Macey had seen Venita like that. Marching down a hall to yell at cigarette smoke.

“She finished her room, though, and she was proud of her colors. The color of sunshine, she told me, and crowns of gold.” The minister’s sigh emptied Macey’s heart. “It’s a bitter business,” he told her. “If you would like to come to the funeral, it’s Thursday at two.”

Macey did not sleep.

She knew Austin hadn’t slept, either.

She hadn’t called him.

She just knew.

They were alive, and not asleep. Venita was dead, and asleep forever.

When morning arrived at last, the sky growing light, and the time to give up on sleep and get out of bed had come, she could hardly make herself stir. Bed seemed safe and protected. She trudged downstairs, not yet dressed for school. Dad had already galloped out to start the car. It was cold again today, no sign of spring, never mind summer, and he would warm it up a little for Mom.

Mom was elegant in black and ivory, a lime green scarf and silver earrings.

Venita filled Macey’s sight like a poster on the wall, but they had talked enough about Venita last night. “Mom, tell me more about Mr. Sibley.”

“Mr. Sibley?” said her mother, surprised. “He had the best science experiments. He was a ham. His demonstrations were such fun you could hardly wait for the next day, to see what he would do then.” Mom downed a glass of orange juice, snapped her briefcase shut, checked herself in the mirror and headed after Dad.

“And he was black,” said Macey.

Her mother paused to thread her fingers through the tiny bit of hair Macey had left. Macey’d given her parents orders to stop talking about her hair, although she herself thought about it constantly. She still smelled smoke and tasted cotton.

“Black as night,” said her mother, tucking the short waves in new directions.

“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

“Because it mattered then, but it doesn’t matter now. Times have changed. Color isn’t first place. You have a good day in school, sweetheart. Try not to think about Venita. It’s so sad, darling, but there is nothing you can do.”

They kissed good-bye, and Mom got into the car as Dad backed out. He drove off the way he always did, like a teenager with a Corvette, because they had seconds to spare if they were to catch their train.

When the car disappeared around the corner, Macey felt a queer anguish, as if they had driven away forever.

Was that supposed to comfort me? she thought. Mom saying not to think about it—there’s nothing I can do?

She felt cold and awful, and it was a great relief when the bus finally arrived to take her to school, where she would have company and other things to think about.