Bronx Masquerade Transformation Quotes

Judging from the company he keeps, [Wesley'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. (14.3)

Man, that little white girl be getting pretty deep. I figured her for something lame like "Roses are red, violets are blue." Glad I didn't have a bet on that action. (28.1)

Tanisha is one fine sister, but I never say that to her face. She gets tired of hearing it from all the other guys. They look at her and that's all they see, what's on the surface. That's what she told me when we talked once after Open Mike Friday. We talked about superficial judgments, how people look at you and think they know who you are, what you are, how they put you in a box: jock, china doll, whatever. That's one thing me and Tanisha got in common. We know all about being put in a box. I feel like I'm gonna be climbing out of the one marked "dumb jock" all my life. (41.3)

The brotha's right. I look around this class and nobody I see fits into the box I used to put them in. Startin' with Mr. Ward. I figured him for a lightweight do-gooder who would last about five minutes in this neighborhood. But he stuck, and he got this poetry thing going. He even reads his own stuff sometimes. He's okay.

Devon's okay too. I don't know how bright the other jocks are, but there's nothing dumb about this brotha. Mr. Ward says you have to take people one at a time, check out what's in their head and heart before you judge. (43.1-2)

Judianne's right. There's something wrong with that girl. Hey, lots of peeps change their names, I ain't got no problem with that. Some have to, the names their folks gave them are such dogs. But that girl sound like she wants to change her race. What's that about? She feeling guilty 'cause her family's got it good? I don't get it, but I'm gonna leave that one alone. (55.2)

The world ain't but one big surprise after another. Just look at Raynard. Or look at Steve. That white boy got more up his sleeve than anyone would guess. I ain't lying. (61.1)

Everybody around me is dark and ethnic. Which is in, by the way. Look at all the supermodels. They're from places like Venezuela and Africa and Puerto Rico. Then there's me, white bread and pale as the moon. I can't even tan without burning myself. I look around my neighborhood and this school, and nobody looks like me. I keep thinking if I could just stick out less, if I could learn to walk and talk like the kids around me, maybe I would fit in more. I don't know. Maybe it's a dumb idea. (63.5)

"The minute I turn twenty-one, I'm changing my name," I say to no one in particular. "I mean it."

"Why wait?" says Chankara. We've had this conversation before. "Why not change it now?"

I shake my head. "Too complicated."

"Fine, then. Count to ten, and try this." She slices off a square of pizza from her plate and shoves it in my mouth.

Chankara's a problem solver. She has no patience for talking a thing to death. Do something about it or shut up is her motto. I guess she's right. But one of these days, the name Porscha will have to go. I'm tired of providing oversized boys with the raw material for adolescent jokes about my being a high-maintenance mama, or some sort of luxury item. Then there are those oily, leering, dirty old men on my block who drool or wink at me when I pass by on my way home, asking if they can take me for a test drive. Please. But for now, I'm stuck with Porscha. I can live with it a while longer, though. (75.2-6)

The first time he got up there, I rolled my eyes like half the sisters in class, certain he was going to spout something lame or nasty about girls and sex, or gangsters. I mean, that's all we ever heard him talk about, right? But there was nothing lame about this poem, and none of it was about sex. It was about what's going on in the world, and about trying to make sense of it. It was a poem by somebody who really thinks about things, and that somebody turned out to be Tyrone. He made me change my mind about him that day. Maybe I can change people's minds about me too. It's worth a shot. (75.13)

Now I know school's almost over. We came to our English class yesterday and found our poems and drawings gone from the wall. Porscha was about to freak, along with everybody else, 'til Mr. Ward surprised us with a class anthology. He'd gone to some quick-copy place and made up books for each of us with copies of our work. It was pretty cool the way he hooked it up. I can't wait to show my moms. (77.1)