Who Am I Without Him? Read Online Free PDF

it.
    Jaquel,
I like you a lot, and I am glad you are not the
kind of boy who thinks giving a girl what she
wants is a bad thing.
    Dear Devita Mae:
I like you too. But don’t think I’m gonna keep
writing you after today is done.
    Okay.
    Good.
    Jaquel,
Maybe you could write me every once in a
while, on special occasions, like on my birthday
and once every other month.
    Devita Mae, Eyes of Gray.
You better burn them letters if I write ’em,
okay?
    I will burn the letters and save the ashes.
    Okay, Devita Mae.
Then I will keep writing you letters. Nothing
long, just notes.
    Just notes.
    Just for you.

The Ugly One
    THEY CALL ME THE ugly one—the boys do, anyhow. The girls call me Marbles, because of the bumps on my face, I guess. My grandmother tells me not to worry. That one day I will grow up and be beautiful, like the ugly duckling in the book. But she don’t tell me what to do now, while I’m still ugly, and all by myself.
    They transferred me here to Mulligan High last year, in the second half of my freshman year. The principal said it only made sense, ’cause he couldn’t make the kids stop bothering me. And he was tired of my grandmother and my father coming up there all the time, “raising Cain.”
    Mulligan ain’t so bad, I guess. Maybe that’s ’cause I keep my mouth shut. Don’t answer questions when teachers call on me, or finish tests before the rest of the class. But I keep my grades up, no matter what. So far, I got a 3.98 average. My little brother says that’s ’cause I don’t have no friends. “Just books to keep you company.” He’s right. Only I never tell him that.
    My name is Asia Calloway. I am just a regular girl. Not too tall. Not too short. Not fat, or skinny, or nothing. If it wasn’t for my face, people would not even remember my name. But this thing—this face—gets me noticed everywhere I go. And all I want to be is invisible—to curl up like a dot at the end of a sentence and disappear.
    I was born pretty, that’s what Grandma tells me anyhow. “You had shiny black chicken feathers for hair,” she’ll say, rubbing the soft hair on my head. “And skin the color of piecrust baked just so.”
    Then something happened. Bumps—boils popped up on my face like bubbles in a witch’s brew. I was seven when the first one came. Ten when the doctors finally figured out what went wrong.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Grandmother says. “They gonna find a cure for it, by and by.”
    No they won’t. Even I know that.
    I never miss a day of school, ’cause once school’s out, it’s me in my room all by myself. So rain or shine, I’m here. Like today. Even if nobody but the teachers talk to me.
    â€œOut the way,” a girl says, pushing past me when I get off the bus.
    I apologize, even though it’s not my fault.
    â€œHey, Asia,” Nock says, walking over to me.
    He’s with three friends, and smiling at me way too much. I know what that means—trouble. I walk a little faster.
    Nock yells for me like he’s calling plays on the football field. “ASIA!”
    I stand in place. Squeeze my books to my chest, and watch my fingertips turn white.
    Nock’s hairy brown arm slides over my shoulder. I close my eyes for just a minute and pretend he’s Ramon.
    â€œAsia Calloway, why you ignoring me, girl?”
    I’ve never been held by a real boy before. So even though Nock’s staring at my bumps like some gross experiment he’s got to work on in chemistry class, I am kind of happy inside.
    â€œYo, ugly,” a boy says, throwing a Tootsie Pop wrapper at me.
    Nock gives him five. “Hey, Ug—Asia. You going to prom tonight?” he asks, laughing just a little.
    I shake my head no.
    Nock tickles my ear with his fat, flat thumb. Then whispers, “Yeah, you is. With one of them, right?” He points.
    His