The main character is in sixth grade. She's been at a private school her whole life, a "hippie" school (Community). There was a very small class size, the same teacher for year, no tests (all essays and projects), lots of field trips, etc. Her father loses his job, and she will have to start middle school in a public school (Maplewood). Her father is from India, and her mother is Jewish. At her private school, she never thought about what that really meant, but at public school, there are clear lines drawn between black and white, rich and poor, and she has to discover who she is and who she wants to be.
Other issues in the book: making friends, being new, having a parent with depression, losing a parent, having parents with different nationalities and religions, and parents who stick together during rough moments in a marriage. One character gets bused from a different part of the city, because Maplewood is supposed to be a better public school than where she would regularly go. There is a lot going on in this novel, and I really enjoyed it. I recommend it.
It is a clean read.
"Jack, my teacher, passes out recipes from the next and last country our fifth-grade class will be studying—India. I look down and see the makings of biryani, which is a special kind of rice dish. Jack always teaches us about the country's food first, then gives us the lay of the land and the history. Getting to know the food, Jack says, is the best way to really understand a country, just like sharing a meal with someone helps you get to know them. You can tell a lot from what a person eats."
"'It's hard for me, sometimes.' he says.
I nod.
'I grew up with very little. You have so much. Mom and I have wanted you and Natasha to have lots of opportunities, and we've worked hard to give them to you. But I also wish I could give you . . . ' He stops and rubs his forehead. 'I hoped I had given you some perspective. I would have been so lucky to go to a school like Maplewood, let alone Community. In my school we sat on the floor, held slates on our laps, and tried not to get bitten by scorpions.'"
"I sit cross-legged on my bed and look around my room. I look at the big, heavy furniture, the soft rug, my blue and green tie-dyed comforter and matching pillows, my closet full of clothes and toys, my bookshelf full of books. I think of my dad in India sleeping on a mat on a roof covered with mosquito nets. I think of him sweating in his dusty schoolroom with his little chalkboard. I think of him stealing a mango for fun. Here I am, the luckiest girl in the world, but all I can think of is what I don't have."
"Nobody seemed to mind that I was sitting at the table. Actually, nobody seemed to notice me. But I noticed me. I was used to being darker-skinned than everyone at Community except for Marshal, whose parents are from Trinidad, but everyone at this table made me stick out like a ghost. The kids who sat here were black, while all the other tables were filled with white kids. Alisha told some of the other kids that I had been to Paris. They seemed less impressed but asked me some questions, mostly about the Eiffel Tower. I answered, ate my sandwich, and tried not to think of Community. Or why the white kids and black kids didn't sit together here. Or where you were supposed to sit if you were too dark to be white and too light to be black? And that was how my day went."
"Kate's church is in a stone building that, I swear, looks like a smaller version of Notre Dame in Paris. Inside are all these stained-glass windows and shiny wooden benches, and the ceiling's a hundred feet up in the air. I don't really listen that carefully to the priest during the sermon, but it sounds like sort of the same stuff the rabbi talks about when we go to the temple with my grandparents. I wonder why they're supposed to be so different, being Jewish and being Christian. They both talk about what God is, and what we can do to be better people, and stories from the Bible that teach us lessons."
"I look away. If I look at her any longer, watching her crying, I'll tell her it's okay, and it's not. I thought she liked me because I was different, but maybe she just liked me because she thought she could make me the same."
"'A boy kissed me at the party,' I say. I wonder if this will make her angry. I straighten up, wipe my nose, but keep my eyes down.
'Did you want him to kiss you?' Mom asks, pronouncing every word carefully.
'No, not really. We were playing a game, Spin the Bottle.'
'Oh,' she says. She takes a few seconds before continuing. 'So you felt like you had to let him kiss you?'
'Yes,' I say, lifting my eyes.
'You don't ever have to kiss anyone unless you want to. Even it's embarrassing not to. I think being embarrassed is easier to get over than kissing boys you don't want to kiss.'
'I guess,' I say, and know that she's right. 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 smile and hold on to my grandmother's feathery, bony hands, her skin so light and soft it's almost translucent. My hands look really dark against hers. I stare at them, amazed that we're even related. I wonder if she ever thinks that, or if Mom ever did, holding the hands of her Indian-looking children. Did anyone ever wonder if we really belonged to her?"
"'Why don't you ever want to go back to India?'
He thinks for a minute. 'Did I say that?'
'Yes.'
'I didn't mean it.' He thinks some more. 'I went through some sad things there. We lived through the partition. We had to leave our home. My parents died there. But I don't mean to make it a sad place for you. India will always be where I became the person I am, and a part of who you are too. It's funny. I've lived in this country for twenty years, and people still look at me as a foreigner. I don't even have an accent anymore. Sometimes it can be, well, tiring, to always feel different.' He takes a deep breath like he's tired just saying it.
'Yes, I know.'"