The Color of Hope

CHAPTER THIRTY





Friday marked the eighth day since Sam and Ben’s first phone conversation. She knew it was silly, but she’d been keeping track, making mental tallies each day. Or more precisely, each night. They rarely interacted at school, but he’d called her consistently in the evenings. She’d never had a boy show interest like this, talking more than an hour some nights. When he called tonight and asked her out, she didn’t think twice. She must be really special to him if he wanted to spend time face-to-face.

Sam squirted a light mousse into her hands and ran it through her hair. Brushing the outer layer, she smoothed her hair into a ponytail and secured it at the base of her neck, letting the curly spirals hang down. She didn’t have much makeup—and rarely used what she had—but she had it all laid out before her tonight. Powder base, eye shadow, eye liner, blush . . . She applied each carefully, then remembered mascara. Flipping to the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror, she found her mother’s. With a steady hand, she thickened her lashes. Perfect.

She stepped back and examined herself, loving the look of the dark wash jeans Miss Stephanie bought with a brand-new shirt from last week, courtesy of her mom. Hank had taken her mother shopping, but this shirt was too big when she tried it on at home. She offered it to Sam, and Sam wondered where she’d ever wear it. A chic white shirt with a tailored V-neck and long shark-bite hem, it seemed too nice for school. But now she was glad it was hers. She primped a little, feeling pretty . . . and sexy.

A giggle rose inside. Sexy? Her? But Ben had said it enough that maybe she should believe it. He made her feel an entirely different way about herself—beautiful and alluring.

She opened the cabinet mirror again and tried on different shades of her mother’s lipstick. The peachy one looked pretty, so she went with that, lining her lips. She should take a picture for her Facebook profile. She was probably the last in her school to join, but she was glad she finally did. It was sort of fun keeping up with what everyone was doing. She tucked the lipstick back in—

“What’s going on in here, Sam?”

She jumped, staring at her mother in the mirror. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Apparently.” She looked at her watch. “It’s eleven o’clock at night. Where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought it’d be okay.” Since you weren’t home.

“I told you, Sam. No sleepovers, no visits, no nothing at Stephanie London’s.”

“I’m not.” She turned around. “It’s a guy.”

Her mother came closer, with a smile that said she was curious. “My Sam’s got a date? With who?”

“His name’s Ben Willoughby.”

“The football player? I’ve heard about him. He’s interested in you, huh?”

Sam’s head lowered slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, obviously, silly. You’re on his mind on a Friday night, aren’t you?” Her mom leaned against the wall. “Turn around, let me see you.”

Sam did so. Felt good to have her mom’s approval.

“My little girl’s growing up,” she said. “Look at those curves.”

“Mom . . .”

“Here, let me fix your shadow. Subtlety is key.”

Her mom took a tissue and blotted some of it out, adding small strokes of a different color in the outer edges.

Sam watched the transformation in the mirror. “Thanks, Mom.”

A horn sounded outside.

“That’s him.” She got her purse from the living room. “Oh.” She turned. “When do I have to be back?”

Her mom waved away the question. “Don’t worry about it. I trust you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Have fun, baby.”

Ben’s music blasted from the sporty Mustang. He turned it down only slightly when she got in. As bulky as he was, he was a commanding presence inside.

“Hey.” He checked her out. “You look hot.”

Sam smiled faintly and reached for her seat belt. “Thanks.” Being alone in person like this felt strange.

He drove off, his right hand reaching for something on the floor. He brought a beer can to his mouth and guzzled it.

“You’re drinking and driving?” She glanced down and saw several empty cans.

“No big deal,” he said. “I do it all the time.”

She watched him drain it. “So . . . where are we going?”

“Back to my house.”

Her mood fell. When he’d called he said they were celebrating the football win. She figured someone from school was having a party. But since he’d been drinking, maybe the get-together had been beforehand. “What’re we doing at your house?”

He smiled, head bopping to the music. “Hanging.”

Moments later they were there. Ben got out, slammed his car door, and waited for Sam. They walked together to the house, and Sam suddenly wondered if Coach Willoughby was home. What would she think of Sam being at her house, with her brother?

Ben let them in and threw his keys on a side table. Heading straight upstairs, he turned midstride. “Can I get you something to drink or something?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ve got some more beer.”

“No thanks.”

“Cool, come on. We’re going up to my room.” He bounded up the stairs.

She followed slowly. “Your mom doesn’t mind?”

“She’s out with friends.”

“Is your sister home?” Sam asked.

“Nah, she’s out too.”

Ben obviously hadn’t bothered to prepare for company. Clothes were strewn across his bed, over an armchair, even on the floor. An entertainment center was the main focus, with a TV and video game machine—she wasn’t sure which one—plus other electronic gadgets. There were video games everywhere, along with DVDs, sports magazines, and books.

Sam lingered by the door, not sure where to sit.

He sprawled across the bed, kicking his shoes off and throwing the clothes to the floor. “You can sit on my bed. I don’t mind.”

She picked up a couple of DVD cases from the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, reading them. “You want to watch a movie?”

“Sure, we could.” He got more DVDs from a shelf for her to look at. “What do you want to watch?”

“Um . . .” She kept looking. “I haven’t seen Red Tails. I’m a history buff, so that seems interesting.” She looked at him. “What about that?”

His nod vacillated as he leafed through the pile beside her. “Have you seen Friends with Benefits?”

“No. What’s that about?”

He gave her a look, as if she should know.

She read the back and felt the heat rising on her neck. “I don’t know about this one.”

“Aw, come on, you’ll like it.”

He jumped up and started clicking buttons. The TV turned on and a DVD popped out. He put the new disc in and rejoined her, the bed sinking down as he lay on his side. “You should take your shoes off and get comfortable.”

She slipped off her flats.

He gave a slow grin. “But you’re still not comfortable. Come lie up here beside me.”

She shifted, moving parallel to him. On their elbows—his body behind hers—she felt the strangest conflicting sensations . . . heart pounding like she’d stumbled into a danger zone . . . and pounding in exhilaration. She was sure of it—Ben would be her first kiss.

The first few minutes into the movie, Sam felt Ben playing with her ponytail. He took the band off and let her hair fall free.

“Man, you’re sexy this way,” he said.

He ran his fingers underneath, massaging her scalp. Then he inched closer and draped a leg over hers.

The heart pounding increased.

“Ben, I don’t think—”

“Shh.”

He rubbed her leg, then her arm. She tried to focus on the movie, but he turned her body toward him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I don’t think you know how beautiful you are.”

He kissed her forehead and her nose, and just like that, he was kissing her lips.

My first kiss.

Despite the alcohol on his breath, it was tender at first, then a little forceful. She moved her head to take a breath, and he brought it right back. Seconds later she tried again. “Ben, we should slow down. Let’s watch the movie.”

“We’re making our own movie.” He smiled. “We’re friends, right? With benefits.”

He kissed her neck, his hand moving under her shirt.

She sat up now, everything pounding danger. “Ben, seriously.” She moved her hair from her face. “I’d rather just watch the movie. Or maybe we should go downstairs.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You feel too good.”

With a strong hand he brought her back down, pushing her shirt all the way up, kissing her.

“Ben, please stop. Please.”

He unbuttoned her pants and started tugging on them, and her heart constricted.

“No! Ben, no! I’m a virgin!”

She rolled over, and he grabbed her, manipulating her like a rag doll with a fraction of his strength.

Tears streamed down her face as he shifted the weight of his body on hers. “Noooo . . . please, noooo . . . oh, God, help me . . .”





Sam sat on the bed fully dressed, legs pulled to her chest. The tears came and went, but not the shaking. She couldn’t stop the shaking.

She stared at the bed, nauseated by Ben’s snores—nauseated, period. She needed to vomit. Would be better than these dry heaves. And she needed to go to the bathroom. And she needed to get away from Ben. She never wanted to see him again. How would she face him Monday morning? Whenever she saw him, whenever she heard a mention of football, she’d want to throw up.

She rocked gently back and forth as the tears started again. Why did this happen to me? And why this sick twist, that she now felt imprisoned, unable to get home?

“I just want to go home . . .”

She rolled her eyes over to Ben. She’d prodded, pushed, even screamed at him to wake up, but he was passed out. Now that he’d ruined her life, the least he could do was get her home.

I’m not a virgin anymore. She was sick from that too. She’d read about the woman at the well, the one Stephanie and Janelle had showed her. One night in bed she’d looked at the chapter again, where Jesus told the woman she’d had several husbands and was with a man who wasn’t her husband. Sam knew right then and there she didn’t want that. She and that woman might’ve been alike in some respects, but she wanted that aspect to be different. She wanted to keep her virginity for one man, a special man, her husband.

Not a selfish drunk like Ben Willoughby.

Why didn’t I listen to Miss Stephanie?

Stephanie. Sam could call her for a ride home. Her eyes found the clock. 1:20 a.m. How would she explain needing a ride in the middle of the night from Coach Willoughby’s house? She sighed. No one here had come home yet, at least not that she’d heard. She could call her mom, but that would definitely be a last resort. She couldn’t face her right now.

No option was good, but one thing was clear—she wasn’t staying in this room another minute.

Slowly she climbed off the bed. She hurt, and she felt dirty, and every step reminded her of it. She got her purse and opened the door, listening for sounds. Hearing nothing, she found a bathroom and went, using only the light from the hallway. She didn’t want to see herself in the bathroom mirror. She couldn’t. But in the darkness she splashed water on her face and pulled her hair back in place. She couldn’t bear anyone else knowing what she’d gone through.

She walked downstairs and sat on the bottom step. Someone had to come home soon. She’d never met Ben’s mom, and she’d be embarrassed to meet her in the middle of the night like this. But she didn’t care. She had to get home.

Several minutes passed, and Sam heard a car outside. She tiptoed to the front window and looked out. Coach Willoughby!

Sam opened the door immediately and walked out, just as two other cars pulled up . . . and a police car?

Coach Willoughby caught sight of her and came toward her. “Sam? What are you doing here?”

Sam forced a lightness into her voice. “I . . . Ben . . . brought me here just to hang out. But now he’s asleep, and I can’t get home.”

“What?” The coach frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why were you hanging out with my brother?”

“Charley, we need you over here,” a woman called. “The policeman’s got some questions.”

Coach Willoughby looked the other direction, where a policeman had gotten out of his car and approached the others. “Be right there, Mom.”

The coach took out her phone and dialed a number. “Steph, Sam’s at my house, and the police just pulled up so I can’t leave. Can you come and take her home? . . . I don’t know . . . Yeah, you need to come now.” She looked at Sam. “Stephanie will be here in five minutes.”

“She was already up?”

Coach Willoughby nodded wearily. “It’s been a long night for a lot of us.”

Now everyone was out of the cars, angry voices rising.

“Sam, will you be okay right here waiting for Stephanie?” Coach asked. “I need to see what’s going on over there.”

“Sure.”

Sam took a big breath and sat on the front step, holding herself as she waited.