The Means That Make Us Strangers - Paperback
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A tangle of arms reaching toward the fig tree. Among the thicket of deep-black arms stretching toward the fruit, two arms stood out, pale as a full moon.
I remember thinking how different those arms looked, while waiting for fruit to drop as Maicaah shook the branch. A fig hit the white hands and fell to the ground, and it was with shock that I felt the pain in my hands.
The others scrambled to get the figs that had landed in the grass. I stayed standing, turning my hands over and over in the sunlight that filtered through the leaves.
When Kinci stood up, I pulled her wrist until her arm was elbow-to-elbow with mine. Our arms were the same length, and we both had beaded cuffs of yellow, purple, green, and red beads in the same zig-zag pattern. Underneath and around her bracelet, the skin of her arm was as dark as a burnt clay pot, with pink scar spots where she'd scratched at bug bites. My arm was the color of dried grass, even paler in the crease of my elbow, against the contrast of the dirt that gathered there.
"I'm white," I said.
The Means That Make Us Strangers - Paperback
$20.23
Sale price
$20.23
Regular price
by Christine Kindberg (Author)
"Powerful" -BookLife
"Entertaining and engaging" -Reviews from the Stacks
"Extraordinary and original" -Children's Bookwatch
A tangle of arms reaching toward the fig tree. Among the thicket of deep-black arms stretching toward the fruit, two arms stood out, pale as a full moon.
I remember thinking how different those arms looked, while waiting for fruit to drop as Maicaah shook the branch. A fig hit the white hands and fell to the ground, and it was with shock that I felt the pain in my hands.
The others scrambled to get the figs that had landed in the grass. I stayed standing, turning my hands over and over in the sunlight that filtered through the leaves.
When Kinci stood up, I pulled her wrist until her arm was elbow-to-elbow with mine. Our arms were the same length, and we both had beaded cuffs of yellow, purple, green, and red beads in the same zig-zag pattern. Underneath and around her bracelet, the skin of her arm was as dark as a burnt clay pot, with pink scar spots where she'd scratched at bug bites. My arm was the color of dried grass, even paler in the crease of my elbow, against the contrast of the dirt that gathered there.
"I'm white," I said.
Number of Pages: 282
Dimensions: 0.64 x 8.5 x 5.5 IN
Publication Date: July 10, 2019