Excerpt from Piecing Me Together by Renee Watson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Here it is. The Talk.

"Really, Mom?"

"Yes, really. You need some friends."

"I have Lee Lee."

"You need friends who go to St. Francis. You've been there for two years. How is it that you haven't made any new friends?"

"Well, at least I haven't made enemies," I say.

Mom sighs.

"I have friends there, Mom. They're just not my best friends. It's not like I go to school and sit all by myself in the cafeteria. I'm fine," I tell her.

"Are you sure?" Mom asks. "Because I swear, it's like if you and Lee Lee aren't joined together at the hip, you act like you can't survive."

Mom doesn't understand that I want to have Lee Lee to look at when something funny happens—something that's only funny to us. Our eyes have a way of finding each other no matter where we are in a room so we can give each other a look. A look that says, Did you see that? But at St. Francis, I don't have anyone to share that look with. Most things that seem ridiculous to me are normal there. Like when my humanities teacher asked, "Who are the invisible people in our community? Who are the people we, as a society, take for granted?"

Some girl in my class said her housekeeper.

It wasn't that I didn't think she took her housekeeper for granted; it was that I couldn't believe she had one. And then so many of my classmates nodded, like they could all relate. I actually looked across the room at the only other black girl in the class, and she was raising her hand, saying, "She took my answer," and so I knew we'd probably never make eye contact about anything. And I realized how different I am from everyone else at St. Francis. Not only because I'm black and almost everyone else is white, but because their mothers are the kind of people who hire housekeepers, and my mother is the kind of person who works as one.

Lee Lee would get that. She'd look at me, and we'd have a whole conversation with only our eyes. But now I have to wait till I get home from school to fill her in on the crazy things these rich people say and do.

Mom keeps on with her talk. "I really wish you'd make at least one friend—a close friend—this year at your school," she says. Then she says good night to me and walks into the hallway, where she turns and says, "Almost forgot to remind you—did you see my note on the fridge? You have a meeting with Mrs. Parker during lunch tomorrow."

"On the first day of school? About what?"

Mom shrugs. "She didn't give me details. Must be about the study abroad program," she says with a smile.

"You think so?" For the first time in—well, for the first time ever—I am excited to talk to Mrs. Parker. This is the year that teachers select students to volunteer in a foreign country and do service learning projects. That was the thing that made me want to attend St. Francis. Well, that and the scholarship. When we met with Mrs. Parker, my guidance counselor, I think she could tell I was not feeling going to school away from my friends. But she knew from my application essay that I wanted to take Spanish and that I wanted to travel, so she said, "Jade, St. Francis provides opportunities for our students to travel the world." She had me at that. Of course, she didn't tell me I'd have to wait until I was a junior.

Mrs. Parker always has some kind of opportunity to tell me about. Freshman year it was an essay writing class that happened after school. Sophomore year it was the free SAT prep class that met on Saturday mornings. Saturday mornings. She likes to take me downtown to the Arlene Schnitzer Hall whenever there's a speaker or poet in town, telling me I should hear so-and-so because kids in other cities in Oregon don't get these kinds of opportunities. I know Mrs. Parker is looking out for me—that she promised Mom she'd make sure I'd have a successful four years at St. Francis—but sometimes I wish I could say, Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Parker. I have enough opportunities. My life is full of opportunities. Give an opportunity to someone else.

Excerpted from Piecing Me Together by Renee Watson. Copyright © 2017 by Renee Watson. Excerpted by permission of Bloomsbury USA. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.