“We don't put much stock in genealogy where I'm from [...] It's assumed that you're kind of a loser if you have to sink to boasting about your family in order to impress people.”

“You can't go through life striking out at people who hurt or scare you. All that does is show them that you're weak. It tells them that they've wounded you, and a strong woman never shows her wounds unless it serves a purpose.”

“Monsieur Girard grinned at the effect his story had had, and moved on, grunting disparagingly at another student’s efforts. As he approached her,Caitlyn went back to work, afraid to be caught slacking. He came to stand behind her, watching her attempts, and despite her best efforts her armslowed and then dropped as she was overcome with self-consciousness.“Do you, too, have a brilliant artist locked in your head?” he asked.“No. I’m beginning to think I don’t know a thing about art.”“Class! Do you hear? She knows nothing about art! And she proves it in her drawing.”Caitlyn cringed.“This,” he went on, laying his hand upon her head, “is the proper state of mind for learning to draw. Your mind must be blank of your old ideas andold ways of seeing. You must start fresh, like a baby who has never seen the world.” He dropped his hand from her head and pointed to the areashe’d shaded with parallel lines. “This is nice.”“Thank you,” Caitlyn said in soft surprise.He nodded in acknowledgment. “Keep listening. With open ears, you will be one of the few who learn.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t get out of the workshop much. The girls of Rome would have been introuble!”He grinned and waggled his brows. “Do you think so?”She pushed his shoulder. “Naughty boy.”“I could be much naughtier.”Caitlyn sucked in a breath, alarmed and thrilled by the dangerous look in his eyes. She clasped her hands primly in front of her”

“You’re American, yes?” Daniela said.“Yes.”“New York?”“Oregon.”“Dónde?” Where?“It’s a state on the West Coast.”“Near Los Angeles?” Brigitte asked.“North of there. Just south of Canada.”All three sighed, “Ah.”“You’re from the ends of the earth,” Amalia said, a teasing smile on her lips.“Not quite that far!”“Almost!” Brigitte said.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Caitlyn protested. “I’m sure it keeps you out of trouble.”“Thierry told me I was cold. He wasn’t the first boy to say that, either.”Caitlyn winced. “Ouch.”Amalia turned toward Caitlyn. “I wish I could be more like you.”“Me? Are you kidding? Why?”“You let your emotions show on your face. They’re right on the surface, for all to see.”Caitlyn grimaced. “I thought I’d learned to control that.”“See?” Amalia copied her grimace. “Right on the surface!”“Mmph,” Caitlyn grunted unhappily.“Mmph,” Amalia copied.Caitlyn threw up her hands in defeat, then cast a quick warning look at Amalia. “Don’t you do it!”Amalia chuckled.”

“The driver bumped his way through the door and plopped down Caitlyn’s “luggage.” Caitlyn watched Madame Snowe’s eyes go to it, widening asshe took it in. Caitlyn’s cheeks heated.Her “luggage” was a Vietnam War-era army green duffel bag, bought for a dollar at a garage sale. Cloud-shaped moisture stains mottled itsfaded surface, and jagged stitches of black carpet thread sealed a rip on one end, Caitlyn’s clumsy needlework giving the mended hole the look ofone of Frankenstein’s scars.“Is that all you brought?” Greta asked.Caitlyn nodded, wishing the floor would swallow her.“Very good. You will have no trouble unpacking, and then you can burn your bag, heh?”“Reduce, reuse, recycle!” Caitlyn said with false cheer. “We’re very big on living green in Oregon. Why buy a new suitcase when someone else’sold duffel bag will do?”“We’ll see that it gets … disposed of properly,”