The Color of Hope - By Kim Tate Page 0,7
now that she was back from college. Instead, time spent in the car—and crossing paths at school—let her know that her once fun-loving kid brother had developed a funky attitude about almost everything. The loss of their father surely played a part and made her sympathize—when she wasn’t about to throttle him. And he’d only gotten worse now that he’d turned eighteen, as if it gave him a license to do what he wanted.
“You only have to take me this morning.” Ben’s six-foot-three, two-hundred-plus pound frame entered the kitchen. “I’ll have gas money after that.”
Dottie looked at him. “From where?”
Ben got a glass of juice. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. You wouldn’t give it to me, so I asked someone else.”
“Who? Kelsey?” Dottie asked.
He chugged the juice, grabbed a protein bar, and headed for the door, eyeing Charley. “Ready?”
Charley’s gaze bounced from Ben to her mom, who was still awaiting an answer.
“Ben.” Grandpa Skip stood. “I’m seeing a lot of disrespect from you lately.”
Lately?
“Answer your mother’s question,” Grandpa Skip said.
Charley watched even more intently now. Her grandfather was tall and lean, his stature not very imposing. But he had a penetrating gaze that went well with the gravelly voice. The look alone was all the check she’d needed when she was young.
Ben sighed. “Yeah, it’s Kelsey.”
“You shouldn’t be taking advantage of her like that,” Dottie said. “She thinks you’re committed to her, and what’s going to happen if you break her heart? You know her mother and I are friends.”
“Mom. Seriously. Can we not do this right now? I have to go.”
Dottie sighed at him. “Fine. But we’ll pick it back up later.”
“The boycott as well,” Grandpa Skip said. “I want my family on board. This is an important juncture in the life of our church.”
“Oh, and, Charley, don’t forget to call Connor about that date on Saturday.”
“Connor Webber?” Grandpa Skip said. “Wonderful. That’s a great family. Excellent addition to our town.”
Charley sighed to herself. Were they really setting her up again, after Jake?
Ben looked puzzled as he and Charley left the house. “What boycott?”
Charley explained in the car.
Ben nodded easily. “Cool.”
“You’re just happy to get out of going to church.”
“Exactly.”
In five minutes they were at school, and Charley saw Kelsey waiting outside the building. Cute girl. Popular. One of their best volleyball players. She had everything going for her except, it seemed, common sense. She seemed to stay at Ben’s beck and call.
She met them at the car. “Hey, Coach.”
Charley got her athletic bag from the backseat. “Hey, Kels—Ben, really? Right out here in public?”
He had stepped out of the car, pulled Kelsey close, and kissed her.
Ben snickered. “What then? In private?” He tightened his arms around Kelsey. “Fine with me.”
Charley cut her eyes at him, starting for the entrance, then glanced back. “Anyone else here, Kelsey?”
“Just Sam,” she said. “Of course. Working on that serve.”
“And you encouraged her.” Charley paused. “Right?”
“Coach, seriously . . .” Kelsey gave her a look. “She can’t play.”
Charley knew that was the consensus among the girls in the clinic, especially those on the volleyball team. She had spied Sam’s interest in volleyball during gym class last spring and encouraged her to take the clinic. But though Sam had worked hard to learn the fundamentals, she wasn’t exactly a natural. Charley knew she couldn’t micromanage the girls’ interactions with one another, but something about Sam—her innocence, sweetness—made Charley want to rise up and defend her.
“I explained what this clinic was about from the beginning,” Charley said. “Not just developing skills, but developing—”
“Confidence.” Kelsey indulged her with a thin smile.
“The clinic ends tomorrow.” Charley started toward the building. “I’m sure it would mean a lot to Sam if you told her how much her serve has improved.”
Charley walked into the high school. In the echo of the empty halls, she could hear the faint sound of a ball being hit against the wall. But her thoughts shifted for the moment from volleyball to the administrative offices her feet were moving toward. She opened the outer door and, seeing no one, made her way past the administrative assistant’s desk to the office of the assistant principal.
She peeked her head in and saw Marcus on the phone. He waved her in as he nodded at his caller. “Absolutely . . . No problem . . . That’s fine . . . Okay, but I’ve really got to—”
He raised his hands apologetically, and Charley took a seat across from him, letting him know it was fine. Her eyes