"Be Prepared."

Meet Jacqueline—an uptight, Jewish redhead with a sassy attitude and enough money to keep it and her friends, at the same time. Enter Amy, my Jewish/Hispanic neighbor with a big heart, but even bigger wallet. Lastly, there’s Hannah—a sweet, Southern-raised girl, also Jewish by way of loaded stepfather. These are the Jewish American Princesses of Bellaire, Texas. Oh, and they’re also my best friends. I’m a fifth-grade nobody with brown Indian skin, a strong sense of frugality and a big brain to match my round glasses and clumsy feet.

Rule 1: All backup girls of the JAP trio must discuss boys for a full 30 minutes daily.

“So Alyssa, which guy is cutest out of all the fifth grade?” asked Amy. Truthfully, I had a crush on Cameron, her current boyfriend—or whatever that meant at eleven-years-old—for longer than she did. But that was a definite “no-no" in hoping to hang out with the cool, rich girls. So I picked the first boy I saw, whose name I don’t even remember.

Rule 2: All backup girls of the JAP trio must take part in weekly slumber parties.

“Oh my God, I can’t wait for this Friday’s sleepover!” squealed Jackie. “Now that I let Nathan kiss me on the lips, I’ll give you and Hannah a couple tips,” she said to me with a smirk.

“Actually, I got my first kiss last year from Cody,” replied Hannah calmly, and continued eating her Wonderbread sandwich. So that left me, the last girl in the group who had yet to be kissed by an actual boy. Waiting for that Friday’s sleepover seemed more like a fifth-grade death sentence, and leaving Saturday morning was my release from the cell of self-pity, social inmate number: 2PATH3T1C.

Rule 3: All backup girls of the JAPS trio must join the Girl Scouts.
After begging, crying and compromising, my mom finally agreed to pay the hidden fees required in joining Troop 4387, to keep my place as a JAP backup girl. I walked into my first Girl Scout meeting, overwhelmed with a sense of discomfort. It was the weekly sleepover, but worse because all the white Jewish girls’ white Jewish moms smiled tantalizingly, with nametags pinned to their argyle sweaters and offering around sample cookies.

“Let’s get started, girls!” exclaimed Jackie’s mom—Troop Leader, informally but universally known as the Jewish American Queen. “Who knows the Girl Scout motto?”

“Be prepared!” cried the incumbent Girl Scouts together. I sat awkwardly in my seat, drowning in the shock of green sashes, sisterhood and fundraising that I had jumped through hoops to be a part of.

By sixth grade, I abandoned my post as a groupie of the JAP trio. My yearning to belong, to fit in, to be accepted had somehow dissipated, after realizing that my treacherous Indian skin seemed surprisingly golden-bronzed. That, and the Queen made a jibe at the mere fifty-two boxes of cookies I sold compared to Jackie’s three hundred-six. I did learn from that first Girl Scout meeting though. In a world of racial tension, the best motto is to “be prepared.”