The Color Of Grace (9 page)

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 heated; I hated having all eyes on me. “It’s,
uh…it’s the reflection of the light from all the colors in the color spectrum.
So, I guess it
is
a color, sort of.
It’s just…all of them.”

“Very good.” She turned to address everyone else. “White is
the complete presence of light, which gives it the symbolism for wholeness and
completeness. I’d say this is why it’s also a very spiritual color. They use
white when they depict God in pictures. The Bible claims Him as the Alpha and
Omega, beginning and end, which goes along with the symbolism of wholeness and
completion.”

Pointing out a kid in the back row, she said, “Will, what’s
something else you think of when you hear the word white?”

“Uh…er, a white flag?”

“Very good. Samantha?”

As Samantha stammered out something about a white knight, my
mind raced. I’d never thought about how color meant anything in stories. My big
deal was pictures and photography, colors in portraits. Suddenly, I saw color
in a new dimension with tons of deeper meaning.

The discussion around the room, mostly forced by Ms.
Holderread, continued until she clapped her hands together again. “Here’s the
question for the day. Actually, for the entire semester. If you were a color,
which color would you be? For your semester project, I want everyone to pick
what color you are, and explain why. Then I want you to back your answer with
literary evidence. Give me examples from stories where this color is used as a
symbol and how you feel it relates to you. I want it to be at least five pages
long.”

Around me, everyone groaned. Typically, a five-page paper in
English would’ve made me moan out my distress too, but I was too busy
wondering.

What color would I be?

I glanced around me, and suddenly, every tint, tone, and
shade stood out in vivid Technicolor. A gamut of light and dark. Symbolisms
galore.

* * * *

Laina caught up with me again just after the last bell rang
and I entered the hall. Actually, it was more like I caught up with her. I
must’ve been in “junior” hall, because as I was making my way back to my
locker, I spotted her twirling on her own combination.

“There you are,” I called, pausing beside her. “I was wondering
where my guide went.”

She jumped and spun around to gape at me. “Oh. Uh, hi,” she
said, immediately turning back to her locker to gather her homework.

Almost comforted by the fact she was shyer than I was, I
lingered next to her as she filled her bag with books and papers. “So I
survived through my first day. Go me. And I just wanted to thank you so much
for showing me to my art class.” I didn’t demand to know why she’d bugged out
on me for the rest of them. For some reason, I wanted to take her under my wing
and coax her out of her shell.

I have no idea why, but something in me saw great potential
in her. She just needed a friend to help bring her to life.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d need me anymore after I
saw you with
them
.”

She talked so quietly, I had to lean in to hear her properly.
And still, it took me a second to piece her words together. Pulling back in
confusion, I repeated, “Them? Them who?”

“You know.” She fluttered out her hand as if that should
make everything perfectly clear. “Kiera, and Todd, and Mindy and all them.”

“Oh,” I said.
Them
.
“Yeah, when I couldn’t find you, they showed me to the rest of my classrooms.
They even invited me to do something with them after the game tonight.”

“Really?” Her eyes grew wide, but not in an impressed
way—more of an intimidated, scared way—and she pulled back as if my talking to
them had infected me with a disease. “So, you’re popular then?” she asked,
sounding suddenly gloomy.

“Popular?” I almost laughed in her face. “Hardly. My friends
and I at Hillsburg are actually called a nerd herd. Why? Are Kiera and Todd and
all them the in-crowd here?”

Laina glanced around before she leaned confidentially
closer. “Oh, yeah.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously?” The word popular had always
turned me off, maybe because all the popular people I’d ever known seemed so
two-faced and artificial. I couldn’t really pinpoint the origin of my distaste.
I just knew learning Ryder Yates was one of
them
made me feel even more disappointed.

Laina nodded, eager to spill all the exciting gossip. “Cory
and Mindy get crowned the Homecoming King and Queen every year. Except maybe
this year. With Kiera dating Ryder now, I bet
they’ll
win. They’re like the most sexually active couple in
school, you know.”

Everything she said after that blew right over my head and
floated off into the unheard. Ryder Yates and his awful girlfriend were the
most sexually active couple in school, huh?

Until that moment, I hadn’t thought my day could get any
worse.

I was so, so wrong.

“Well, thanks for a juicy four-one-one.” I cut Laina off in
mid-sentence, not even caring that I’d finally gotten her to talk. “But I need
to get home. It’s my night to cook. I’ll see you tomorrow. ’Kay?”

“Uh…” She blinked, looking dazed and confused. “Yeah, I
guess.”

“Sweet. See you then.” I spun away and hurried off.

Don’t think about it, I commanded myself. Don’t think—

But Ryder was the only person my rattled brain could
picture. A vision of him and his precious witch cheerleader sucking face made
my chest feel tight and achy.

It hurt.

Not only had I been a passing flirtation until he could get
together with Kiera again, but even if he’d been single, hearing he was the
most sexually active boy in school clearly told me what he’d wanted from me.
And it wasn’t sweet poetry and flowers or interesting conversation.

The jerk.

I wasn’t that kind of girl, and I definitely wouldn’t become
one for a cheater like him.

Stewing hotter the more I thought about it, I worked on
autopilot, opening my locker, packing my bag, and trooping out the exit. I
didn’t return to reality until I stepped off the sidewalk to cross the parking
lot and slipped in a nice glassy piece of ice, hidden under a deceitful layer
of pretty, puffy white snow.

After I fell onto my butt and landed hard, I sat there,
stunned speechless.

Ahh. The perfect ending to a perfect day.
Not
.

Chapter 8

Indigo is a mystical kind of blue,
intensified and immediate. Like a midnight sky, and often royal or spiritual,
it develops intuition. Am I perceptive enough to be my indigo namesake? I don’t
think so. I don’t feel like I’m anything as majestic or profound as indigo.

* * * *

On my third attempt to stand up from my icy nest, I stayed
seated on the ground and threw back my head to crack off a laugh. But, come on,
if a girl couldn’t laugh at herself, who could she laugh at? Besides, it was
either that or bawl my head off. And I figured if I started crying now, I
wouldn’t be able to stop.

I was still shaking my head and wiping tears of mirth from
my eyes when a shadow blocked the sunlight above me.

“You definitely don’t take after your name, do you?”

I looked up enough to find a hand being held down to help me
to my feet. Oh, how familiar those fingers looked. Today, he had a Band-Aid
wrapped around his index finger.

Following the male palm up a long, coat-covered arm, I
stared into Ryder Yates’s green eyes.

Why
,
I wanted to demand. Why had he filled me with so much hope only to not just
shoot it down, but stomp on my dreams and pulverize them into shattered
particles? But, the most sexually active boy in school? Seriously, what a
tragedy.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You okay?” he finally asked when I
only stared at him, feeling the worst case of disappointment and déjà vu ever.
Just when I wanted to hate him, he had to go and remind me of the first moment
we’d met. He’d been perfect then, a handsome unknown boy saving my camera and
helping me to my feet, then smiling at me as if he didn’t have a beautiful
witch for a girlfriend.

I immediately lowered my eyes. “I’m fine.”

Ignoring his hand because there was no way I was going to
travel down
that
path again, I winced
once and pushed myself off my ice perch. And made it up about a foot before my
feet slipped again, and I landed hard on my already sore rump.

Above me, there came an impatient sigh. The fingers I was
determined to ignore hooked themselves around my upper arm, and Ryder hauled me
to my feet. I slipped again and clutched his sleeve, almost taking him down
with me this round. But he somehow had the steadiest of footing. He tightened
his grip on my bicep and we both stayed upright.

Once I was sure I wasn’t going to tumble again, I finally lifted
my gaze.

He still had the face of that gorgeous stranger who’d flirted
with me at the Hillsburg game, but he was so much more now. He was reserved and
distant, not at all like the grinning, open teen who hadn’t known when to quit.

We’d become adversaries, and I wasn’t quite certain how or
why. Who cared if I’d brushed off his attempts to flirt…well, who cared beside
me? He had a girlfriend. If anything, I should be the offended party here. He’d
acted interested in me while he was already taken.