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As I walked, I gave the butterflies in my stomach their usual pep talk—It’s going to be okay. I’ll make friends, and if I don’t, I’ll borrow books from the library.
I took a seat in the middle of the room, next to an empty desk and a poster on the wall that said Wanted: Children Who Love Reading.
Every time I walked by the laundry room, there seemed to be more of them—like the towels were meeting each other in the laundry room, getting married, and having babies.
The hat in Monopoly looked nice. It looked like a rich man’s hat. The shoe, on the other hand, looked like a poor man’s shoe.
I used to think being successful meant having enough to eat, but now that I was getting free lunch at school, I wondered if I should set my standards higher.
“I think being successful in this country means having a living room without a bed in it,” she decided.
“Why are you not more upset?” I asked him. He shrugged. “Guess I’m just used to it,” he said. “This kind of thing happens to me all the time.” “It does?” He nodded. “To all black people in this country. In some way or the other.”
My idea of a good portrait was a smiley face with sunglasses.
“What a deal!” my mom had squealed in the store when she spotted them. “Your mom has the best shopping eyes.”
It was hard not to stare at Jason’s mom, specifically the humongous diamond on her hand. I thought I might go blind.
The point was sometimes, you have to take matters into your own hands. And you have to be creative to get what you want.
She chewed her gum loudly and looked at me like I was a bonus question on a math test.
Sometimes, when I wanted something really bad, I’d ask myself what I would be willing to give up for it.
There’s a saying in Chinese that goes “Never forget how much rice you eat.” It’s a reminder to stay humble, to stay real. Just because you have an important job doesn’t mean you’re better than everybody else. You still eat rice, like the rest of us.
Panic seized me. The words were so open and exposed. My story looked like a belly button. I immediately wanted to cover it.
“Don’t lie to me! I was born at night but not last night.”
in China, girls are kind of like spare tires. It’s nice if you have one, but they’re not important.
I didn’t know what it was about me and secrets. Once I had one, I just couldn’t let it go. I would feed it and snuggle it, and it would grow and grow inside me until it took on a life all its own!
That was the problem with keeping a secret—you are all alone, on your own little island.
“The point I’m trying to make is you can’t let a useless thing like pride get in the way of your dreams,”
