It was another awesome day of school, I thought as I copied down the history lessons on the SMART board.

“Woohoo! Learning about Chicano/a history is the best! I can’t get enough,” said the kids while some were screaming. I loved learning about Mexican-Americans and their role in U.S history. I was proud to be Chicana.

My favorite teacher at elementary school was Senora Campos. She had a lot of love for the kids. She always taught us interesting things about our culture. “There will be a test next Monday on Chicano/a history,” announced Senora Campos. “Please make sure to review your notes and vocabulary.”

Everyone groaned except for me because I knew I would ace anything having to do with Chicano/a history. I just smiled and thought about what I would be doing after school that day; id be hanging out with pals, the Mijas which means “my children” in Spanish. We called ourselves the Mijas because we were the children of Colorado.

The Mijas gave me the nickname Crazy Roxy. It gave me some street flavor. Plus, I was their leader and needed a cool name. In fact, we all had nicknames for each other. Speaking of Mijas, Felicia whose nickname was Spooky started tapping me on the shoulder. The Mijas called her Spooky because she was always spooked out. When she was a baby, her parents left her alone in front of a TV on Halloween night. While they were passing out candy to trick-or-treaters, Spooky watched three horror movies in a row. She had never been the same since. “Psst, Rich, can I borrow your notes before the test?” asked Spooky.

“A ghost stole mine!” “No way, Spooky,” replied Crazy Roxy.