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Next, Aaliyah shares, “I learned how to properly use a clone stamp when editing photos, and that you should always add another layer.”

Others nod in agreement.

I’d share about the time I took a photo of my house and let in too much light, which affected the overall brightness and caused me to lose some details, but I think I was the only one who had an issue with overexposure. My face reddens thinking about it.

“Anyone else?” Ms. Choi asks.

The knots in my stomach twist tighter. Do I have anything worth sharing?

Just as I consider raising my hand, the bell rings, and it feels like it’s laughing at me for being the coward I always am.

“Oh, there’s also this photography competition that Blossoms is holding,” Ms. Choi says. “Talk to me if you want to know more and don’t have any summer plans!”

In my lap, I glance at my phone, reading a text from my mom.

Made some salabat, it’ll help with studying for the SAT!

I look from my mom’s text to Ms. Choi, and as people stampede out the door, I stay where I am.

Sandra, who stands with this confidence I wish I had, and Aaliyah, who always seems calm even before taking our final exams, ask Ms. Choi questions about the competition.

“It’s called We Need More Jimmy, and the winner wins a full-ride scholarship to Jansen School of Arts,” Ms. Choi answers. “Second and third place win cash prizes.”

My ears perk up even more. Lalaine Bautista, my favorite photographer, is a professor at Jansen School of Arts. I never considered applying there since my parents have a list of universities they want me to apply to, specifically ones like UC Berkeley, my Atè Aprilette’s alma mater. But if I win, my parents won’t have to worry about financial aid.

“Each week, the judges assign you a theme for your photograph, and you have to present it every Saturday,” Ms. Choi explains. “The applications are at Blossoms, and today’s the last day to submit them.”

Of course I have less than ten hours to enter the competition. Time is mocking me today.

Ms. Choi notices I’m still here, and Sandra and Aaliyah follow her line of sight.

“Any questions, Emilyn?” Ms. Choi asks.

I have so many I can’t even grasp onto one. But what comes out instead is, “Not that I can think of. Thank you, though.”

****

“Here’s that salabat, anak,” my mom says as she always does to me, her “child.” She sets the mug of steaming, Filipino tea onto my desk. “It’s still hot, so be careful.”

“Salamat, po,” I thank her, grateful for the comforting drink. I look down at my SAT textbook. It’s splayed open, numbers and arrows scrawled beside the word problems. I check my work on question seven, then circle an answer.

“How’s SAT prep going?”

“Good.” I’ve been studying for the past two hours. Already my eyes start blurring.

My mom observes all the work on my textbook, then squeezes my shoulder. “Working hard, just like your Atè.” She says the Filipino honorific, ah-teh, with a tone that says I’m so proud she’s my daughter. I should be flattered that she’s comparing me to my perfect older sister, but instead, it stings. It’s like she only sees Aprilette as the golden daughter, and I’m just expected to be a clone. A lot of times I wonder if she sees anything valuable in me, something only I possess. But then again, Aprilette is living her best life. If I follow her route, maybe the same can happen for me.

The summer before her senior year, Aprilette refused to do anything fun until she finished everything. No volleyball with her friends. No marathoning Filipino rom-coms. Her priorities were studying for the SATs, doing her summer AP homework, and volunteering at Wilson Community Hospital. It probably wasn’t the most relaxing vacation, but all her hard work paid off. Her highest SAT score was 1550. She was accepted into UC Berkeley, her dream school, and eventually graduated with a perfect GPA. My parents had to pull out loans, but it was worth it for my Atè. Now she’s working as a pharmacy tech at a hospital in San Francisco while applying to medical school.

Aprilette may be exhausting herself working, but she still has everything she’s wanted like dresses that, before graduating with her degree in chemistry, she would have walked away from because of their prices. She even has the money for tickets to see her favorite groups in concert, something she had dreamed of doing when she was younger. My heart warms remembering the decent seats she got us for the BTS concert. I still giggle thinking about how Jungkook looked in my general direction, and Aprilette still screams over RM’s rapping.

My mom reads over my answers and all my work I’ve done for each math problem. After she checks the answer key and scrutinizes my work, which she always does to make sure I’m not just guessing, she claps in her signature way, fingertips tapping against her palm.

“Galing mo, anak!” she cheers.

I smile at this. It’s like I’ve done something right when my mom cheers, good job, my child!

I’m about to mention the competition until my mom says, “By the way, your father and I signed you up for SAT classes at SMARTake Test Prep and a volunteer shift at Wilson Community Hospital.”