Fire from the Rock by Sharon Draper

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    Reggie seems to think I look okay, but I know he thinks Candy looks better. Where did she get those hips and those D-cups? I can’t compete with equipment like that. Most of the boys at school, including Reggie, are attracted to Candy Castle like bees to honey, but it’s not just because of her body. She has some other quality that makes them hover around her all the time. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know how to get it.
    In Ebony magazine, most of the women in the ads are Negro, but very few of them have dark skin like mine. Actually, most of them look more like the white women in Life magazine than they look like me. I wonder what colored men think of those models. What about white men? What attracts them? Does race make a difference? And how does all this fit in with the integration stuff?
    When I was little I had a doll called Tiny Tears. I never gave her a real name—I simply called her Tiny. I loved that doll more than life. I still have her, and every once in a while I go to the top of my closet, get her out of the box I keep her in, and unwrap her carefully. I keep her wrapped in one of Donna Jean’s old baby blankets. When I take Tiny Tears out and hold her in my arms, the smell of her, almost like baby powder, still makes me smile. Her eyes really blink in her sculpted face. When you squeeze the doll’s tummy, she coos. That sound, the feel of her soft, rubber body, even her slightly scratched, painted-on hair take me back to a time of safety and happiness and real joy. I still love that doll and she is the most beautiful thing I own. And she’s a little white baby. They don’t make Negro dolls.

WEDNESDAY JANUARY 30, 1957
    Hi, Reggie.” Sylvia flopped down on the floor and twisted the long black telephone cord in her fingers. She still couldn’t get used to him calling every day, but she sure didn’t want it to stop!
    â€œHey, Sylvie. Let me ask you something—do you think snowballs fly farther when the weather is colder?”
    Sylvia laughed. “You’re silly. When I throw them, they just kinda land not far from my feet.”
    â€œSounds like I need to give you throwing lessons,” Reggie said softly on the other end of the line. “I’ll put my arms around you, then take your arm in my hand, and help you toss that snowball to the next county!”
    Sylvia gasped, but managed to say in a squeak, “I just might let you do that!” Most of the time Reggie didn’t make her feel nervous at all anymore. She used to feel sweaty, but gradually she had relaxed enough to talk to him without feeling like she couldn’t swallow. But he always managed to say something that curled her socks!
    Reggie laughed, deep and throaty. Then, his voice turning serious, he asked, “Did you hear about the bombing of Dr. King’s house down in Alabama? I told you white folks were hateful and dangerous.”
    â€œThat’s not fair, Reggie. Not all white people are like that.” Sylvia frowned. “My friend Rachel is open and understanding and really pretty cool about all this stuff.”
    â€œDoes she have a brother?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œIf you wanted to marry her brother, what would her daddy say? Would he welcome you into the family? Would she?”
    â€œHer brother is a nerd—there’s no way I’d marry him!” Sylvia tried to laugh it off, but she knew what Reggie was talking about.
    â€œDon’t get fooled by what you think is friendship, Sylvie. Lions hang with lions. Bears hang with bears. They don’t mix.”
    â€œI think you’re being mean and unfair!” But she felt uncomfortable, because there was some truth in his words.
    â€œSo, what did your father think about the bombing?” Reggie asked.
    Sylvia shifted in her seat. “I heard Daddy talking about it with some of the other ministers last night,” she told Reggie. “He was really