The Color of Hope

by Kim Cash Tate

  Cornell raised a hand and made it shake. “Mine were too, Sister Charley.”

  Charley smiled, and laughter rippled through the congregation.

  “Well, Sister Charley . . .” The announcer was smiling. “Tell us where you’re from.”

  “From Hope Springs,” Charley said. “Born and raised, but have never been to New Jerusalem. Decided to change that this morning.”

  She sat back down, surprised to hear some applause.

  “We’re glad to have you too, Sister Charley,” the announcer said. “I encourage you to stay after and meet Pastor Brooks if you don’t know him.”

  When the next two had introduced themselves, she said, “We have one more announcement, and that’ll be given from our pastor.”

  Travis came up to the podium. In a suit he had a different aura, more serious. Or maybe it wasn’t the suit at all, but the nature of what he was about to say. Everyone seemed to come to attention.

  “This might be the first time I’ve stood to give an announcement during this portion of the program,” he said, “but I wanted to be the one to tell you, if you haven’t already heard, that the joint worship services with Calvary Church have ended.”

  Enough whispering ensued that it started to get loud.

  Travis held up his hands to regain their attention. “That’s the extent of that announcement,” he said, “but I want to take this time to address something else. You all saw the article in the paper last week. It dealt primarily with members of Calvary and their problems with the service. One might conclude that for the most part, New Jerusalem members only quibbled with things like worship music or preaching styles.” He paused. “But I know better.”

  Travis took his time, moving his gaze around the congregation. “I received enough e-mails, office visits, and casual comments about the joint service to give me an indication of an underlying spiritual temperature that exists in this church. And the temperature reading is this: I don’t see a fervor for what Jesus tells us are the two greatest commandments, to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself.”

  Charley leaned closer to Marcus. “Does he always hit things hard like this?”

  “Pretty much,” Marcus said. “On one hand, he’s known as this hip, cool pastor who can identify with people, and on the other hand, he’s known for speaking straight truth.”

  Travis continued, “As the shepherd of this congregation, I would be remiss if I discerned this and did nothing about it. Amen?”

  A few “Amens” sounded. Most people were quiet, listening for his next words.

  “So I have another announcement,” he said. “Beginning today, we’re starting a sermon series called ‘Love Reigns,’ which we’ll also touch on during Wednesday Bible studies. It’s my prayer that we’ll all grow in giving love for God and love for others its proper place—a preeminent place—in our hearts.”

  Travis sat down, and the choir prepared to sing. Charley pondered his words. Loving God and loving others seemed simple in the abstract, but she had a feeling the action element ran deep. And wasn’t easy. Still, something about it registered with her. She’d be coming to New Jerusalem several more weeks at least.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Monday, August 9

  Stephanie arrived at Hope Springs High at seven o’clock in the morning, thirty minutes before classes were to begin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten up so early for work—maybe never—and she was sure she’d be dog-tired. But an energy coursed through her veins, even an excitement. This assignment was temporary, fluid, and unpredictable. But she was praying that however long it lasted, God would use her.

  She walked into the building looking every bit the teacher—professional skirt and jacket, sling-back heeled sandals. But as she watched a sea of students returning from summer, hugging, yelling down the hall, she felt like a student herself—a new one. She needed to learn the ropes of this place or they’d run all over her.

  On the way to the main office, she saw Marcus in the hallway meeting and greeting students. She’d almost forgotten he was new to this school too, though he looked comfortable. Students would likely find it easy to relate to an assistant principal under thirty.

  When he spied her, he held up a finger for her to wait. A couple of minutes later—after shaking every hand he passed—he made it over to her.

  “You look raring to go this morning,” she said. “You excited about the first day?”

  “Always— Hey, sir, good morning to you.” He shook a student’s hand, then looked back at Stephanie. “Love the energy and the newness.” Another good morning and handshake. “How about you? You ready?”

  “I am,” she said, “believe it or not.”

  “Let’s go to the office and get your teacher packet, then I’ll take you to study hall.”

  She followed him. “I still think this assignment is hilarious.” She’d gotten the news on Friday. “You totally knew I didn’t need to be engaged in any content subjects.”

  “Don’t get excited,” he said. “If a need arises, you could be in calculus tomorrow.”

  Marcus walked to the first office desk, where a black woman with short pepper-and-gray hair was typing on the computer.

  “Stephanie, this is Mrs. Walters, the head office administrator. If you have a question about anything, and I mean anything, go to her, not me. I don’t know half of what she knows about this place.” He gestured the other way. “And Mrs. Walters, this is Stephanie London.”

  The phone rang before the woman could speak. She scooped it up.

  “Hope Springs High, please hold.” Mrs. Walters’s eyes were kind. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. London. I’ve got your packet of materials right here. Mr. Maxwell is right, I’ll be glad to help if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walters.”

  She returned to the call as Marcus led Stephanie back out. The building was more crowded now as bodies filled the halls, lockers slamming all around. Marcus didn’t shake as many hands, moving more quickly now because of time. He led Stephanie down a long hall, the opposite way of the gym.

  “Does every student take study hall?” she asked.

  “No. Our freshmen’s schedules are filled with classes only— Good morning, Miss Hunt.” They rounded a corner. “Our upperclassmen have the option to take study hall, where they can do homework, projects, study for tests, that kind of thing— Hey, it’s a little early for foolishness, don’t you think?”

  Some boys had surrounded another boy, play-punching him. They broke it up.

  Marcus stepped into the cafeteria. A handful of students were there, talking at a table.

  “Welcome to study hall,” he said.

  Stephanie looked curiously at him. “I thought it was in a classroom.”

  “We’re hoping one day to have a classroom big enough to dedicate to it,” he said. “A computer lab would be even better. But this is only our second year doing this, and for now, this is where it happens.”

  Stephanie lifted her packet. “And this tells me everything I need to know?”

  “It has your schedule, student rosters, study hall protocol, fun stuff like emergency evacuation procedures . . . But everything?” He smiled. “No. You’ll learn a lot as you go.”

  Those same boys entered the cafeteria, loudly, and commandeered a table, no books in sight.

  Stephanie eyed Marcus. “Yeah, like how to babysit teenagers.”

  Seemed like a steady stream of them were coming in now. She wondered how many were in this first period.

  Marcus glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a million things I need to do, but remember, call Mrs. Walters if you need anything. Her number’s in the packet. You can text me as well. Oh, and the number for security is in the packet too, if you need them.”

  “Security?”

  He was backing out of the cafeteria. “Gotta run.”

  She sucked in a breath, looking around. Kids were le
aning back in chairs, sitting on tables, bobbing heads to music in earbuds, calling to one another from across the room . . . At seven twenty in the morning. Weren’t they supposed to be barely awake? What would the later periods be like?

  Stephanie put her things down on the table closest to her and began skimming her packet, aware of the eyes that were on her. She used to do that herself, size up the substitute. She wondered how they pegged her.

  An influx of students came right at the bell. Stephanie waited for them to find their seats, then saw she needed to help them along.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I need everyone to please find a seat and get quiet.”

  She immediately recognized she was at a disadvantage. In a classroom, her voice would have a greater impact. There were fiftyfour students, and they were all spread out.

  She continued, though there were still pockets of conversation. “My name is Mrs. London, and I’m filling in as your study hall teacher today.” Walking forward, she scanned faces. “I want to welcome you to a new school year. I’m sure you’re excited to—”

  A guy’s hand shot up.

  “Yes?” Stephanie said.

  “Mrs. London, I know you’re new and all, but we don’t need a lecture. This is study hall.”

  The guy next to him slapped him on the back, laughing, which got the whole table going.

  Stephanie got her class roster. “And your name is?”

  He sat back, folded his arms. “Roger Everett.”

  “Roger, yes, I’m new, and I’ve never been in charge of study hall a day in my life. But the fact remains, I’m in charge.” She walked closer to his table. “If I need your input, I’ll ask for it. ‘K?”

  “Ooooh,” his table chided him.

  “As I was saying,” Stephanie said, “I’m sure you all are excited to be back and to catch up with your friends. But . . .” She looked around. “Please remember that study hall is not play time. You’re expected to do something productive with your—”

  Another hand went up, the guy who had slapped Roger’s back.

  “Your name, please?” Stephanie said.

  “Ben Willoughby. It’s the first day of school, first period. There’s nothing productive to do yet. This is the only time of year we have to play.”

  Snickers sounded around the room.

  “I understand your plight, Ben.” She injected sympathy. “I take it you finished all your required reading from summer? And any other assignments you were to complete prior to the first day of school?”

  “Look, I didn’t have time for all that.” He leaned close to the girl next to him. “Football practice keeps me busy.”

  “Totally understandable,” she said. “That’s the benefit of study hall, isn’t it? You can catch up on your work and do your playing on the field.”

  This time the “Ooooh . . .” came from several tables. She knew it would be next to impossible to keep them all from talking and even playing around a little. Some of them probably had finished their assignments. But she wanted to convey the expectation.

  “Okay, listen,” she said. “While I take attendance, I want you all to dig around in your backpacks, find something to work on, and get to it.”

  She called out each name, looking for a hand or vocal response as she moved around the cafeteria. When she said, “Samara Johnston,” she saw a hand go up to her far left. Stephanie looked closer. How had she missed her? It was Sam from the joint service.

  Stephanie nodded, acknowledging that she’d seen her, and continued with roll call. But her eyes kept drifting back to Sam. Why was she the only one sitting alone?

  When she was done, she took another tour around the tables to see if they had the good sense to at least pretend to work. At Roger and Ben’s table, they’d taken out the same novel, presumably for English. Three girls with them at the table were whispering, looking at Stephanie’s feet.

  She raised a playful brow at them. “Um . . . do I have my shoes on the wrong feet or something?”

  “Those are Ferragamo’s, aren’t they?”

  It was the girl next to Ben, Kelsey.

  “They are, actually,” Stephanie said.

  “I told you, Brittany,” Kelsey said to the girl on her other side. “Those are the ones we pinned on Pinterest.” She looked at Stephanie. “Love those. Really cool.”

  “Why, thank you,” Stephanie said.

  “And I saw that skirt in the Nordstrom catalog,” the third girl said. “You could be a model for them.”

  Stephanie was amused. “Not sure about that, but I appreciate the comment.” She noticed all three had on similar skinny jeans, cute tops, chunky wedge sandals, and fully made-up faces. “Are y’all planning to work in fashion design or something?”

  “No,” Kelsey said. “We’re just a little clothes crazy.”

  Stephanie smiled. “I was too in high school. Okay, maybe still.”

  “Well, you get the most fashionable substitute ever award,” Brittany said.

  Stephanie did a slight bow. “Ever so grateful. Now get to work.” She smiled at them, continuing on.

  The rest of the period moved surprisingly quickly. Never got completely quiet, but thankfully there were no major fires to put out. It occurred to Stephanie about two-thirds through that since she wasn’t actively teaching anything, she could use the time to pray for these students. So she did, mostly praying over them collectively. But Roger and Ben got individual prayers, and the fashion girls. And Samara.

  The students scurried at the sound of the bell. Stephanie stood, positioned near an exit door as they left. She saw Sam coming toward her, wearing the same jeans she’d had on at the joint service, with an Old Navy shirt dated 2006, and flip-flops. Her big, thick ringlets of ponytailed curls commanded all the attention.

  Sam threw up a hand as she left. “Bye, Mrs. London.”

  “How are you, Sam?” Stephanie said.

  The girl kept moving, backpack bunched on her shoulder. “Fine.”

  Two more study hall periods passed, each with its own set of unique personalities, and the cafeteria converted back to its main function. According to her schedule, Stephanie could take her break in the teachers’ lounge. She’d brought a turkey sandwich, baked chips, an apple, and water from home. Sounded like a plan to meet some of the teachers, eat, and relax.

  The decibel level soared as students poured in for lunch, some heading straight for the line, others commandeering tables and saving seats for their friends. Stephanie stuffed her things in her tote bag and was on the way out when she spotted Sam entering the cafeteria. Curious, she watched as Sam went to a far side of the cafeteria and sat at an empty table. She took a brown lunch bag and a book from her backpack, and began emptying the contents of her lunch.

  Stephanie felt compelled to join her. If teachers weren’t allowed to eat with students, someone would have to come break the news. She made her way across the lunchroom, but before she got to Sam’s table, she heard, “Hey, Mrs. London!”

  She turned to see Kelsey, Brittany, and a few others at a table.

  Stephanie smiled. “Hey, girls.”