The Color of Hope

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





Sam waved bye to Miss Stephanie as she drove off, then unlocked her front door. It was dark inside. She turned on a lamp and picked up a bowl with tomato soup stains from the coffee table. Her mom must have come home for lunch.

Carrying it into the kitchen, she sighed at the sink full of dirty dishes. With volleyball tryouts looming, she’d let them pile up the last few days, too tired to deal with them after all the extra practice. Lot of good that did.

She squirted dishwashing liquid into the sink and filled it with hot water, washing the glasses, plates, and bowls. She dried them and put them away, then wiped down the counter and swept the floor. Her mom would be pleased with a spotless kitchen when she got home . . . whenever that would be.

Sam went into the bathroom next—yuck . . . need to clean this too—and took a quick shower. Snug in her pj’s under the covers, she curled up with her journal, pen in hand. It was the one place she could truly bare her soul.


I didn’t make the team. Coach Willoughby said today she was focusing on endurance, tomorrow skills. Couldn’t even show her I finally got my overhand serve down. Figures. That’s always been the question, hasn’t it? Whether I can endure . . .



There was a bright spot, though. Miss Stephanie came to tryouts and saw what happened. She took me to her house, and I got to have dinner there. A real dinner at a table. She and her cousin Janelle were nice to me, like they really wanted me there. And then they took me with them to the diner for a Bible study.



I was the youngest one there, and I thought they’d be super serious and talking about things I had no clue about. But they were laughing and having a good time talking about patience, or lack of it—and I actually enjoyed it. They asked me to come back next week. I might.



Sam chewed on her pen, thinking about the part she’d saved for last.


One more thing . . . Miss Stephanie showed me where my name comes from. A woman in the Bible who’s mixed race like me. But it was her native people that were mixed. I bet her mom and dad were the same, not one from one race and one from another. I bet her mom and dad were married too.



Miss Stephanie and Miss Janelle said it was a big deal that Jesus talked to this woman and told her who He was, while other people treated her like she was nothing. She was special to Jesus, and I guess Grammie wanted me to know I was special to Him too.



I know that’s supposed to be a good thing, but all I could think was I wish I was special to Mom. Maybe if she didn’t have to work two jobs. Or if Hank hadn’t said he’d marry her if he didn’t have to take me as an added burden. Maybe then I’d be special.



I think I’m just not a special kind of girl. That’s why I didn’t have what it took to push through tryouts, let alone make the team. That’s why I don’t have any friends. As nice as Miss Stephanie is, it’s not like we can be real friends. She’s at least ten years older. She’s got her own adult life.



A single tear rolled past Sam’s nose.


I’m still sure of one thing—it would’ve been better if I’d never been born.