Just Like Me by Nancy Cavanaugh Read Free Book Online Page B

work on our projects.
    When we got back to the cabin, we hung our posters on the wall outside the bathroom, and I was glad mine didn’t look like anyone else’s.
    Does being adopted make you feel special?
    Dear Ms. Marcia,
    My mom always tells me how special that orphanage photo is because it was the first time she saw what I looked like. But that photo is NOT something I want to remember. Why would I want to remember being an orphan? Why would I want to remember that I was just like every other baby in that Chinese orphanage? That I was just like every other baby in any orphanage?
    My mom often says, “God always knew you would be my daughter, so you were never really an orphan.”
    But if I was never really an orphan, this picture doesn’t really belong on my life collage.
    So here’s a question for you, Ms. Marcia. How can you feel special when there are a million other girls just like you?
    Julia
    PS I know Mom would want me to talk to her about all this, but how could she understand? She’s not Asian. She’s not adopted. And she was never ever an orphan.

11
    â€œWatch out, Camp Little Big Woods!” Vanessa yelled. “Because White Oak is coming for you!”
    We were at the volleyball courts on the far side of the grassy field, and Donnie had just announced the afternoon activity. A Newcomb tournament. While all of us campers got organized, he danced around and sang “Eye of the Tiger” as it blasted from the mess hall speakers.
    Newcomb is a game like volleyball, except that instead of bumping, setting, and spiking the ball, players throw the ball over the net, and the opposing team tries to catch it.
    â€œThis is killer !” Becca yelled. “We’re gonna be awesome at this!”
    â€œWell, some of us are,” Meredith said, raising her eyebrows to Vanessa.
    Vanessa didn’t say anything, but she looked as determined as an Olympic athlete getting ready to play for the gold.
    â€œI do have a feeling we’re going to be earning some of those points back,” Avery said cheerfully.
    I had a different feeling. A feeling that made me wish Newcomb wasn’t this afternoon’s activity. A feeling that made me wish I wasn’t on this team. A team where Vanessa’s need to win turned her into a screaming maniac. A team where people expected me to be good because of Avery and Becca. A team that made me wish I was back at home in the park district craft class with Madison.
    â€œLet’s get on the court,” Vanessa said. “Meredith, Julia, and I will take the front row. Avery, Becca, and Gina take the back.”
    Becca was so excited about the game that she didn’t even notice that Vanessa was bossing us around again.
    We all got into our places, and Vanessa turned to us and said, “Look, you gotta throw hard! Every time. Make it impossible for them to catch that thing.”
    While Vanessa bullied us into playing our best, the Silver Birch girls got situated on their side of the court.
    As soon as both teams were ready, “Eye of the Tiger” faded, and the ref blew the whistle, starting the game.
    It began with Gina throwing our team’s first serve. But instead of throwing the ball high enough to go over the net, she tried to do what Vanessa said and throw it as hard as she could—but she threw the ball so hard that it was a line drive. Straight at my head. I tried to duck, but I wasn’t fast enough. It hit me on the left ear, and I hit the dirt.
    â€œTime-out!” Gina yelled. “Rumper bumper! Man, Julia, are you okay? I’m sorry.”
    â€œWhat is wrong with you, Gina?” Vanessa yelled. “Can’t you even throw a ball over a net?”
    Gina reached out a hand to help me up.
    â€œWatch yourself, White Oak,” the counselor reffing our game warned.
    â€œUnbelievable,” Meredith mumbled.
    Gina had only been a few feet behind me when she threw the ball, so it felt like