This book can speak for itself:
"Maybe we should ask Sahara what she wants," Peaches suggested, with her usual sad-happy smile.
"Is this Christmas? Are you the Special Needs Santa Claus? Ask Sahara what she wants!" Mom twisted in her seat and made a noise between a cough and a laugh. "Look, I don't have time for this. I know she's capable of fifth-grade work. She reads at home. She reads plenty. I think she writes, too," she said accusingly. I didn't look at her. She whirled around in her chair and growled at me, "Sahara, tell them you like to write."
She was telling it true. I read at home, and write, too, but whenever I write, I make sure I'm by myself and then, when I'm done writing, I rip it out of my notebook. I hide it in a binder behind section 940 in the public library, where all the books about Somewhere Else are located. This very paper, for instance, will someday be an archaeological find. Someday, someone will reach behind section 940 and find the dusty works of me, Sahara Jones, Secret Writer, and that person's life will be made more exciting, just by reading my Heart-Wrenching Life Story and Amazing Adventures.
I don't think that we have Educating Esme: Diary of a Teacher's First Year, but now I HAVE to ILL it.
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