Free The Color Of Grace by Linda Kage Page A

Barry’s a nice guy. He treats my mom right and has been
nothing but kind to me.”
    Todd winced and scratched his goatee. “Yeah. I’m sorry about
Kiera. She’s…well, she’s Kiera.”
    I softened and offered him a smile, though I still wanted to
go back to Miss Perky Cheerleader and scratch out her eyes. “You don’t have to
apologize for her.” The witch should apologize for herself.
    He looked like he wanted to grovel some more, yet the whole
incident had nothing to do with him, so I cut him off before he could start.
    With a hopeful arch of my eyebrows, I lifted my class
schedule and sent him a pleading smile. “Hey, you don’t happen to know where
room one twenty is, do you?”
    His shoulders eased and relief washed across his features.
With a grin, he snagged my sheet. “Sure. I can take you there myself.”

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    Chapter 7

 
    “Today, I want us to delve deep into the symbolism of color
in literature.”
    My last class for my first day at Southeast was Literature
with Ms. Holderread. Glad I didn’t have to stand in front of another couple
dozen pair of eyes as the teacher announced me as the new kid any more for the
rest of the day, I relaxed enough for my muscles to unclench. I sat in the far
row closest to the door, waiting for the last bell to ring, wishing I could
escape forever and never see Ryder Yates, or his girlfriend, or any of his crew
ever again.
    I wasn’t a big reader; literature meant absolutely nothing
to me. But when Ms. Holderread mentioned color, I glanced up, instantly
intrigued.
    But honestly. Color in literature? What a strange concept.
To me, color meant pictures, photography, art.
    “Whenever color is used in literature,
it usually stands for something. In old westerns, the protagonist always wore
white and the antagonist wore...” She paused dramatically and splayed out a
hand for the rest of the class to finish the sentence.
    A few people mumbled, “black,” but the response was anything
but enthusiastic.
    Still, this color/symbolism thing hooked me, so I sat a little
straighter and actually paid attention to what the teacher had to say.
    “Black,” Ms. Holderread repeated. “Good.” She clapped her
hands together and smiled indulgently at us as if she were addressing a
classroom full of toddlers instead of teenagers. I decided I liked the woman.
She knew how to find humor in an otherwise dreary situation.
    “So, let’s talk about this black color, shall we? What do
you think of when you hear black? Night? Dark? Scary.” She shivered for effect
and rubbed at the sides of her arms as if she were chilled. “Now what do you
think when you hear…black tie? Black belt? Black eye? Black sheep? Blackmail?
Blackout? The meaning changes when the word associated with it changes. Don’t
you find that interesting?”
    I did, but I didn’t say so. When no one else said so either,
Ms. Holderread rolled her eyes.
    “What about white?” she pressed. “What comes to mind when
you hear the word white? Purity? Cleanliness?”
    I raised my hand. I have no idea why; it seemed to lift on
its own accord because I certainly didn’t want to bring attention to myself.
I’d received more than my fair share of notice for the day.
    Ms. Holderread lifted her eyebrows, letting me know my
interest surprised her. Then she pointed my way, her smile brightening the
room. “Grace?”
    I licked my lips. “Well…in photography, white isn’t
technically a color. I mean, it is, but it’s all colors…”
    I stalled, feeling like a total moron. Other students turned
to stare at me with vacant expressions as if I were some alien being, beamed
down into their classroom. I shrank lower in my seat.
    But the teacher didn’t roll her eyes. Instead, one of her
brows perked with curiosity. “Interesting observation.” She smiled approvingly,
which only made my pulse race faster from her praise. “Tell me, what is   the scientific definition of white?”
    My face