Looks Over(Gives Light Series) Read Online Free PDF

gift for you from Tucson--"
     
    Annie and Aubrey chatted between themselves.  I smiled slightly at Rafael.  He knitted his eyebrows and buried his face in that Charlotte Doyle book.  I guessed he wasn't in the mood to talk.
     
    My attention wandered to the kids sitting on either side of us.  Except for our happy little group, it looked like all the eleventh graders were staunchly determined to divide themselves by gender.  On Annie's left were the boys; on Rafael's right, the girls.  I spotted Zeke Owns Forty, a bony, egotistical guy with a frantic smile, half his hair shaved close to his head, the rest of it long and combed to one side.  He blathered a mile a minute to the kid on his right, a boy I didn't recognize.  I don't think Zeke noticed, but his friend was sound asleep, his wiry, curly-haired head still on the table and tucked between his folded arms.  A lean guy with waist-length, auburn hair--probably one of the Stouts--was sitting as far from Zeke and his buddy as space would allow, teetering disdainfully on the edge of the bench.  The girls weren't much better.  The At Dawn twins sat with their heads bowed in private conversation.  They were identical, those two, from their curved falcon noses to their wavy ringlets, except in demeanor:  Daisy was bubbly and giggling, whispering behind her hand, while Holly looked like she wanted to throw herself into the nearest fire if it meant getting away from her sister.  The two of them were completely excluding poor Immaculata Quick, the shaman's granddaughter--but Immaculata didn't seem aware of it.  Her bushy hair stood unkempt, as though zapped by a livewire; her crazy eyes bulged with interest every time she caught a word of conversation from either of the twins.  Not that she knew what she was listening to.  Immaculata didn't speak English.
     
    "I hate school!" shouted a chubby little boy in Joseph's row.  "I'm bustin' outta here!"
     
    And he might have done it, too--except the doors snapped suddenly closed.  Everybody turned in their seats, me included.
     
    "Really, Mr. Nabako?  You think you've got it rough?"
     
    I could hardly believe that this guy was Mrs. Red Clay's son.  Mrs. Red Clay had heavy jowls and a face as impassive as a bas relief.  She wasn't what you would have called a classical beauty.  There was no other word for it; this guy was handsome.  He was middle-aged, about forty or so, but the years had distinguished his looks rather than diminished them.  His cheeks were high and strong, his jaw perfectly angular, his mouth full, his nose sharp.  His sleek black hair was tied in a long, loose ponytail.  He moved from the doorway to the front of the room, calmly, effortlessly.  Rafael glowered at me.  I must have been staring.
     
    Mr. Red Clay took his place before the chalkboard, his hands on the lectern.  He raised a single eyebrow as though daring his pupils to challenge his authority.  A total silence fell tangibly over the room.  Maybe Mr. Red Clay didn't look like his mom; but he had definitely inherited her ability to command a crowd.
     
    "Want to know who really had it rough?" Mr. Red Clay asked--gesturing in sign language with every spoken word.  That had to have taken a lot of concentration.  I guessed it was probably for Joseph's benefit.  "The kids who went to Carlisle Indian School."
     
    Notebooks flew open on my left and right.  I took it as a cue and retrieved a notebook of my own.
     
    "Who can tell me what Carlisle Indian School is?"
     
    Hands shot into the air, younger and older alike.  This lesson was really baffling so far.  How could Mr. Red Clay teach all twelve classes at the same time when we didn't have the same curriculum?
     
    "Miss In Winter?"
     
    "A boarding school?" said a breathless ninth grader.
     
    Mr. Red Clay lifted his eyebrows.  "Is that all?" 
     
    More hands raised.
     
    "Miss Two Eagles?"
     
    "A boarding school run by the white settlers," said a seventh grader.