The Color of Grace

by Linda Kage

The first bell rang, making me jump. Oh, no. Was it time to start already?

  Mr. Howard frowned, then glanced at his wristwatch. “Shoot,” he muttered, surging to his feet. “I have a meeting I need to make.” Glancing at me, he winced.

  My throat dropped into my toes. He was going to abandon me. Teens streamed past the opened door, heading toward their first hour. I looked down blindly at my class schedule, trying to read the words and numbers through the blur of chaos rattling around in my head. Oh, my God. What was my first class? And where? I glanced one more time at all the strangers zipping past the office opening. No way could I go out there.

  “I, uh.” I sprang to my feet in absolute panic, ready to throw myself at Mr. Howard’s feet and beg him not to make me leave his office. “I don’t know where to go,” I said, blundering out the fear.

  Wincing again, he held up a finger. “Don’t worry. Just…hold on a second.” He hurried past me to stick his head out into the hall, looking one way before he glanced the other and spotted what he’d been searching for.

  “Laina!” he called.

  The girl sitting not so far away, her nose still buried in a book, jolted and lifted her head. Her eyes went wide as if she thought she’d just gotten into trouble. As she scrambled to her feet, stuffing the novel into her book bag, Mr. Howard glanced back to send me a reassuring smile.

  “This is Alaina,” he introduced, stepping aside to motion toward the girl. “She’s a junior like you. I think she can show you where all your classes are. Laina, this is Grace. She’s new here and needs to be shown around to all her classes, if you don’t mind.” He glanced at his watch again. “I really need to leave.”

  I met Laina’s gaze and she quickly glanced away, blushing. She had a heart-shaped face, straight, light brown hair, and a splash of freckles that made her appear sweet and personable. Something seemed to click. She had to be a kindred spirit; I just felt it. Alaina and I were going to start the Southeast division of the Nerd Herd. At least, I hoped making friends here would be that easy.

  “Hi,” I said with a wide smile, thrusting my schedule at her. “Please say you can save me and tell me where my first class is.”

  Laina’s eyes blinked once. She stared at my proffered class schedule before hesitantly reaching out and slipping the sheet from my hand. After frowning and pulling the piece of paper close to her nose, she began to talk to herself, saying, “History, Computer Applications, Chemistry. Art. You have Art first hour.”

  Ugh. Swallowing back the groan that continued to reverberate deep inside me, I asked in a hopeful voice, “Do you take Art too?”

  She shook her head. “Not this hour.” Spinning away from me, she started away with my schedule in hand. Hoping she was leading me instead of ditching out on me, I hurried after her. The girl wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but I was determined not to hold that against her.

  Rushing a little more so I could ease up to her side as she trooped along with her head down, I cleared my throat. “Uh…so, do I need to stop by my locker and drop off my things? At…at my last school, we weren’t allowed to bring book bags to class.”

  It took a second for her to answer, her nose still pointed toward the ground as if she were some kind of bloodhound sniffing out my class for me. Finally, she mumbled, “Number.”

  Not catching on at first, I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, and then it struck me. “My locker number? Oh! Umm…” I shuffled through my bag for the locker assignment Mrs. Alexander had given me, then twisted it around until I could read it upright. “I’m in locker four twelve.”

  She continued along for three more steps as if she hadn’t heard me before she came to an abrupt halt and spun around to gawk at me with wide eyes. “You have a locker in senior hall? I thought he said you were a junior.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “The secretary told me that was the only hall with working lockers available.” I shrugged with a rueful grin as if to add, What’re you gonna do?

  “Wow.” Laina looked awed.

  Happy I’d managed to impress her, I said, “Yeah. I guess.”

  Memorizing the route she took, I noted every doorway and hall we passed, mumbling left and right under my breath when we made a turn. Finally, Laina jerked to another stop. I glanced at the row of lockers to our right and spotted the number 408. Realizing I was close, I ticked off a couple more spaces before I found 412.

  “Thanks.” I swung my bag off my shoulder. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  It took me three attempts to work open the combination. For my first crack at this particular lock, I thought that was rather impressive. I glanced over my shoulder twice to make sure my guide hadn’t deserted me, and thank goodness, she continued to hang around, not looking at me but staring longingly at her book bag, making me think she was tempted to pull out her novel and take up where she’d left off her on her story while she waited.

  After extracting my laptop, a notepad, and pen, I shoved my bag inside and spun around with a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Technically, I wasn’t ready at all, but if I had to proceed with this day regardless, I was as ready as I’d ever be.

  Laina took off again, without speaking.

  We trekked back to the far end of the hallway, then turned right and moved halfway down that passage before she slowed and finally stopped walking. Thrusting my schedule in my direction, she said, “Here.”

  I took the page, glanced down until I found the class number for Art, then looked up to discover we’d actually made it. Turning toward Laina, I grinned gratefully. “Thanks. I really appreciate…”

  She’d already left and was halfway down the hall, her hair gathered around her face as she stared at the ground. I found it amazing she still knew to dodge to the side and step out of the way of oncoming students without once looking up.

  Shaking my head, I entered Art—ugh—and immediately got into trouble.

  “How many times do I have to repeat, no laptops in class!”

  I stopped in my tracks, my face draining of color. “S-sorry,” I sputtered, already backing toward the exit. “I’m new. I didn’t know—”

  The teacher lifted her glare from the computer tucked under my arm and focused on my face. “Oh,” she said, her shoulders easing and mouth softening into a welcoming smile. “Sorry about that, dear. But next time, don’t bring your computer to class. There is no need for electronics in Art. That means cell phones and iPods too. You must be Grace.”

  With a flourish, she swept toward me, her long, hippie flowered skirt billowing around her sandals and tattooed ankles. Seriously, the woman was wearing sandals in January with a below-zero wind chill going on. Why would I lie about that?

  When she held out her hand as if I were there for an interview instead of attending my first class, I faltered a moment before taking her fingers in a shake. But she didn’t pump our wrists up and down. Instead, she jerked me toward her and lifted my palm upright, studying the skin. Expecting a fortune reading, I was a little surprised when she cooed, “Nice, capable fingers. Yes, I see promise here. I’ll make an artist out of you yet.” Then she lifted her face and narrowed her eyes before asking, “Quick. Which great artist cut off his ear before killing himself?”

  “Uh…” Holy Hosanna, was knowing that answer some kind of prerequisite to taking Art 1? Thanks to Schy, I actually knew the artist’s name and how to pronounce it correctly. “Umm, Van Gogh?”

  A slow, approving smile spread across the teacher’s face. She let go of my hand and took a step back. “Very good. I’m Miss Abernathy. Welcome to the wonderful world of art.”

  * * * *

  Schy would’ve absolutely adored Miss Abernathy, I decided an hour later when the bell ending first period rang. The woman was all about freedom of expression and artistic endeavors. Still, I felt dazed as I pushed out of the art room and entered the hall traffic. She actually expected us to come up with an art project to enter into some festival Osage held every year at the courth
ouse. So not what I wanted to do.

  Thinking I’d definitely have to call Schy and get some idea of something simple that wouldn’t end up making me look like a total loser, I paid attention to where I was going and managed to trace my way back to my locker.

  Not sure if every class forbade bringing laptops, I took the safe way out and stored my MacBook in my new cubby. Then I stalled, waiting for Laina. Biting my lip, I peeked around me at the passing people. Everyone knew everyone else. They chatted, laughed, yelled friendly insults, jostled jokingly for more room. I felt so left out. So alone.

  I knew no one.

  Well, almost no one.

  Across the hall and down about ten lockers lounged Ryder Yates.

  Freezing as my gaze latched on to him, I forgot to breathe for a full ten seconds. Then air rushed from my lungs in a tidal wave.

  No! What was I going to do? I told myself to turn away. But for some reason, I simply stood there, ogling.

  He looked nice. Really nice. Dressed in tan slacks and a long-sleeved black turtleneck tucked neatly into a pleated waistline, he’d brushed his long bangs to the side so he could see. And see, he did.

  He saw me.

  When he first turned my way, I remained petrified and forgot the whole breathing thing again. But then he glanced right past me, and my lungs exhaled in relief. Except he did a double take and swerved back to gawk. For a split second, our gazes met and held.

  And held.

  His mouth dropped open; I read immediate recognition clear on his face.

  Oh, yeah. He remembered me.

  I whirled away, bumping the center of my forehead on the edge of my opened locker door. Mortified, I slapped a palm to the stinging skin and caught the still-quivering, thin metal door with my other hand. No one paused to ask if I was okay. So either no one noticed, or they were all too busy discreetly laughing at the new dork in school.

  After checking my fingers for blood, I blew out a relieved breath and buried my face in my locker to pull out my book bag, only to rummage through it as if I were looking for something, when actually I looked for nothing. The notebook and pen I planned to take to second hour were already securely tucked under my arm.

  From behind me, I heard some boy call, “Hey, Yates, my man, what’s wrong with you?”

  I didn’t catch Yates’s response, but he had to have said something to his friend, because the caller followed up with, “Who?” and seconds later added, “Where?”

  When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I glanced over my shoulder. Ryder had his back to me. He stood oddly still as he looked into his own locker as if searching for something inside, maybe something that would give him meaning to his existence. But the guy next to him rested his forearm on Ryder’s shoulder and openly dissected me from head to toe. Then he glanced at Ryder’s side profile.

  I swear I heard the phrase, “Are you sure that’s her?”

  Ryder’s head gave a slight nod and his friend glanced over at me once more.

  They were talking about me. Well, I felt pretty certain they were talking about me. With the level of paranoia raging through my bloodstream, they could’ve been disputing if the girl off Twilight had also been in Snow White and the Huntsman. Who knew? But, at this particular moment in time, I was so infinitely aware of those two individuals discussing me, I felt more self-conscious than if I’d forgotten to put on a bra that morning.

  Again, I turned away—thank God I didn’t smack into anything this time—and glanced around for Laina but didn’t spot her.

  I was on my own.

  Blindly closing my locker, I hurried in the opposite direction of Ryder Yates and his gossipy, staring-problem friend. Fleeing clueless through the halls, I forgot to look at the room numbers I passed before I returned to Art. Wondering whether Miss Abernathy would let me hide in her room the rest of the day if I made some kind of mad plea about how an artistic muse had suddenly struck, I blew out a breath and silently counted to ten.

  After calming myself enough to consult my schedule, I discovered I had Chemistry next. I figured I could find the room number from the numbers over the doors. But I soon discovered how wrong I was. It took me a couple of minutes to realize the different wings of the building numbered their classes in different ways.

  In a desperate search for Room 4-D, my heart dipped into my knees when the second bell rang. Dear Lord, I had no idea where to go. Thankfully, I saw a passing adult in the cleared halls and flagged him down. After introducing himself as the vice principal, he welcomed me to Southeast and pointed me in the right direction.

  I walked as fast as my legs would carry me and found 4-D half a minute later. When I jerked open the door, about two dozen heads turned my way, making me stall out in the threshold.

  The teacher, who’d already started class, stopped talking in his droning voice and glanced over his shoulder to scowl at me.

  Half the room consisted of currently unused lab tables—four rows of counters stretched out, holding beakers and vials and discolored liquids along with Bunsen burners and microscopes. The second half of the classroom consisted of occupied student desks.

  And seated on the end row, about ten feet from me, three chairs from the front, sat Ryder Yates.

  Chapter 6

  “Can I help you?”

  I tore my eyes from Ryder and found an irritated, mid-fifties man eyeing me over the top of his bifocals, his hand frozen in midair, holding a marker poised against the whiteboard.

  “Uh…” I said, and had the good fortune to remember to close my mouth. “Chemistry,” I finally mumbled. “With, uh…” The fumbling started then as I scurried to find my class schedule. “Uh, with Mr. Dorkman.”

  “That’s Dockman,” he corrected.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Oops. I cringed and sank back as half the class snickered.

  He dropped his marker from the board and stepped toward me, snapping his fingers.

  I handed over my schedule immediately. “New student,” I uttered as I did so.

  He scowled at the sheet a moment then flipped it back to me so quickly I had to fumble yet again to catch the flapping page.

  Ten feet away, Ryder Yates tapped the seat in front of his with his shoe. His friend—yeah, the staring one—lifted his disinterested gaze from the notebook he’d been doodling on and glanced over his shoulder.

  He and Ryder had some kind of silent conversation that consisted of the enlarging of Ryder’s eyes and then directing them my way. His friend turned slowly to study me.

  I diverted my attention to Dockman just as he showed me his back with a very dismissive air. “Class,” he announced. “We have a new student. This is Grace En… En-dee…”

  “Indigo,” I supplied. “Pronounced and spelled just like the color.”

  It felt strange saying my name aloud, knowing Ryder Yates was finally learning my true identity.

  Dockman nodded. “Grace Indigo. She’s new here. So, please…” he gave a tired sigh and said, “treat her with a little decency today, will you?”

  He told me to take a seat and as I scanned the room for a chair, Ryder sank lower into his desk and ducked his head to study his opened textbook.

  The only place left in the room was next to his friend and catty-corner from him. Knowing this was going to be one very long hour, I sank down into the chair, sitting one place over and in front of Ryder Yates.

  Class started.

  Thank goodness Southeast used the same textbook we had at Hillsburg, and a double thanks to the fact we’d already started learning about the Periodic Table, because no way could I have concentrated on that first lesson, not when I was stuck wondering how much Ryder Yates had to be staring through my head to watch the teacher lecture.

  The back of my neck burned and sizzled; I was surprised I didn’t set off the smoke alarms. I pressed the tip of my pen astutely to my pad of paper and wrote words in a fury. Most of my mad ramblings consisted of how much I wanted to return to Hillsburg, flee from this foreign place, and treat my mo
ther to some kind of nasty prank—nothing permanent or painful, mind you, just something humiliating enough to make her feel exactly how I felt at that very moment.

  About thirty minutes through the agony, Dockman finally passed out a worksheet for homework. When I turned to hand off my stack, Ryder and I made eye contact. He paused a moment and gave me a vague, brief, tight smile before turning his attention to his friend to receive his own homework.

  Yep, he remembered exactly who I was.

  The teacher explained the assignment and then gave us the rest of the hour to work on it. As he sat at his desk, some students bent their heads and began to fill in the blanks, but most of the room relaxed, each person turning to a friend and chatting quietly.

  I planned to be an assignment worker, until Ryder’s pal spun directly toward me. “So, you’re Grace, huh?”

  I jumped. Shocked someone had finally spoken to me, I lifted my head and glanced over at him. The first person to voluntarily talk to me at my new school just had to be the very buddy of Ryder Yates, didn’t he?

  Great.

  I didn’t want to be rude and lose all chance of making any friends, but seriously, did it have to be Ryder Yates’s chum who first spoke to me?

  “Yeah,” I answered, forcing the friendliest smile I could manage. Since I wasn’t sure what else to say, I sucked in a breath, lifting my eyebrows as if to stretch out my friendly demeanor as far as I could, and went right back to studying my homework. From the corner of my eye, I watched the friend glance back at Ryder, who grinned smugly at him and gave him the thumbs up sign as he sarcastically mouthed the word “smooth”.

  The friend gave Ryder a dirty look and turned back to me. “I’m Todd.”

  Okay. So now, I’d forever think of him as Todd, Ryder Yates’s staring friend. Still not sure where all my social skills—or my brain—had gone, I offered him another one of my smiles, pretty sure by this point, I looked like I’d just come from the dentist and had a little too much laughing gas flowing through the bloodstream.

  “Hi, Todd,” I said, and turned my attention back to my homework. Feeling as if I should write something, I scrawled in my name across the top, misspelling Indigo as I forgot to jot down the N.