Read Online Sound Of Gravel, The by Ruth Wariner - Free Book Online

She lifted her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. “But I never have.”
    I still didn’t quite understand why they left. Life in LeBaron didn’t seem so bad to me. Mom washed the rest of my body in silence, then held out a damp towel for me with her arms open wide. I fell into them, savoring the warm feeling of her arms squeezed tight around me.

 
    7
    A rooster’s crow woke me up the next morning. In the half darkness, I stepped over Audrey’s legs and made my way across the chilly cement floor to a dresser full of musty-smelling, unorganized clothes. I picked out a simple white blouse with a heart-shaped patch that matched its red, short sleeves and a pair of elastic-waist jeans. I headed to the bathroom to dress myself before anyone else needed it. “A freckle-faced boy,” I said aloud to my reflection in the mirror.
    Mom shuffled by in her house slippers, and soon the smell of boiling cornmeal wafted my way. I heard the familiar splatter of its bubbles as I entered the kitchen and found Mom smiling, standing over the stove in her navy-blue robe.
    “You ready for school, Sis?” Then she gave me a second look. “I like your pretty blouse.”
    I looked down at the wrinkled cotton. “I’m ready,” I said, my voice still dry and raspy from sleep. I sat at the table with a nervous stomach and swung my tennis shoes back and forth underneath my seat. My nerves went away when I dipped my teaspoon into the mush, which Mom had made sweet by adding honey and cinnamon. But I felt queasy all over again when I found a tiny black fly lying dead and upside down at the bottom of the bowl. I hated few things on the farm more than finding flies in my food.
    The sky was blue and cloudless when Matt, Luke, and I stepped out of the kitchen door, my brothers in their T-shirts and jeans, Luke’s hair standing up in an unruly cowlick. Mom bid us good-bye at the doorway, wished us good luck, and waved us on our way. For almost half an hour we walked along a dirt road in silence, each of us carrying identical woven-plastic schoolbags with rubber handles. My heart began to beat fast when we reached the two-lane highway and the gray, rectangular cinder-block building just on the other side, with its metal-framed windows, slanted tin roof, and four classrooms for each of the four grades that were taught there. Fifth-grade students took a bus to a nearby town.
    As we waited to cross the road, a semi pulling a trailer with a crowded load of cows rumbled past us, the cattle squished in together randomly, facing all different directions like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle. As the truck rumbled past, it blew dust into our faces and my hair into my eyes. I cleared my forehead, certain that my first day of school had been ruined.
    The dry, sun-baked schoolyard was filled with a mix of light- and dark-skinned children playing together. But no one else had skin as light as mine; Casper would not have felt whiter. A basketball bounced with a hamp-hamp against a cement court filled with kids. One boy with dark, curly hair threw the ball up, aiming for the hoop—nothing more than a netless, rusted rim. I saw no swings, slides, or any other play equipment, only girls playing hopscotch and jump rope in the dirt, repeating Spanish chants and kicking up dust at their feet.
    From behind came the sound of a heavy metal door scraping a cement floor, and all eyes turned to find a Mexican teacher calling students in Spanish through a megaphone. I stood frozen while each child bolted for one of the four classroom doors and got in line. Using the children’s heights as a guide, I found the right line, and soon our teacher stepped out to welcome us. A serious but friendly woman, she had dark hair and large curls that surrounded her face and made her look as if she were wearing a football helmet. She wore a purple dress with nude stockings and gray high heels, dark red lipstick, purple eye shadow that matched her dress, thick, black eyeliner, and mascara. She