Back home, she never thought of her own, save when she heard the occasional admonishing from her mother to avoid the sun—her complexion darkened easily. But here, she gawks in wonder at the black skin of the highway toll collector, the pale forearms of her doctor. Neighborhoods are arranged by skin. Jobs. Schools. Here, her skin is darker than many, but not the darkest. Most people think her Mexican, and she often has to apologize when flustered strangers speak to her in Spanish.
