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THE TRUE COLORS OF CAITLYNNE
New York : Delacorte, 1997.
IL 3-6, RL 4.8
I held the boxes with my new dress and shoes on my lap. Though we
only lived a few miles from the mall, the ride seemed to go on forever.
Mom continued to complain about the dress, her voice getting angrier and
angrier. I sat squished up against the window behind her. Cara
sat beside me. I hated to be in the car with Mom when she was angry.
It wasn't a safe place.
Mom finally pulled into the yard and shut off the engine.
“Get out,” Mom said. “You wasted my time tonight.” She turned
part way in her seat and looked back at me.
“I'm sorry,” I said. I could feel Cara, tense, next to me, but I
didn't dare look at her. I had to keep my eyes on Mom.
“You are so self-righteous it makes me sick, “ Mom said.
I had enough energy to have leapt from the car in a single bound, but there
was a problem. With both Cara and me in the backseat, who could open
the front door?
“Get out of this freaking car!”
“Open the door, “ Cara said to me. Only she said it real soft.
“You,” I said. I tried not to make my lips move. We both watched
“Get out now.” Mom’s voice went up high at the end, louder and louder,
so that I was surprised the glass all around us didn't shatter. She
started pounding on the steering wheel with the palms of both hands. “Get
out, get out!” she screamed with each pound.
This was our chance. I bolted forward, leaning across Cara over the
front seat, and tried to reach the door handle.
Find out about the True Colors of Caitlynne Jackson. By Carol Lynch Williams.
(Melanie Crumpton, firstname.lastname@example.org,
West Ashley Middle School)
Child abuse -- Fiction.
Abandoned children -- Fiction.
Mothers and daughters -- Fiction.
Sisters -- Fiction.
Permission is granted for the
noncommercial duplication and use of this resource, provided it is substantially
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