So where are you from, Judy?”
“New York,” I told my classmates. After all, I had been born blocks away at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.
“I mean, originally.”
“From the Caribbean,” I answered vaguely, for if I specified, no one was quite sure what continent our island was located.
“Really? I’ve been to Bermuda. We went last April for spring vacation. I got the worst sunburn! So, are you from Portoriko?”
“No,” I shook my head. “From the Dominican Republic.”
“Where’s that?”
What evidence from the passage best supports the inference that the teenaged Alvarez just wants to fit into American culture?
“New York,” I told my classmates. After all, I had been born blocks away at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.
“From the Caribbean,” I answered vaguely, for if I specified, no one was quite sure what continent our island was located.
“No,” I shook my head. “From the Dominican Republic.”
They were just being curious, I knew, but I burned with shame whenever they singled me out as a “foreigner,” a rare, exotic friend.
“South of Bermuda.”
They were just being curious, I knew, but I burned with shame whenever they singled me out as a “foreigner,” a rare, exotic friend.