ALEJANDRA.The mall is crowded today.Too crowded for my liking.I walk fast to keep up with my mom and older sister, Dahlia. You’d think being nine months pregnant would slow my sister down, but I swear she has more energy now than she did before she got pregnant.My youngest sister, Amara, complains about her legs being too short to keep up with them, which makes me roll my eyes.I am the short one in my family. While everybody, including Amara, who is thirteen, is over five feet eight inches tall, I’m not even five feet. I’m four eleven. And a half. Can’t forget the half. It totally counts, even if my older brother, Zaire, says it doesn’t. He says that because he’s lucky enough to be six feet four inches tall.“Think about Little A back there,” Katherine, my twin sister, says. Little A is my family’s nickname for me. I grind my teeth in irritation every time I hear it. It’s the most frustrating nickname on the planet.Even my twin is five feet ten inches. Clearly, we’re fraternal a
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