Read Online Fingerprints of You by Kristen-Paige Madonia - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristen-Paige Madonia
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—Joy Williams, The Quick and the Dead
I WAS DETERMINED TO MAKE LEAVING my mother a remarkably easy process. I folded and stacked my clothes, neatly packed the travel-size soap and toothpaste and miniature shampoo bottles into various pockets of my backpack. I chose a list of songs about road trips and freedom, and Emmy downloaded them onto the red iPod her mom gave her for Christmas. Dylan loaned us a copy of On the Road even though I told him I’d already read it a million times, and Stella gave us her credit card for emergencies only, which I thought was pretty generous.
We’d booked evening-departure tickets, and the day I left for California Stella and Simon took off from work and milled around the house while I finished packing.
“Hey, kiddo,” Stella said as she watched me from the hallway, halfway in my room, and halfway not. “Anything you need help with?” she asked, but I shook my head.
I’d washed my backpack with a load of laundry, organized my wallet and purse, and carefully chosen which books to take with me. We’d be reading Lolita in class next semester, so I checked it out from the library along with The Red Tent , a novel my English teacher recommended before school let out for break.
“It’s a good fit for you, Lemon,” Ms. Ford said after the bell rang the last day of class. Earlier that week I mentioned needing some recommendations for the vacation, so she hovered by my desk citing titles while I loaded up my backpack. “Now that I think of it,” she said, and cocked her head to the side, waiting for me to pay attention, “it’s the one that you should read most. Scratch the rest if you don’t have time.”
Chloe Ford was one of the youngest teachers in school, a slow talker and a published author with willowy limbs and long dark hair she kept pulled back in a loose knot. I’d noticed the thin lines of tattoo ink on her wrist as she handed out a test earlier that semester, and when she caught me eyeing it as she placed the paper on my desk, she shrugged and winked. Quick and stealthy, a secret exchange. Afterward, I Googled her and tracked down a story she had published in McSweeney’s , a hip little magazine I’d never heard of before. She was by far my favorite teacher, and I would have read anything she recommended. Emmy joked that I had a girl crush on Ms. Ford, but really I just liked the books she picked for us to read and the way she cocked her head and nodded when I had something interesting to say in class. She was one of the few teachers who actually listened when we talked—this and the fact that she had a tattoo and that I knew about the tattoo even though she had to hide it at school made me feel like we shared something significant, common ground.
“It’s about this amazing woman, about her family and her struggles,” Ms. Ford said. “About a voice that almost was forgotten.” She tucked a loose piece of hair back behind her ear.
All around me kids gathered their books and moved toward the door, but a few Art Kids and English Nerds lingered, watching us. Maybe they wanted book recommendations too, or maybe they just wanted one last chance to talk with her before they left for break. She was known for making you feel like you mattered, like what you did and said made a difference.
“ The Red Tent ,” she said again, and she took my pen off my desk and produced a yellow Post-it notepad from the back pocket of her boot-cut corduroys. She bent over and scrawled the title and author onto the paper before handing it to me. “You’ll love it,” she said.
I also packed Into the Wild because I still hadn’t read it even though Emmy and I were mildly obsessed with Eddie Vedder and had been listening to the film sound track incessantly since the movie came out, and then I threw in Dharma Bums to round off the group with my favorite Beat writer. The books were in a pile next to the stack of sweaters and pants on the floor, and Stella frowned at them as if
—Joy Williams, The Quick and the Dead
I WAS DETERMINED TO MAKE LEAVING my mother a remarkably easy process. I folded and stacked my clothes, neatly packed the travel-size soap and toothpaste and miniature shampoo bottles into various pockets of my backpack. I chose a list of songs about road trips and freedom, and Emmy downloaded them onto the red iPod her mom gave her for Christmas. Dylan loaned us a copy of On the Road even though I told him I’d already read it a million times, and Stella gave us her credit card for emergencies only, which I thought was pretty generous.
We’d booked evening-departure tickets, and the day I left for California Stella and Simon took off from work and milled around the house while I finished packing.
“Hey, kiddo,” Stella said as she watched me from the hallway, halfway in my room, and halfway not. “Anything you need help with?” she asked, but I shook my head.
I’d washed my backpack with a load of laundry, organized my wallet and purse, and carefully chosen which books to take with me. We’d be reading Lolita in class next semester, so I checked it out from the library along with The Red Tent , a novel my English teacher recommended before school let out for break.
“It’s a good fit for you, Lemon,” Ms. Ford said after the bell rang the last day of class. Earlier that week I mentioned needing some recommendations for the vacation, so she hovered by my desk citing titles while I loaded up my backpack. “Now that I think of it,” she said, and cocked her head to the side, waiting for me to pay attention, “it’s the one that you should read most. Scratch the rest if you don’t have time.”
Chloe Ford was one of the youngest teachers in school, a slow talker and a published author with willowy limbs and long dark hair she kept pulled back in a loose knot. I’d noticed the thin lines of tattoo ink on her wrist as she handed out a test earlier that semester, and when she caught me eyeing it as she placed the paper on my desk, she shrugged and winked. Quick and stealthy, a secret exchange. Afterward, I Googled her and tracked down a story she had published in McSweeney’s , a hip little magazine I’d never heard of before. She was by far my favorite teacher, and I would have read anything she recommended. Emmy joked that I had a girl crush on Ms. Ford, but really I just liked the books she picked for us to read and the way she cocked her head and nodded when I had something interesting to say in class. She was one of the few teachers who actually listened when we talked—this and the fact that she had a tattoo and that I knew about the tattoo even though she had to hide it at school made me feel like we shared something significant, common ground.
“It’s about this amazing woman, about her family and her struggles,” Ms. Ford said. “About a voice that almost was forgotten.” She tucked a loose piece of hair back behind her ear.
All around me kids gathered their books and moved toward the door, but a few Art Kids and English Nerds lingered, watching us. Maybe they wanted book recommendations too, or maybe they just wanted one last chance to talk with her before they left for break. She was known for making you feel like you mattered, like what you did and said made a difference.
“ The Red Tent ,” she said again, and she took my pen off my desk and produced a yellow Post-it notepad from the back pocket of her boot-cut corduroys. She bent over and scrawled the title and author onto the paper before handing it to me. “You’ll love it,” she said.
I also packed Into the Wild because I still hadn’t read it even though Emmy and I were mildly obsessed with Eddie Vedder and had been listening to the film sound track incessantly since the movie came out, and then I threw in Dharma Bums to round off the group with my favorite Beat writer. The books were in a pile next to the stack of sweaters and pants on the floor, and Stella frowned at them as if
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