NO IS A WHOLE SENTENCE. MY BODY IS MINE.

Last week three girls asked me for bracelets. I used to just give them away. This time I said, "They're two dollars." Two of them paid. One said never mind. That's okay. I still set the table every night and didn't ask for anything for that. That's family. My mom said I got the whole chapter.

Here's the next thing, and my mom says it's the most important one in the book. My body is mine. Nobody gets to hug me, tickle me, pick me up, or sit too close unless I say it's okay. Not my friends. Not my cousins. Not a grown-up. Not even somebody who's being nice.

I can say no to a hug. No to a game I don't want to play. No to a dare. No to "come on, everybody's doing it." I don't have to explain it. I don't have to say sorry first. "No, thank you" is a whole answer.

Here's the part grown-ups get wrong. They say yes because they don't want to hurt somebody's feelings. My feelings go first. If somebody is sad because I said no, that's their feeling to figure out. Not mine.

And if somebody doesn't listen to my no? Then I'm done being polite. I say it louder. I walk away. I tell a grown-up I trust, and if that one doesn't listen, I tell another one. I will never, ever be in trouble for telling.

My mom says the women who learn this at nine don't have to learn it at thirty-nine. I'm nine. So.