The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
I was the only kid, white or Indian, who knew that Charles Dickens wrote A Tale of Two Cities. And let me tell you, we Indians were the worst of times and those Reardan kids were the best of times.
Those kids were magnificent.
They knew everything.
And they were beautiful.
They were beautiful and smart.
They were beautiful and smart and epic.
They were filled with hope. (7.33-7.39)
They stared at me, the Indian boy with the black eye and swollen nose, my going-away gifts from Rowdy. Those white kids couldn't believe their eyes. They stared at me like I was Bigfoot or a UFO. What was I doing at Reardan, whose mascot was an Indian, thereby making me the only other Indian in town? (8.27)
Yesterday, during a game, Penelope was serving the ball and I watched her like she was a work of art.
She was wearing a white shirt and white shorts, and I could see the outlines of her white bra and white panties.
Her skin was pale white. Milk white. Cloud white.
So she was all white on white on white, like the most perfect kind of vanilla dessert cake you've ever seen.
I wanted to be her chocolate topping. (16.2-16.6)