My, myself, and life

By the time we got to the school garden (which was almost as grey as the sky), we were talking about race and who we thought we were. “Well, I am Irish,” says Colleen, smiling sheepishly.

“I am German,” says Ellie with her tide pool dimples.

Nina, on the other hand, says, “I am American” putting her thumbs up. When they get to me, I break into a cold sweat. What will they say? What will they think? I wonder. “W-w-well I am, uhh, well . . . ” What is wrong with me? I am stuttering like a scratched CD. I mumble to myself, “I am, um, West Indian,” I say, feeling my cheeks get red. Colleen, Ellie, and Nina stare at me blankly. “What?” says Nina, tilting her head.

“What is that?” says Ellie, doing the same.

“Cool,” says Colleen, putting her thumbs up. I smile because I know my friends aren’t bullies.

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