If that sounds naive, maybe it was. But it's also true. No, Jessica and Elizabeth didn't sing "Happy Birthday" in Spanish, and no, they didn't hang out at the Panama Canal during summer vacation, and no, they didn't eat arroz con pollo for dinner. But in other ways — they were young girls who were close to their family, girls who had best friends and lost best friends, girls who were trying to navigate daily dramas at school — they seemed a lot like me.
Besides, there were no books I knew of with half-Panamanian characters, so I learned, not only in Sweet Valley High but in every book I read, to see my reflection in shards, to recognize parts of myself if never the whole, and to accept that as good enough.
By the time I got to high school myself, I had given up the series. I left behind the homogeneous Southern California town, the elaborate plots, the relentless boy-chasing. One day, I carried all my Sweet Valley High books down to the basement.
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