Don’t Ask Me Where I’m From

Product Description

“A funny, perceptive, and much-needed book telling a much-needed story.” —Celeste Ng, author of the New York Times bestseller Little Fires Everywhere

First-generation American LatinX Liliana Cruz does what it takes to fit in at her new nearly all-white school. But when family secrets spill out and racism at school ramps up, she must decide what she believes in and take a stand.

Liliana Cruz is a hitting a wall—or rather, walls.

There’s the wall her mom has put up ever since Liliana’s dad left—again.

There’s the wall that delineates Liliana’s diverse inner-city Boston neighborhood from Westburg, the wealthy—and white—suburban high school she’s just been accepted into.

And there’s the wall Liliana creates within herself, because to survive at Westburg, she can’t just lighten up, she has to
whiten up.

So what if she changes her name? So what if she changes the way she talks? So what if she’s seeing her neighborhood in a different way? But then light is shed on some hard truths: It isn’t that her father doesn’t want to come home—he can’t…and her whole family is in jeopardy. And when racial tensions at school reach a fever pitch, the walls that divide feel insurmountable.

But a wall isn’t always a barrier. It can be a foundation for something better. And Liliana must choose: Use this foundation as a platform to speak her truth, or risk crumbling under its weight.

About the Author

Jennifer De Leon is an author, editor, speaker, and creative writing professor who lives outside of Boston. She is the editor of 
Wise Latinas: Writers on Higher Education, the 2015–2016 Writer-in-Residence at the Boston Public Library, and a 2016–2017 City of Boston Artist-in-Residence. She is also the second recipient of the We Need Diverse Books grant. 
Don’t Ask Me Where I’m From is her debut novel.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

1
Picture it: me in the middle of Making Proud Choices class—that’s SEX ED for anyone not born in this century. You know, when you have to get a parent or guardian to sign a yellow paper that says it’s okay for you to be learning about all this stuff—like we didn’t already know about sex, but whatever. The guest speaker, Miss Deborah, had JUST passed out condoms. No big deal. I mean, I hadn’t had sex yet. But still, condoms = ain’t no thing but a chicken wing. My best friend, Jade, had a bunch of them hidden in her room. But what Miss Deborah was showing us that day were
female condoms.

I know.

Have you ever even seen a freakin’ female condom? Don’t lie. Did you even know they existed? Don’t lie!

If my mom heard me talking about female condoms, she would say that’s some straight-up Americana gringa shit. For real.

I joined the rest of my class, including Jade, and hollered “Whaaaaat?” and “Noooooo” and “Huh?” until our real teacher, Mrs. Marano, who was sitting in the corner and like twenty months pregnant herself, told us to calm down or else.

Miss Deborah passed around a few of the (female) condoms. Jade got a pink one. I got one that was mint colored. It felt rubbery, kind of like the gloves Mom uses to wash dishes. It had zigzagged edges, like someone had actually gone to the trouble to make a nice design along the perimeter. I swear. So I was holding this rubbery thing in my hand when this cute boy, Alex, stopped in the hall and stared at me through the doorway. Of course. I froze. But then the Making Proud Choices lady, Miss Deborah, was packing up her things in a big black duffel bag and I had to, you know, return the female condom. Then Mrs. Marano waddled over to the front of the room. “All right, everyone. Take out your independent reading books.”

The class groaned.

“Yo, girl. Got anything to eat?” Jade whispered over to me.

“Nah,” I said.

Jade had grown up right next door to me. Our apartment bedroom windows faced one another, so we’d knock on our own window, real loud, three times when we needed to talk. Because one of us was alwa