Piecing Me Together follows high school student Jade throughout her junior year. Jade is an anomaly in her neighborhood, but the pride of it: rather than attend the neighborhood’s public high school, she buses to a private school called St. Francis, where she attends on a scholarship. At St. Francis, however, Jade is also an anomaly—she’s one of only a handful of black students, in addition to being poor and overweight. As Jade navigates her neighborhood, school, and a mentorship program called Woman to Woman that seeks to elevate black girls like Jade through sometimes questionable means, she has to constantly figure out how to navigate the intersections of her many identities—and indeed, the varied and overlapping identities of her friends and mentors. Through this, Piecing Me Together makes it clear that it’s impossible to boil down a person’s identity to a single defining characteristic, or even a handful of characteristics. People identify in myriad ways, which means not only that they contain multitudes—it also means that people whose identities are marginalized, like Jade, can experience discrimination for a variety of different but connected reasons.
Piecing Me Together makes it clear that it’s universally offensive—and even dangerous—to look at someone and see only their various identity markers. Jade introduces herself by talking about her dreams and wants to do most: learn Spanish, which will give her the opportunity to get out of Portland and help others by going on the school’s yearly service learning trip. Though Jade is forthcoming about being black and poor, she also makes sure that the reader is aware that she’s proud of her roles beyond these markers: daughter, niece, and scholar. Jade’s pride in who she is and what she can do contrasts greatly with her guidance counselor, Mrs. Parker’s, reasoning behind nominating Jade for the Woman to Woman mentorship program. Awkwardly and uncomfortably, Mrs. Parker says she nominated Jade because “young people with [her] set of circumstances are, well, at risk for certain things.” That is, Mrs. Parker distills Jade down to the circumstances and parts of her that, statistically speaking, are going to make her life more difficult (such as being poor, black, and female), rather than looking at Jade as a whole person who is already on a path to success despite her difficult circumstances.
Though this kind of discrimination is emotionally taxing for Jade, she and her black friends are aware that because they’re black, female, and poor, they’re not just at risk of having well-meaning white people talk down to them—they’re also at risk of experiencing police brutality. This becomes especially clear to them when they hear that police officers broke the jaw of Natasha Ramsey, a young black girl from across the river—supposedly for resisting arrest and talking back when the officers showed up at a house party. Jade and her best friend, Lee Lee, are well aware that what happened to Natasha could easily happen to them or their loved ones, simply because of their sex and the color of their skin.
Jade also pays close attention to the ways in which her various identity markers either allow her to connect with her classmates or make her feel as though she lives worlds away from them. To illustrate how poverty alienates her from her classmates, Jade recounts a time when one of her teachers asked the class to think about “invisible people” in their communities, and one white classmate mentioned her housekeeper. Jade shares that she looked to the one other black student in the class, Kennedy, hoping that they could bond over what seemed like the speaker’s ridiculous wealth, but Kennedy instead accused the girl of stealing her answer. Because Kennedy is in such a wildly different income bracket from Jade, the two are never able to connect over being black. This works in the opposite direction when Jade befriends Sam, a white girl who also rides the bus to school. Like Jade, Sam is extremely poor and attends St. Francis on a scholarship. The girls bond quickly over the many things this means that they share, such as busing in from neighborhoods that their classmates refer to as “depressing” or “ghettos” and having to navigate the school cafeteria every day for their free lunches.
Of course, this isn’t to say that the girls don’t experience major differences in how others treat them due to their skin color. Their Spanish teacher, Mr. Flores, nominates Sam to go on the service learning trip to Costa Rica over spring break, something that Jade has worked toward since she was a freshman—while Jade, as part of the Woman to Woman program, sits through questionably useful seminars about “loving yourself,” dating, and how to host a “girls’ night” with vegan-friendly snacks. Jade recognizes that because Sam is white, her teachers see her as deserving of opportunities like going to Costa Rica, while Jade, because she’s black, is offered opportunities that seek to (in theory) bring her up to the level of her white peers. However, given Jade’s hard work and academic ability, her teachers are actually diminishing her talents and patronizing her rather than truly helping her. Since Jade tutors most of the classmates who go on the trip, she understands that she’s not passed over because she’s not a good enough student: rather, it’s because her teachers see her merely as a poor black girl who should be treated differently than her white peers.
Though the novel offers no real remedies for the discrimination Jade experiences, it does suggest that it’s important to talk about how people’s intersecting identities color how they see the world and how the world sees them. By telling Jade’s story, the novel humanizes marginalized people like Jade, simply by showing that she is so much more than just poor and black—she’s a multifaceted human being deserving of respect and kindness.
Intersectionality, Identity, and Discrimination ThemeTracker
Intersectionality, Identity, and Discrimination Quotes in Piecing Me Together
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.
But girls like me, with coal skin and hula-hoop hips, whose mommas barely make enough money to keep food in the house, have to take opportunities every chance we get.
Of everything Mrs. Parker has signed me up for this one means the most. This time it’s not a program offering something I need, but it’s about what I can give.
“We want to be as proactive as possible, and you know, well, statistics tell us that young people with your set of circumstances are, well, at risk for certain things, and we’d like to help you navigate through those circumstances.”
Listening to these mentors, I feel like I can prove the negative stereotypes about girls like me wrong. That I can and will do more, be more.
But when I leave? It happens again. The shattering.
And this makes me wonder if a black girl’s life is only about being stitched together and coming undone, being stitched together and coming undone.
I wonder if there’s ever a way for a girl like me to feel whole.
And the other girl talks so bad about Northeast Portland, not knowing she is talking about Sam’s neighborhood. Not knowing you shouldn’t ever talk about a place like it’s unlivable when you know someone, somewhere lives there. She goes on and on about how dangerous it used to be, how the houses are small, how it’s supposed to be the new cool place, but in her opinion, “it’s just a polished ghetto.” She says, “God, I’d be so depressed if I lived there.”
She will be on the news every day because she is a white girl and white girls who go missing always make the news. [...] For months people will tell girls and women to be careful and walk in pairs, but no one will tell boys and men not to rape women, not to kidnap us and toss us into rivers. And it will be a tragedy only because Sam died in a place she didn’t really belong to. No one will speak of the black and Latino girls who die here, who are from here.
Maxine is full of ideas. “There are lots of free things too. I mean, even taking a drive to Multnomah Falls or going to Bonneville Dam.”
“Yeah, well, my mom doesn’t have a car, so there goes that idea,” I say. “And if she did, I’m sure she’d need to be conservative on where to drive in order to keep gas in the car.”
Maxine shakes her head at me. “Always the pessimist,” she says, laughing.
Always the realist, I think. Always the poorest.
“Kira—please leave Jade alone. She is not like that. She’s smart. She’s on scholarship at St. Francis and has a four-point-oh GPA. This girl right here is going places. She’s not going to mess things up by betting caught up with some guy,” she says. “I’m going to see to it she doesn’t end up like one of those girls.”
I know when Maxine says those girls, she is talking about the girls who go to Northside.
“You hanging around all those uppity black women who done forgot where they came from. Maxine know she knows about fried fish. I don’t know one black person who hasn’t been to a fish fry at least once in their life. Where she from?”
Mom won’t stop talking. She goes on and on about Maxine and Sabrina and how they are a different type of black [...]
I haven’t spent much time with Sam. Partly because I usually have something to do after school, but mostly because I don’t know how to be around her when I know she doesn’t think that salesclerk treated me wrong. I don’t even think she feels the tension between us. She has moved on and acts like everything is fine, but me? I’m stuck wondering if I can truly be friends with someone who doesn’t understand what I go through, how I feel.
“But I don’t look up to Maxine,” I tell her. “She’s using me to feel better about herself. And her mother gave us all this food because she feels sorry for us. If that’s how you act when you have money, I’d rather stay poor.”
I stare at the picture, can’t stop looking at her face, at how she looks like someone who lives in my neighborhood. Maybe she used to?
When the star-filled sky blanketed him, did he ever think about what his life was like before the expedition? Before he was a slave? How far back could he remember? Did he remember existing in a world where no one thought him strange, thought him a beast?
Did he remember being human?
Sometimes I just want to be comfortable in this skin, this body. Want to cock my head back and laugh [...] and not be told I’m too rowdy, too ghetto. Sometimes I want to go to school, wearing my hair big like cumulous clouds without getting any special attention [...] At school I turn on a switch, make sure nothing about me is too black. All day I am on. And that’s why sometimes after school, I don’t want to talk to Sam or go to her house, because her house is a reminder of how black I am.
“I just want to be normal. I just want a teacher to look at me and think I’m worth a trip to Costa Rica. Not just that I need help but that I can help someone else.”
“When I went to St. Francis, most people assumed that because I was black, I must be on scholarship.”
“I’m on scholarship,” I remind her.
“I know. But you were awarded a scholarship because you are smart, not because you are black,” Maxine says. “I got tired of people assuming things about me without getting to know me. [...] Sometimes, in class, if something about race came up, I was looked on to give an answer as if I could speak on behalf of all black people,” Maxine says.