Novel by Nikki Grimes
Diondra Jordan
1 If only I was as bold as Raul. The other day, he left one of his paintings out on Mr. Ward's desk where anybody could see it. Which was the point. He sometimes works at Mr. Ward's desk during lunch. The wet paintbrushes sticking up out of the jar are always a sign that he's been at it again. So of course, anybody who glances over in that direction will be tempted to stop by and look.
2 This particular painting was rough, but anyone could tell it was Raul. A self-portrait. He'll probably hang it in class. Back in September, Mr. Ward covered two of the classroom walls with black construction paper and then scattered paper frames up and down the walls, each one a different size and color. Now half the room looks sort of like an art gallery, which was the idea. We're supposed to use the paper frames for our work. Whether we put up poems or photographs or even paintings is up to us, so long as the work is ours and we can tie it in with our study of the Harlem Renaissance. I guess Raul's self-portrait fits, since we've been talking a lot about identity. He'll probably put it up next to his poem. You should have seen him hang that thing. You'd think he was handling a million-dollar masterpiece the way he took his time placing it just so. If you look close, you can see the smudges where he erased a word or two and rewrote it. Mr. Ward must be in shock. He can never get Raul to rewrite a lick of homework or anything else. And don't even talk to him about checking his spelling! He'll launch into a tirade on you in a minute. "What?" he'll snap. "You think Puerto Ricans can't spell?" Forget it. Anyway, I dare you to find one misspelled word in that poem of his! Maybe it's a visual thing. Maybe he wants his poem to look as good as his self-portrait. And it is good.
A woman with headphones on concentrates as she draws on a canvas.
3 I've never tried doing a self-portrait, but why not? I could maybe do one in charcoal. I like drawing faces in charcoal. I've been drawing since I can't remember when. Not that anyone here knows that, except Tanisha, and she found out by accident when she came to my house to study once and saw a couple of drawings hanging in my room. Mom loves my watercolors and she hung one in the living room, but it isn't signed. Nobody ever mentions it, especially not my father. He's not too wild about my art. Mostly, he's disappointed, first off that I wasn't born a boy, and second that I won't play ball like one. I'm six feet tall, almost as tall as he, and he figures the height is wasted on me since I don't share his dreams of me going to the WNBA. I keep telling him not to hold his breath.
4 l hate always being the tallest girl in school. Everybody expects me to play basketball, so they pick me for their team, throw me the ball, and wait for me to shoot. Big mistake. I fumble it every time. Then they have the nerve to get mad at me, like I did it on purpose! But basketball is not my game. I have no game. I'm an artist, like Raul. The difference is, I don't tell anybody. I refuse to give them new reasons to laugh at me. The Jolly Green Giant jokes are bad enough.
5 Yeah, it's definitely time to try a self-portrait. I think I'll paint myself in front of an easel. With a basketball jersey sticking up out of the trash. Then I could hang it in Mr.
Ward's class. See if anybody notices.
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OPEN MIKE
By Diondra Jordan
6 If I stood on tiptoe reached up and sculpted mountains from clouds would you laugh out loud?
7 If I dipped my brush in starlight painted a ribbon of night on your windowsill would you still laugh?
8 If I drew you adrift in a pen and ink sea in a raging storm would you laugh at me?
9 If I planted watercolor roses in your garden would you laugh then?
Or would you breathe deep to sample their scent?
I wonder.
Tyrone
10 If the sista read any faster, l'd be looking for her Supergirl cape. Talk about nervous! Diondra's hands were shaking the whole time she was holding that poem. She sure spooks easy for somebody so tall.
11 "Yo!" | said. "Take a deep breath. Ain't nobody going to hurt you here." She smiled a little and tried to slow down. But I swear that girl burned rubber getting back to her seat when she was through. I guess she's not exactly used to the limelight.
12 She's got plenty of company. Four more kids read their poetry for the first time today. They were shaking in their boots, but it was all good. I only had to tell one of them to loosen up. Guess you could call that progress!
Devon Hope
13 Jump Shot. What kind of name is that? Not mine, but try telling that to the brothers at school. That's all they ever call me.
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14 You'd think it was written somewhere. Tall guys must be jocks. No. Make that tall people, 'cause Diondra's got the same problem. Everybody expects her to shoot hoops. The difference is, she's got no talent in that direction. Ask me, she's got no business playing b-ball. That's my game.
15 I've got good height and good hands, and that's a fact. But what about the rest of me? Forget who I really am, who I really want to be. The law is be cool, be tough, play ball, and use books for weight training-not reading. Otherwise, everybody gives you grief. Don't ask me why I care, especially when the grief is coming from a punk like Wesley. Judging from the company he keeps, he's a gangsta in sheep's clothing. I don't even know why he and Tyrone bother coming to school. It's clear they don't take it seriously, although maybe they're starting to. That's according to Sterling, who believes in praying for everybody and giving them the benefit of the doubt. I love the preacher-man, but I think he may be giving these brothers too much credit. Anyway, when I hang around after school and any of the guys ask me: "Yo, Devon, where you going?" I tell them I'm heading for the gym to meet Coach and work on my layup. Then once they're out the door, I cut upstairs to the library to sneak a read.
16 It's not much better at home. My older brother's always after me to hit the streets with him, calls me a girly man for loving books and jazz.
17 Don't get me wrong. B-ball is all right. Girls like you, for one thing. But it's not you they like. It's Mr. Basketball. And if that's not who you are inside, then it's not you they're liking. So what's the point? Still, I don't mind playing, just not all the time.
18 This year is looking better. My English teacher has got us studying the Harlem Renaissance, which means we have to read a lot of poetry. That suits me just fine, gives me a reason to drag around my beat-up volumes of Langston Hughes and Claude McKay. Whenever anybody bugs me about it, all I have to say is "Homework." Even so, l'd rather the brothers not catch me with my head in a book.
19 The other day, I duck into the library, snare a corner table, and hunker down with 3000 Years of Black Poetry. Raynard sees me, but it's not like he's going to tell anybody. He hardly speaks, and he never hangs with any of the brothers I know. So I breathe easy. I'm sure no one else has spotted me until a head pops up from behind the stacks. It's Janelle Battle from my English class. I freeze and wait for the snickers I'm used to. Wait for her to say something like: "What? Coach got you reading now? Afraid you're gonna flunk out and drop off the team?" But all she does is smile and wave. Like it's no big deal for me to be in a library reading. Like I have a right to be there if I want. Then she pads over, slips a copy of The Panther & the Lash on my table, and walks away without saying a word. It's one of my favorite books by Langston Hughes. How could she know? Seems like she's noticed me in the library more often than I thought.
20 Janelle is all right. So what if she's a little plump? At least when you turn the light on upstairs, somebody's at home. She's smart, and she doesn't try hiding it. Which gets me thinking. Maybe it's time I quit sneaking in and out of the library like some thief. Maybe it's time I just started being who I am.
OPEN MIKE
Bronx Masquerade
By Devon Hope
21 I woke up this morning
exhausted from hiding the me of me so I stand here confiding. there's more to Devon than jump shot and rim.
I'm more than tall and lengthy of limb.
I dare you to peep behind these eyes, discover the poet in tough-guy disguise.
Don't call me Jump Shot.
My name is Surprise.
What did Diondra and Devon have in common? *
1 point
• Both love playing basketball.
• Both like listening to jazz music.
• Both hate writing poetry in Mr. Wards class.
• Both have to deal with others expectations.
What nickname have people given Diondra? *
• Jolly Green Giant.
• Shortstop
• Gumby
Swizzle Stick
1 point
What does Diondra consider herself to be? *
• A model
• A leader
• An artist
• A basketball player
Why as Devon worried when he saw Janelle Battle, a classmate of his, in the library?
* 1 point
He likes her, but doesn't know what to say to her.
He thought she was going to make fun of him for reading.
She's really obnoxious and he didn't want to deal with her.
She likes him and keeps pressuring him to ask her out.
Which theme fits the excerpt the BEST? *
• Don't judge a book by it's cover.
• The weight of expectations is overwhelming.
• No one's path is the same as another's.
• Inspiration can strike in the most surprising ways.
1 answer
Here are the answers to your questions based on the provided excerpt from "The Bronx Masquerade":
What did Diondra and Devon have in common?
Both have to deal with others' expectations.
What nickname have people given Diondra?
Jolly Green Giant.
What does Diondra consider herself to be?
An artist.
Why was Devon worried when he saw Janelle Battle, a classmate of his, in the library?
He thought she was going to make fun of him for reading.
Which theme fits the excerpt the BEST?
The weight of expectations is overwhelming.
Let me know if you need any further assistance or clarification!
