How we cite our quotes: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #7
Everybody around me is dark and ethnic. Which is in, by the way. Look at all the supermodels. They're from places like Venezuela and Africa and Puerto Rico. Then there's me, white bread and pale as the moon. I can't even tan without burning myself. I look around my neighborhood and this school, and nobody looks like me. I keep thinking if I could just stick out less, if I could learn to walk and talk like the kids around me, maybe I would fit in more. I don't know. Maybe it's a dumb idea. (63.5)
We get you, Sheila—high school is tough, and everyone wants to fit in. But please don't try to morph into a different race. It isn't really possible, plus none of your peers like it.
Quote #8
"The minute I turn twenty-one, I'm changing my name," I say to no one in particular. "I mean it."
"Why wait?" says Chankara. We've had this conversation before. "Why not change it now?"
I shake my head. "Too complicated."
"Fine, then. Count to ten, and try this." She slices off a square of pizza from her plate and shoves it in my mouth.
Chankara's a problem solver. She has no patience for talking a thing to death. Do something about it or shut up is her motto. I guess she's right. But one of these days, the name Porscha will have to go. I'm tired of providing oversized boys with the raw material for adolescent jokes about my being a high-maintenance mama, or some sort of luxury item. Then there are those oily, leering, dirty old men on my block who drool or wink at me when I pass by on my way home, asking if they can take me for a test drive. Please. But for now, I'm stuck with Porscha. I can live with it a while longer, though. (75.2-6)
Porscha is sort of stuck in a holding pattern now. There's a lot she wishes she could change about herself but none of it seems to be happening. Here we see her putting off changing her name until she's older, despite the hardship it causes her now.
Quote #9
The first time he got up there, I rolled my eyes like half the sisters in class, certain he was going to spout something lame or nasty about girls and sex, or gangsters. I mean, that's all we ever heard him talk about, right? But there was nothing lame about this poem, and none of it was about sex. It was about what's going on in the world, and about trying to make sense of it. It was a poem by somebody who really thinks about things, and that somebody turned out to be Tyrone. He made me change my mind about him that day. Maybe I can change people's minds about me too. It's worth a shot. (75.13)
Tyrone shows the world one face, but he puts on a totally different face in Mr. Ward's class. Porscha kind of admires him. If Tyrone can transform himself just like that, maybe she can, too.