Synopsis

There are trolls, goblins, and witches. Which kind of monster is Sophie?

Sophie is a monster expert. Thanks to her Big Book of Monsters and her vivid imagination, Sophie can identify the monsters in her school and neighborhood. Clearly, the bullies are trolls and goblins. Her nice neighbor must be a good witch, and Sophie’s new best friend is obviously a fairy. But what about Sophie? She’s convinced she is definitely a monster because of the “monster mark” on her face. At least that’s what she calls it. The doctors call it a blood tumor. Sophie tries to hide it but it covers almost half her face. And if she’s a monster on the outside, then she must be a monster on the inside, too.

Being the new kid at school is hard. Being called a monster is even harder. Sophie knows that it’s only a matter of time before the other kids, the doctors, and even her mom figure it out. And then her mom will probably leave — just like her dad did.

Because who would want to live with a real monster?

Inspired by real events in the author’s life, A Monster Like Me teaches the importance of believing in oneself, accepting change, and the power of friendship.

Excerpt

The blonde lady follows the kid’s pointing finger and stares at me, her eyebrows arching up into her poofy hair, which is okay, but then she opens her mouth, which is not. “Hey, look, kids! That girl doesn’t even need a costume for Halloween! She’s already got one.”

Four heads peek around their mother like a five-headed hydra to stare and stare and then laugh. They point their fingers and giggle like it’s the funniest joke in the world, but it’s not funny. And I’m not laughing.

Mom’s mouth drops open as the hydra family walks away, and I bury my face in my book. The echoing laughter hurts my ears. It grates and stings, and I press my face against the pages
so I’ll never have to see anyone ever again. My eyes burn, but I blink fast and hold the tears inside. I don’t want Mom to see me cry, and besides, I don’t want to wreck my book.

“Sorry about that,” the clerk says over the sound of our groceries beeping across the scanner.

I peek over the book to see if he’s making fun, but he really does look sorry.

Mom’s face is red, her lips mashed tight in a thin line. The rest of the shoppers around us are quiet too, and I duck back into my book, hoping that Mom doesn’t understand what the hydra lady was talking about. She knows part of the truth about me, but not all. And she never will if I can help it.

The checkout machine prints the receipt, and I hear the cashier rip it off. Mom’s gentle touch pries my hand from the book and presses it against the cart’s handle. I wait till we’re out of the store to close my book, but even then, I keep my head down, my hair falling over my face like a curtain.

“You can open the fruit snacks now if you want,” says Mom.

I pretend I don’t hear and run the last few steps to the car. Lights flash as she pops the trunk with her key button. “We have one more place we need to go today after we drop off the groceries, then we can do something fun. Maybe plan for your birthday next week?” She winks and flashes ten fingers plus one.
…
“Sophie? You okay?” Mom checks my reflection in the rearview mirror.

“I’m fine,” I mumble.

As long as Mom never finds out the truth, it’ll be okay. She’ll still love me, and I can stay at home. Until then, I have to do what every other kid who’s not really a kid-does and hide my true nature from her. Only I can know.

I really am a monster.

Note from the Author

Sophie’s story is dear to my heart because I know how it feels to be bullied because I looked different from everyone else. When I was a child, I had a hemangioma on my forehead that stuck out so far my bangs couldn’t cover it, no matter how hard my mother tried. Because the tumor was made up of blood vessels, I could feel my heart beating inside it when I was playing hard or really upset.

The incident at the grocery store where the hydra lady says, “Hey, look kids! That girl doesn’t need a Halloween costume. She’s already got one!” is an exact quote of what a woman once said to my mother and me. Another woman told a classroom full of kids that I had the mark of the devil. Kids asked if it was a goose bump, or hamburger, or if my brains had leaked out. My dad had to chase away some bullies who had followed me home, called me names, and pushed me into the street. Sometimes, after a bad day of bullying, I wished I could just rip the mark off my face and be like everyone else—but it was a part of me, and wishing didn’t change that.

My parents decided to take an active role in educating the people around me so they would know what a hemangioma was and understand that it wasn’t icky, or gross, or contagious. Whenever we moved to a new place, my dad would go with me to the elementary school and talk to the kids about my mark and let them ask questions. After those talks, kids befriended me and noticed when bullies came around. Like Autumn, my school friends would speak up when they saw someone being mean to me, and sometimes they would stand between me and the bullies until they left me alone. I didn’t let the bullies stop me from doing what I wanted to do. I climbed trees, went swimming, wrote poetry, brought my tarantula and snakes to show-and-tell, and played in the tide pools.

This is my message to anyone who experiences bullying: Don’t let the bullies define you! I’ve been there, I know it hurts to be teased, but don’t let it stop you from doing what you want. Find something you enjoy—a hobby, talent, or challenge—and practice that skill. Know that someone out there, maybe even someone in your same school, needs a friend as much as you do. Be that friend. Stand up for each other. And know that you are not alone.

You can always find me at WendySwore.com, and I would love to hear your stories and what you thought of the book.

Trailer

About the Author

Wendy S. Swore farms with her husband and children in Idaho. Beginning in March, she will tour schools across the country and share how it only takes one minute of courage, one kind word, one friend to make a difference in someone’s life—with an emphasis on how everyone has a story to tell.

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