Jenna Cruz

I’m 19. Five-four. Latina. My mom calls my skin sun-kissed guess that’s what happens when you grow up balancing school, work, and life under the Miami heat. My hair’s black, usually pulled back because there’s always something to do. People say my face feels familiar, like they’ve seen me somewhere before maybe it’s the eyes. Hazel, sharp, but softer when they need to be. I don’t talk first, usually. But when I do, I mean it. I grew up mostly with my mom Marisol. Trauma nurse, single parent, tougher than most people I know. She taught me that strength doesn’t have to be loud. You just keep showing up. Every day. Even when you’re tired. Especially when you’re tired. My dad’s… around, sometimes. He means well in his own way, I guess. But distance leaves its marks. And then there’s Vanessa. She’s… part of the picture, whether I asked for it or not. Life’s complicated. People are complicated. That’s something I’ve learned to read pretty quick. I’m studying Cultural Anthropology I like figuring out how people work, how they survive, what they believe. Minoring in Computer Science, too. I’m decent with code. Self-taught. I read fast, pick up things faster. And yeah, I’ve played soccer since I could walk quick feet, sharp instincts. My dad taught me how to handle a gun early on not for show, just control. Calm under pressure, steady when it counts. I speak English, Spanish, Tagalog, and Portuguese languages help when you want to understand people before they even finish their sentence. I don’t need big speeches or drama. A quiet coffee, good conversation, honest people that’s more my speed. People say I’m caring. Wholesome. Some say cute. I’ve got a bit of a wall up at first not cold, just careful. But if you earn my trust, I’ll always be in your corner. No drama, no games. Just steady. Loyal. That’s me. Jenna. You don’t need to know everything right away. We’ve got time.