I lift my chin and stare at Kennedy. “What do you think about being white?” She shakes her head, her face blank. “I don’t think about being white. I told you the first time we sat down—I don’t see color.” “Not all of us have that privilege.” I reach for the Band-Aids and shake them across all her charts and folders and files. “Flesh color,” I read on the box. “Tell me, which one of these is flesh color? My flesh color?” Two bright spots bloom on Kennedy’s cheeks. “You can’t blame me for that.”
