A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series Read Online Free Page A

look at this painting?”
    “I feel nauseated.” The remark came from the back of the room. Grant, her class clown and constant pot stirrer. If he wasn’t so gifted, she wouldn’t put up with his antics.
    “Grant feels sick. Duly noted, although that isn’t an emotion.” Grant slouched in his seat as laughter rippled through the room. She pointed at a girl in the front row with her hand up. “Danielle?”
    The girl stared at the portrait, tilting her head until her cheek nearly touched her shoulder. “It makes me feel sad.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he looks like he had a stroke.”
    “I can see that,” Izzy said, nodding. “The features on one side of the face are much weaker than on the other. Anyone else? Come on, just yell out the first thing that comes to your mind.”
    That did it. The room became a cacophony of short, shouted answers.
    “Angry.”
    “Happy.”
    “Confused.”
    “Flying.”
    That one caught her attention. Flying. Like wild geese.
    She moved to the switch panel on the wall, turning the lights on, off, and on again until order returned to the room. “Obviously, this style evokes many different emotions, as allgood art should. Which is why each one of you is going to create a cubist-style self-portrait.”
    From the groans that came her way, Izzy guessed this wouldn’t be her most popular assignment.
    “Miss Fontaine?”
    Josie’s voice was so soft and timid that Izzy almost didn’t hear her. She certainly hadn’t seen the girl’s hand barely raised above the height of her shoulder. But the fact that she spoke up at all was great progress. “Yes, Josie?”
    “What medium should we use?”
    “Any you want. Oils, charcoal, pastels, collage …”
    “Macaroni,” Grant threw out.
    Izzy met his eyes and held them. “If you can find a way to manipulate macaroni into a cubist work of art, go for it.” She stared at him a moment more in silence, then returned her attention to the class at large. “The idea is to stay true to the spirit of cubism.”
    “Over the weekend, I want you to do a preliminary sketch. As you know, you’ll have a sub next week, but she’ll help you work on your ideas. I’ll be back after Thanksgiving and I expect you to knock my socks off.” The bell rang, signaling the end of not only the class but of the school day as well. “Enjoy your holiday!” She had to yell to be heard over the commotion of teenagers scrambling to their feet, talking, gathering backpacks, and turning on cell phones.
    In less than a minute, they were gone. Izzy smiled to herself as she made a sweep of the room, picking up trash and straightening chairs. Once upon a time, she’d been full of energy, just like those kids. Except that when she ran out of the classroom, her first thought hadn’t been about what party to go to or where she’d hang out with her friends. It had been about the latest dance position she wanted to master or bit of choreography she struggled with. For years, she’d gone straightfrom one school to another, trading classrooms with desks and whiteboards for those with mirrored walls and ballet bars.
    Izzy shook her head. Where had that come from? She rarely thought about those days. Getting ready for Gran’s funeral must have stirred up the memories. Izzy had wanted so much to be like Gran, like the ballerina she’d seen in those old publicity pictures. And she almost was. She’d gotten so close.
    With a sigh, she dumped into the garbage can the armful of litter she’d collected, then moved to the projector. Before she flipped the off switch, she took one last look at the Picasso portrait. Those prominent triangles really did remind her of flight. They transported her away from school and right back to her grandmother’s quilt. Which brought her right back to the man she was trying not to think about.
    “Max.” Unthinking, she spoke his name on a puff of air.
    “Who?”
    Izzy spun around to see Barry Wilcox standing in the doorway. When had he come