Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred by Melody Carlson Read Free Book Online

I agree to do this?
    "Something wrong?" Glen asks as we're leaving art.
    I shrug.
    "Come on. Tell me."
    "It's no biggie," I say. "I'm just a little uncomfortable about
throwing pots in front of everyone. I mean, what if I mess up?"
    He laughs. "Then you mess up-and just start over again."
    "Easy for you to say"
    "How about this," he says. "What if we split up the shift? You
throw for half an hour and I'll do the next one."
    "You do pottery?"
    He grins and nods.
    "A man of many hidden talents ... "
    "You should talk."
    So now I'm feeling a little bit better. And it's sweet that Glen
wants to help me with this. I think maybe he does like me. And so
the day progresses, and I'm really feeling like I've almost got the
upper hand on my life now. Like things are finally going forward,
and maybe I'm really going to make it.

    It's a mad rush to get everything set up after school. But about a
dozen of the art students, including Glen and me, are really taking
tonight seriously. Mr. Pollinni has it completely worked out-where
everything should go, and exactly how it should all look. When
we're done, I'm impressed.
    The cafeteria looks as if it's been transformed into a real gallery.
Even the lighting, brought in by one of Pollinni's talented friends,
looks great. All the outside signs are in place and there's a cafe-like
area with desserts and coffee for sale and a section where student
art, as well as some that's been donated by local artists, is for sale. He
even lined up a small jazz ensemble to play background music.
    "Everything looks great!" I tell Mr. Pollinni. "And we have time
to spare."
    Altogether there are about twenty art students scattered at
stations throughout the cafeteria so we can demonstrate our skills. I
already set up my easel in a somewhat out-of-the-way corner. I plan
to do an acrylic demonstration (that is, if I survive my stint on the
potter's wheel). I notice that Glen is setting up his easel right next to
mine. He's going to be working on a charcoal drawing tonight.
    "You ready to hit the wheel?" he asks as I lay several tubes of
paint out in a fan around my palette.
    I glance up at the clock to see it's about ten minutes until seven.
"Guess I better go for it," 1 say as I pick up my paint smock, which
is actually just an oversized flannel shirt that I scavenged from my
dad last year.
    "Break a leg." He winks at me.
    "Right."
    "Just relax, Ruth, you'll be fine."
    "Thanks." I'm thinking that if I hurry, I might actually get in a
few minutes of warm-up time before anyone gets here. So I wave good-bye and head over to the wheel. Its in a fairly open area right
next to the entrance, like it's the main event. Just what I need.

    I try not to think about that as I tie back my hair and pull on
my smock. I use a wire to cut several blocks of clay and begin slapping the pieces around until they're all bubble-free and lined up
and ready to throw. Then I pick up the first slab and slam it into
the metal surface of the wheel with an air of confidence that is only
skin-deep. But at least I hit dead center. That's always a good start.
    So far, so good. I turn on the electric wheel, dip my hands in
water, and the next thing you know I'm off to the races. And it's
funny; as I sit there really getting into it, my hands working the
smooth, wet clay, absorbing its coolness and feeling it take shape
beneath my fingers, I hardly notice that people have begun to trickle
in. Several grade-schoolers are standing around the fast-moving
wheel watching me work.
    "Cool," says a blonde girl who looks to be around ten or so. "I
wish I could do that."
    I look up and smile at her. "You can. Just start taking art in
middle school. They do pottery there."
    "Really?" Her eyes are wide.
    I nod. "That's where I started."
    The spectators all ooh and ah as I make a small indentation on
top of the spinning ball, opening it up into what is quickly becoming a pot. Then I pull it up taller, creating a slender