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224 pages, Hardcover
First published January 10, 2012
It would be nice to feel so free, to do whatever I felt was right and true. And then I remember that I used to feel that way all the time.
I’m always the serious one, the one reading in the corner who people leave alone. Sometimes I like it that way. Sometimes I don’t.
‘Where are you from?’ Cindy asks.
‘Here,’ I say.
‘But your name. Where’s that from?’
‘My father’s from India,’ I say.
‘Oh, like does he wear feathers in his hair and stuff?’ Cindy still squints. Heather giggles softly behind her.
‘Why would he wear feathers in his hair?’ I ask.
‘He’s not that kind of Indian, idiot,’ Heather says to Cindy and nudges her in the arm. Cindy shrugs. ‘He probably wears a turban, right?’ Heather crosses her arms, pleased with herself.
For everything that reminds me of who I am, there’s always something reminding me of who I’m not.