By Debby Dahl Edwardson
From the 2011 nationwide e-book Award Finalist Debby Dahl Edwardson, My identify isn't really effortless. My identify isn't effortless. My identify is difficult like ocean ice grinding the shore . . . Luke understands his I?upiaq identify is stuffed with sounds white humans can’t say. So he leaves it in the back of whilst he and his brothers are despatched to boarding institution hundreds and hundreds of miles clear of their Arctic village. At Sacred center university, students—Eskimo, Indian, White—line up on diversified aspects of the cafeteria like there’s a few form of battle happening. the following, talking I?upiaq—or any local language—is forbidden. And Father Mullen, whose fury is sort of a strength of nature, is able to slap down those that disobey. Luke struggles to outlive at Sacred center. yet he’s no longer the single one. There’s smart-aleck Amiq, a bold chief— if he doesn’t self-destruct; Chickie, blond and freckled, a distinct type of outsider; and small, quiet Junior, noticing every thing and writing all of it down. They every one have their very own tale to inform. yet as soon as their separate tales come jointly, issues at Sacred middle School—and the broader world—will by no means be an identical.
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Additional resources for My Name Is Not Easy
Shhh. ” He’s wide awake now, whispering. ” “I’m taking Isaac’s gun,” he says, his voice rising a bit. Isaac’s toy gun is on the bed, next to him. He slept with it, I just realized. “Go ahead,” I say. ” Outside it’s dark, but there’s a moon slung low, and the dirt road that leads away from the school is lit with a shadowy light. It’s the same road that priest drove down when he took Isaac away, his car spitting stones and dust. At the end of that road is the highway that leads north to Fairbanks and south to Anchorage.
Most of the other kids were still busy shoveling their mouths full of food, hungry after a long day of missing home. Those two 35 M Y N A M E I S N OT E A S Y Eskimo brothers were talking together in their own language. Sonny watched them closely, trying to ﬁgure out what they were talking about. ” the bigger one muttered, unaccountably. Horse meat. An English word nobody ever used, laced into an Iñupiaq sentence. Weird. Before Sonny even had a chance to ﬁgure it out, the whole room went dead quiet, and everyone looked up, as if by instinct.
Bunna scowls. He don’t like to be laughed at. ” He pats the steering wheel like it’s a dog. ” Then he leans down toward Bunna like he’s sharing a big secret. “And you know, I don’t think cowboys hunt horses as a rule. Think about it. ” Bunna glares at me real quick. “Yeah,” he says. ” We drive on in silence, the priest smiling and still tapping the steering wheel real soft, like maybe it helps him think to tap it that way. “So you’re the Aaluk boys,” he says at last. The way he says it is like he already knows, so we don’t say anything.