A Girl Like Me

Audisee® eBooks with Audio combine professional narration and sentence highlighting for an engaging read aloud experience! "[A] rallying cry for girls to reject limitations others might place on them and their dreams."—starred,The Horn Book Magazine "Once I dreamed I swam / the ocean / and saw everything deep, cool / and was part of the waves. / I swam on by the people / onshore / hollering, / 'A girl like you needs to / stay out of the water / and be dry / like everyone else.'" Empower young readers to embrace their individuality, reject societal limitations, and follow their dreams. This inspiring picture book brings together a poem by acclaimed author Angela Johnson and Nina Crews's distinctive photocollage illustrations to celebrate girls of color.

You might feel that this fight is too big for you. How on earth can you dismantle so many complex, long-standing systems of oppression? My answer: piece by piece. Brown Girl Like Me is an inspiring memoir and empowering manifesto that equips women with the confidence and tools they need to navigate the difficulties that come with an intersectional identity. Jaspreet Kaur unpacks key issues such as the media, the workplace, the home, education, mental health, culture, confidence and the body, to help South Asian women understand and tackle the issues that affect them, and help them be in the driving seat of their own lives. Jaspreet pulls no punches, tackling difficult topics from mental health and menstruation stigma to education and beauty standards, from feminism to cultural appropriation and microaggressions. She also addresses complex issues, such as how to manage being a brown feminist without rejecting your own culture, and why Asian girls – the second highest performing group of students in the country – aren't seen in larger numbers in universities and head offices. Interviews with brilliant South Asian Women of all walks of life as well as academic insight show what life is really like for brown women in the diaspora. Part toolkit, part call-to-arms, Brown Girl Like Me is essential reading for South Asian women as well as people with an interest in feminism and cultural issues, and will educate, inspire and spark urgent conversations for change.

A high school beauty is out to save her troubled family when she meets a hip-hop Prince Charming in this YA urban Cinderella story. She's got a voice like Keisha Cole and attitude to burn. She’s the body-rockin', Bebe-sporting girl everyone in her high school wants to be—or be with. But behind her picture-perfect image, sixteen-year-old Elite has a crack-addicted mother, no father in sight, and is secretly raising her sister and two brothers on her own. Now a radio contest has put her up-close-and-personal with mega-hot singer Haneef and their chemistry is too sizzling for Elite to stop pretending. As the clock ticks down fast for this 'hood Cinderella, she has only one shot to save her family and make all of her dreams come true.

Their lives couldn't be more different, but Emmie can't help liking Bertha Schippan. She's funny and knowing and wild, and she distracts Emmie from the monotony of farm life in their tiny, isolated community. But, as Emmie soon discovers, Bertha has secrets. Terrible secrets. This heartbreaking story is based on a real crime that took place more than a century ago, capturing headlines all around Australia.

Rosie Boycott wasn't a typical 1960's Cheltenham Ladies College girl. By the age of 21 she had co-founded the feminist magazine Spare Riband the feminist publishing house Virago, whilst experimenting with drugs, sex and booze. But she wanted more: more experience, more travel, more passion. An epic motorcycle trip through Asia with her boyfriend John Steinbeck Jr. ended in a Thai jail. But drugs weren't her real problem. Alcohol was. Drinking seemed to defeat the demons in her psyche - until it became clear that drinking was her biggest demon of all. How had a nice country girl turned into a drunk? Now a well-known journalist, ex-newspaper editor and chairman of the London Food Board, Rosie made it from the top to the bottom and back again. In this account of her life, she never shirks from the truth about herself - and in her honesty she gives hope to other women with addictions, addressing the hellish predicament of the alcoholic woman with passion and candour.

In this lyrical coming-of-age story about family, sisterhood, music, race, and identity, Mariama J. Lockington draws on some of the emotional truths from her own experiences growing up with an adoptive white family. I am a girl but most days I feel like a question mark. Makeda June Kirkland is eleven years old, adopted, and black. Her parents and big sister are white, and even though she loves her family very much, Makeda often feels left out. When Makeda's family moves from Maryland to New Mexico, she leaves behind her best friend, Lena— the only other adopted black girl she knows— for a new life. In New Mexico, everything is different. At home, Makeda’s sister is too cool to hang out with her anymore and at school, she can’t seem to find one real friend. Through it all, Makeda can’t help but wonder: What would it feel like to grow up with a family that looks like me? Through singing, dreaming, and writing secret messages back and forth with Lena, Makeda might just carve a small place for herself in the world. For Black Girls Like Me is for anyone who has ever asked themselves: How do you figure out where you are going if you don’t know where you came from?

After being abused by her uncle, G Child goes to live with her grandmother in the Central downtown area of Winnipeg. There, she is surrounded by kids who roam the apartment blocks, smoking and drinking and doing drugs. she meets Jessica and Gina, who become her best friends, and gets to know Gina’s older brother, Roland, founder of the Central outfit of the Diablos gang. As a young teen she is initiated into the Diablos and starts joining their campaign against the rival gang, the street Ryders (so named because they make their money pimping out girls). embracing the solidarity of gang membership, G Child feels loved and part of a family. But the stakes rise when the street Ryders kill a friend, and as G Child gets in deeper, moving in with her fellow gang girlfriends and selling crack to make money, she finds herself questioning her lifestyle. When someone she trusts reveals a dark, abusive streak, G Child knows it’s time to get out. But can she escape gang life before it kills her? A compelling read based on real-life experience, Innercity Girl Like Me is a brutally authentic look at gang life in Canada.

Find Out More About: A Girl Like Me Here Recently Transplanted From The Quiet, Green Suburbs Of Minnesota To The Bustling Concrete Jungle That Is Gurgaon, Sixteen-Year-Old Anisha Rai Is Determined Not To Take To The New Place She Must Call Home. While Her Irrepressible Mom, Isha, Thrives On The Crazy Juggling Between A Hotshot Job And Their New Home, Annie&Mdash;Desperately Clutching On To Memories Of Her Father Whom She Lost Three Years Ago&Mdash;Plods Through Each Day With As Little Enthusiasm As She Can. But It&Rsquo;S Not Going To Work, Is It? Not When She&Rsquo;S Discovered That Her Goofy Childhood Friend Keds Has Transformed Into Quite A Dude And Still Remembers Their First Kiss; That She&Rsquo;S Been Severely Infected By Her Quirky Classmates&Rsquo; Zest For Everything Fun Despite Utmost Resistance; That The H-O-T-T College-Going Theatre Enthusiast Kunal Wants To Teach Her A Lot More Than Drama . . . And When Her Deceptively Unassuming Neighbours Reveal Hidden Agendas, Annie&Rsquo;S Life Suddenly Becomes Hotter To Handle Than She Could Ever Have Imagined. Deftly Weaving Through Home And School And The Secret Places In Annie&Rsquo;S World, A Girl Like Me Is An Unforgettable Story, Crackling At Every Turn With The Heartbreak And Promise&Mdash;And The Breathless Exuberance&Mdash;Of Teenage Life. &Lsquo;Read The Opening Chapter Of A Girl Like Me Below&Rsquo; New Delhi. It Has Changed Since I Saw It Last, It Has Thickened, Blackened, Erupted Like A Pollinating Pod. The Straight, Sparse Lines That Used To Make Up The Contours In The Distance Are Gone. They Are Shattered Into Fragments, Twisted Into Flyovers, Contorted Into High-Rises, Billboards, Pounding Masses Of People. The Buildings Are Taller And Leaner, The Slums Have Gained Weight, The Colours Are Vivid Whirls And Splatters, Grimier And Shinier All At Once. It Comes At Me With A New Snarl And An Old Odour, This Old New City, It Pelts Me With Its Heat, It Lashes Across My Face; It Makes Me Dizzy. I Close My Eyes Against The Burning Yellows And Blinding Reds Outside My Taxi Window, Settle Back Against The Burning Vinyl Seat. My Mind Pulls Up The Soothing Greys And Whites Of The Winter Backyard. It Used To Be Bald, The Winter Backyard. A Birch, A Pine, A Few Skinny Ashes; A Single Dutch Elm That Spread Its Filigreed Wings Over The Peeling Deck, The Sunlight Shards Of Silver Pierced Through Its Bony Branches. When The Breeze Blew You Saw Stars Dance. And On The Ground, The Endless Snow. It Covered Everything; It Looked Soft And Fluffy As A Comforter Filled With Down, Like You Could Lie Right Down And Pull It Over Yourself And Disappear Underneath Its Soft White Folds And Dream Soft White Dreams. And All Around The Shrunken Skeletons Of Bushes That Promised To Keep A Quiet Vigil; The Icicles Hanging From Their Arms That Promised To Keep The Soft White Cold Pinned Down Around You. It Had Been Quiet, The Backyard In Winter. So Quiet That If You Looked Straight Up You Could Hear The Sounds Of The Universe. The Explosions On Jupiter And The Storms On Saturn And The Thin Slivers Of Mythical Ice That You Imagined Froze Ever Harder On Mars. You Could Hear The Crash Of Meteors And The Flares On The Sun And The Birthing Pains Of Planets In Galaxies Far, Far Away. Time Was A Tease On The Backyard In Winter. At Night, If You Were Alone, It Would Run Amok. You&Rsquo;D Be Staring Out At The Quiet Nothingness And Suddenly, Like A Drunken Diva, It Would Step Right Out Of Its Clothes And Go Skinny-Dipping In The Cold Night Air. It Would Fling Out Its Arms And Turn Cartwheels On The Snow, It Would Dance Backwards And Forwards And Round And Round And Take You Spinning Along With It. And Then, Just As Suddenly, It Would Spit You Out And Leave You Cold. Oh, The Backyard Had Been Cold. So Cold. A Sweet Chill Descended From The North Pole Every Winter And Froze In Ice Every Ache, Every Lingering Pain. Frosty-Faced, Fur-Hooded, Shovelling And Salting Your Driveway You Didn&Rsquo;T Notice For A While&Mdash;Not Till The Mountains Of Snow Ran Runny, Not Till The New Squirrels And Goslings And Chipmunks Took Over The Yard, The Loons The Lake&Mdash;That Some Essential Part Of You Was Missing. That Spring Paw Prints Could Spring Tears In Your Eyes. I Open My Eyes Against The Smart Of Fresh Ones. Before Me Is The Frayed Collar Of The Taxi Driver. It Is Crumpled, Sagging, Ringed With Sweat. Above It A Brown Neck Rises Dark And Lined, Like The Solid Trunk Of A Sturdy Tree. Like Dad&Rsquo;S Used To Be. He&Rsquo;D Been Tone Deaf And Loud-Voiced And Prone To Singing, My Dad. His Was The First Voice I Heard When I Woke Up Every Morning. Good Morning, Ani-Bunny . . . Annie, Dad! My Name&Rsquo;S Annie! Funny Ani, How You Kill Me, Aha, Sunny Ani! He&Rsquo;D Sing It To The Abba Song, Butchering Both Lyrics And Melody. I&Rsquo;D Launch My Pillow At Him. He&Rsquo;D Laugh. His Eyebrows&Mdash;So Thick I Could Have Braided Them&Mdash;Would Dance. His Cheeks, Freshly Shaved And Still Stubbly, Would Stretch Wide; His Enormous Elastic Nose Even Wider . . . Ani, Honey! He Used To Swing Me Around On His Wide Back Even When I Wasn&Rsquo;T So Small Any More. Rock-A-Bye-Ani . . .Daddy! Stop! On The Treetop . . . Daa-Ddy!!! We Stopped Missing Him Last Halloween, Ma And I. It Had Been A Whole Year. Ma Dressed Up As An Oompa Loompa In A Leafy Body Suit With A Sack Of Cacao Beans And Went To Her Office Party And Promised To Come Back Drunk. I Gelled My Hair Green And Attached A Ring To My Brow And Went Trick-Or-Treating With Jessica And Jaime. It Was A Hoot. Jessica Drove With The Top Down On The Mustang, Her Witch Hat Awry. Midway Through, It Started To Snow. It Fell In Our Hair And Our Faces And Our Eyes And We Stopped At The Edge Of The Lake To Catch Our Breath And Watched The Chill Rise In Smoky Wisps From Our Lips. We Made Breath Rings In The Frosty Night And Jaime Played With Her Orange Hair And Described The Many Ways In Which Brad Anderson Was A Jerk. There Were Millions. And Then Jessica Spotted A Deer. It Was At The Far Side Of The Lake, Slatted Between The Trees. Its Neck Froze The Instant It Saw Us. For A Moment Its Eyes Flashed Bright In Its Face, Like Embers In Gold. We Stared At It And Held Our Breath. And Then It Ran Away. Oh, It Was A Good, Hard Winter Last Year; The Kind Where The Mercury Drops To Twenty-Two Below And The Hairs In Your Nostrils Stick Together And Everyone Walks Around With A Furry Nordic Halo And It&Rsquo;S Okay If You Never Smile. There Had Been Such Comfort In That Bitter Cold. Everything Had Been, For A Short While, Bearable. And Then In April The Snow Melted And The Layers Came Off. I Missed Him. I Missed His Hands. There Was A Pair Of Hands At The Grocery Store&Mdash;Dark, Broad, Square, With Dried Raisins For Knuckles&Mdash;The New Pakistani Gentleman At The Counter Ringing Up Our Purchases. There Were Dark Whiskers Of Hair On The Backs Of His Fingers, Wiry And Tough And Bristling; Those Hands Came Home With Me Stuck Like Splinters In My Skin. I Looked In The Mirror And Saw Thick Brows, Dad&Rsquo;S Brows, Wide, Knotted, Ropy. I Went At Them With Ma&Rsquo;S Tweezers Till They Were Shreds Of Shoelace Ringed In Smarting Flesh, Above Stinging Eyes. They&Rsquo;D Been So Dark, His Eyes. Black And Shiny, Patent Leather. They Looked At You With A Fierce Love, You Saw Yourself Shine In Them. Even Through The Glasses; When He Had His Glasses. I&Rsquo;D Found Them In The Freezer Once, Stuck To The Frozen Enchiladas. He Loved Those Soggy Enchiladas. He&Rsquo;D Left Them Too Long In The Microwave One Summer And A Wormlike Squiggle Of Sauce Had Squirted On To His Forearm Right Above The Thin Strip Of Pale Skin That Lived Under Hi