle School and Santana, as usual, was the first to get out without speaking to anyone and run away from the car. I waited to see if Dad had anything to say.

"Your father is coming to get you after school, so don't be late." And he gave me two five dollar bills. One was for me and one for my sister. "Have a nice day, sweetie."

"Thank you Dad."

I didn't have many friends at school. Most colleagues thought I was boring or simply didn't understand why I always sought excellence in everything I set out to do. Over time, I learned to accept that being a perfectionist was lonely. The first class was physical education. I hated it. I liked to exercise when it was gym day. But my fine motor skills weren't up to par with anything involving a ball. I was always the worst player on the soccer team that gathered in the park, and I was only cast because Santana chose me to be on her team. She was always the team captain, and I was always chosen last. It's been a year since I decided to retire from this sport and I think that was one of the things, among dozens, that made Santana start ignoring me.

The teacher was doing a weird dynamic with basketballs. I grumbled and asked to stay out. At least my excuse was real this time: I was feeling cramps. She left me out as long as I ran at least two laps around the gymnasium court. I did my part and then sat cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the court. Santana and Brittany were focused on the game. They looked like animals ready to slaughter the other girls. Most of them were into that ball thing. Some, however, kept me company. Among them, Quinn Fabray.

She wouldn't talk to me or my sister unless it was necessary. I think it was a order from her father, Russell Fabray. Quinn didn't seem to have many friends at school, just like me. She was always on her own, reading something at lunch or in the library. Quinn was a little chubby, but far from obese, and she was a little shy. Her blonde hair was cut to shoulder length, and her eye color was incredible. Quinn had everything to become the most beautiful girl in school and I was sure that one day she would be. I turned my attention back to the game in time to dodge a basketball.

"Nice reflection, dwarf!" I heard my sister greeting me. I didn't answer her. The girls' game continued.

"Does your sister always throw balls at you on purpose?" I was surprised to see that it was Quinn who was asking.

"Santana? She is just like that."

"You don't seem surprised." She appeared to be genuinely curious.

"I'm used to it. Santana doesn't like to be with me, but she won't leave me alone either."

"Oh!"

"Sister stuff, I guess. Is yours like to mess with you too?"

"Frannie?" Yes, Frannie, that horrible, uncompromising girl. "My sister is bossy, but she knows stuff."

I didn't even want to imagine what kind of things Frannie must know. What I do know is that our conversation ended there. Soon the bell rang indicating the end of class, and we went to the locker room to change our clothes. The annoying thing is that this colic didn't go away.

The school day went off without a hitch, despite the continual discomfort in my belly. I attended History, English and Math classes. I liked English classes, but Math one was a drama. Santana's book was all sorted out. She had done everything herself without the help of our teacher and that was a problem. My parents paid for Santana to take private lessons in advanced math. An intelligence test was carried out on Santana and the psychologists said that my sister had logical-mathematical and spatial intelligence far above average, which made her so good with numbers. But she should be treated like a normal child, because if on the one hand she would teach math to the teacher, on the other hand she might have difficulties in English classes. That's why my parents decided that she should go to a regular school with me.

Santana only loaned her math book to Brittany. She would teach our friend a few things and spend the rest of the class diverting attention from the other students. Mine included. Often, the teacher would bring extra material to keep my sister busy for even half an hour. It used to work out.

"Papi is coming to get us." I let Santana know when the last class bell rang. "Don't be late."

"Don't bother!"

It was always like this. She would turn on the pinkies with Brittany and go out to talk to someone. Lately my sister and Brittany showed off for the boys. Santana thought I was a fool, that I didn't notice these things. Deep down, she hoped that Papi would catch her, only to see her getting an earful. While waiting for Papi, I checked my schedule: today I only had a singing lesson at 5 pm. I could go to Miss Mabel's by bike, but it was still too slippery and cold. I would have to ask Dad to take me, even though I knew he was perfectly aware of my commitment. Dad liked to watch me rehearse whenever he got the chance. He said that one day I would be a big Broadway star.

"Rachel!" Papi yelled from inside the newly acquired Honda Civic. I looked around and as usual my sister wasn't around.

"Holla Papi!" I sat in the back seat of the car.

"¿Donde esta tu hermana?"

"la estoy llamando..." I took out my cell phone and pressed the button above her name.

Didn't need to. She soon left the building and sat next to me in the backseat without saying a word.

"How was school today?" Papi asked us.

"Profitable." I said.

"Normal." Santana said a little sullenly.

I felt my cramps tightening and I wanted to get home soon. I didn't feel like talking to Papi on the way. When the car stopped in the garage, I was the first to get out. I left my stuff and thick coat in my room and headed for the bathroom. I wanted to get out of those cold weather clothes and take a nap before singing class. As I sat on the toilet and stripped down to my clothes, and my breath hitched at the sight of blood on my panties. I blocked pee and was afraid to clean myself with toilet paper. What if it had cut me off somehow? What if it was a hemorrhage? What if I had to have a surgery, as in the dozens of cases my father handled? I didn't know what to do. I didn't know whether to cry, ask for help or faint right there. That's when Santana burst into the bathroom.

"Are you done? I need…" She stopped talking when she saw me pale. Then I showed my bloody panties. "Did you get your period?" she whispered. She took two steps back until her back was against the door. If she had powers to walk through wood, I'm sure she would.

The word echoed in my mind: period. My first one. I started crying. I wasn't psychologically ready to grow up to be a teenager. All I had was a project of breasts, I still didn't think about boys, dating or do teenage things. How could I be a young woman? Brittany was already one, but what about me? It was too early for that. I couldn't go like this before Santana. She was born first. She was 29 minutes older. She had to go through these things first. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"I'll call Papi..." Santana opened the bathroom door and ran out.

I sat there on the toilet, crying, clutching my bloodstained panties. Papi arrived the next minute and his expression made me want to die. It was as if I had ceased to be his baby, his estrellita. Then he got over the shock and went back to being Dr. Juan Lopez, general surgeon at Lima Memorial Hospital.

"Oh, mi estrellita…" He reached over and ran his hand through my hair. "All of this is very normal, okay? Girls your age go through these things. It means that your body has matured enough to generate children. Of course, you won't do that kind of thing until you're 30..."

"Papi, I know what menstruation is!"

He paused as if he'd been knocked over. Papi was never good at talking about these things with his own daughters.

"Well, here's what you do, estrellita, go take a shower while Santana and I go to the market and buy one of those things for you to put on… well, I'll go…"

After papi left the bathroom (and there was no sign of Santana), I discarded my clothes and stepped into the shower. I hesitated to wash downstairs properly. I didn't want to see my own blood running down the tub floor into the drain, but it was inevitable. I wrapped myself in my towel and walked to my room. I didn't have the heart to sit on my bed or pick up any clothes. It looked like everything would be contaminated with blood.

My father arrived about fifteen minutes later with packages in hand. It was the absorbents. I wanted to die when he handed me a bunch of different packages.

"All you have to do is remove the protective strip and adhere the adsorbent to the panties… need I show you?"

"Oh my god, no!" It was embarrassing enough that he had gone to the market to buy these things.

"Great, great!" Papi was relieved. "Good… do it. I'll be waiting for you downstairs so we can talk better. I'm not as skilled at this kind of conversation as Hiram, but I can clear up any medical and biological questions you may have on the subject."

"Thanks."

Papi left the room. There was still no sign of Santana. I assumed she would avoid me for the rest of the day. Maybe of the week. Without further ado, I got dressed, put on the pads for the first time in my life and put the rest of the packages in a corner of my drawer. I thought ten times about leaving the room and going downstairs. Papi was sitting at our library table with his computer on. Unfortunately, he saw me and what happened over the next half hour was the most embarrassing menstrual cycle and female reproductive tract lesson I've ever had.

It was at these times that I missed having a female presence in the house. I'm not talking about Santana, but about a mother, or an older sister who could talk to me about women's things, who could understand certain things I felt. I thought once more about my mother, and how I would like to know her. Don't take this the wrong way: I love both my dads. Papi had the sensitivity of a rock sometimes, and that Papa so wanted to be the cool/liberal one that he often made me uncomfortable on certain subjects. But they were doing a great job with me and Santana. Only everything would be even better if I had a mother around. Sometimes I dreamed that she lived in the neighborhood and that I could go to her house whenever I wanted to talk about everything: that we would be great friends above all else.

When Dad arrived and heard the news, he started crying as if something bad had happened to me. I even forgot about singing class. Santana left her room at dinnertime, yet she avoided looking directly at me. My family was there trying to support me and move on with life naturally, but the truth is that I had the feeling of having become a three-headed dragon.

At night, in the safety of my room, I looked at myself in the mirror. It didn't seem like I had changed that much. My legs were still disproportionate to the rest of my body, my voice was still difficult to tame, there was hair under my arm and also down there, and my breasts were reduced to two pebbles. I was 12 years and one month old and had my first period. I lay on my bed and thought about my mother once more. What I knew about her was that she was a beautiful, intelligent girl handpicked by my parents to bear me and my sister. And that her identity could only be revealed when I turned 18. Even so, even though she was a complete stranger, I really wanted her to be with me. Mothers should be with their daughters at times like this. I hugged my extra pillow and pretended to hug her. Only then could I sleep.