Cecelia Clarke Quotes in The Hate Race
It was a don’t-say-a-word look. A turn-back-around-and-let’s-just-get-through-this look, at once empathetic and reprimanding. I understood. These are the cues we learn to read: the subtle gaps and shrugs and glances. The bullied know body language like bulls know red flags. To the bullied, reading body language is like having a compass: it keeps us from stumbling through dark forests, falling down cliff drops, slipping beneath fatal rapids.
‘I’m not a runner, sir. I mean, I don’t like running that much.’
Spencer looked at me, perplexed.
‘Your sister,’ he said, ‘she’s going to be a champion, Clarkey. Runs like the wind. It’s in the blood. You folks are built for it!’
Cecelia was a spunky black-magic pixie, sparkling and vibrant. Her hair was cornrow braided flat to her head with the long ends hanging down her back. She was beautiful, my sister. Breathtaking. Not despite her blackness, but inextricably entwined with it.
Cecelia Clarke Quotes in The Hate Race
It was a don’t-say-a-word look. A turn-back-around-and-let’s-just-get-through-this look, at once empathetic and reprimanding. I understood. These are the cues we learn to read: the subtle gaps and shrugs and glances. The bullied know body language like bulls know red flags. To the bullied, reading body language is like having a compass: it keeps us from stumbling through dark forests, falling down cliff drops, slipping beneath fatal rapids.
‘I’m not a runner, sir. I mean, I don’t like running that much.’
Spencer looked at me, perplexed.
‘Your sister,’ he said, ‘she’s going to be a champion, Clarkey. Runs like the wind. It’s in the blood. You folks are built for it!’
Cecelia was a spunky black-magic pixie, sparkling and vibrant. Her hair was cornrow braided flat to her head with the long ends hanging down her back. She was beautiful, my sister. Breathtaking. Not despite her blackness, but inextricably entwined with it.