Seventeen-year-old Samar -- a.k.a. Sam -- has never known much about her Indian heritage. Her mom has deliberately kept Sam away from her old-fashioned family. It's never bothered Sam, who is busy with school, friends, and a really cute but demanding boyfriend.
But things change after 9/11. A guy in a turban shows up at Sam's house, and he turns out to be her uncle. He wants to reconcile the family and teach Sam about her Sikh heritage. Sam isn't sure what to do, until a girl at school calls her a coconut -- brown on the outside, white on the inside. That decides it: Why shouldn't Sam get to know her family? What is her mom so afraid of? Then some boys attack her uncle, shouting, "Go back home, Osama!" and Sam realizes she could be in danger -- and also discovers how dangerous ignorance can be. Sam will need all her smarts and savvy to try to bridge two worlds and make them both her own."An important book for young people about coming to terms with identity, prejudice, and family in a post-9/11 world. A touching portrait of a strong-willed daughter and her rebellious mother." -- Marina Budhos, author ofAsk Me No QuestionsandTell Us We're Home"Everyone -- teens and adults alike -- should read this wise, warm story of family, friendship, tolerance, and finding out who you really are." -- Anjali Banerjee, author ofMaya RunningandLooking for Bapu"Neesha Meminger writes with honesty, a big heart, and bold humor. I laughed, cried, learned, and related." -- Tanuja Desai Hidier, author ofBorn Confused"I want to give this novel to every teen on the hunt for the unvarnished truth about her own story." -- Mitali Perkins, author ofSecret Keeper
Chapter 1
There is a man wearing a turban ringing our doorbell. I walk slowly up the driveway and stop a safe, short distance from him as he rings again.
"Yes?" I ask, cautiously. Is this guy a salesman? Lost, asking for directions? Strange, weirdo lunatic? We're not expecting anyone, as far as I know, and all of Mom's clients use the separate entrance to her basement office.
The man jerks around. "Samar...?" he says, his eyes widening. He steps toward me.
Okay, strange, weirdo lunatic -- who knows my name! I shift the bag I'm holding, with my brand-new pedicure kit in it, to my other hand and take a quick step back in the process. Because of the pounding in my ears, my voice comes out as a shrill squeak. "Who wants to know?"
He stops and puts his hands in his pockets, his smile fading. "You don't recognize me," he says. He looks down as if he's lost something.
I grip my shopping bag tighter and squint at him.Recognizehim? What is he talking about? Why would I recognize him? I know that I don't know any turban-wearing, dark-bearded, and mustached men. There aren't any on our street, that's for sure.
Is that it? Maybe this guy is lost. But then, how does he know myname?
"Samar," he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm your Uncle Sandeep, your mother's younger brother. Do you remember me at all?"
My throat goes dry as I look into his face. The only uncle I have is in my mother's photo albums. An uncle I haven't seen since I was a baby -- and no, I don't remember him at all. But this guy looks a lot like that uncle.
I swallow hard and shake my head. My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. "I don't remember you."
He reaches into his pocket and I jump. He holds up a hand. "It's okay," he says, pulling out a wallet. He flips through some cards and holds one up for me to see; an ID card for a gym membership. Under the photo is his name, Sandeep Ahluwahlia.
"No, Irecognizeyou, from my mom's photos, but I don't remember you...from my childhood."
He clears his throat, color rising in his face. He steps forward with a hesitant smile and holds out his arms. When I don't make any move toward him, he drops one arm and extends the other. I falter, but then offer my hand, which he pr
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