way that I could claim a wrist injury and get out of this?"
"No way at all." Turning to face the kids in the back of the van, Maggie aimed a warning look in their direction. "Okay, guys, remember the rules. Chance, rule number one?"
Chance sighed, playing the part of the injured teen.
"Don't leave the group without permission."
Maggie nodded her head and then focused on another boy.
"Brad, rule number two?"
"Show respect to the other bowlers. No bad words, no fighting."
"I think you covered rules two and three." Maggie smiled at all of the kids. "Rule number four— have fun."
In unison they groaned, as if being told to have fun was the worst rule of all.
Inside the darkened interior of the bowling alley a rush of activity surrounded them. First, everyone had to get shoes and then find the right bowling ball. Maggie scurried from one teen to another, trying to get them all taken care of.
When she finally had a free moment, she turned to look for Michael. He stood off to the side, looking like a lost child at the mall. She wanted to ignore him, but she couldn't.
"Did you get shoes?"
He shook his head, the lost-child look again. His long lashes framed his hazel eyes and a shy, out-of-place smile lurked on the firm lines of his mouth. Maggie hooked her arm through his, a gesture that should have been one of camaraderie, but when he pulled her close it changed. She pulled away and led him to the counter where shoes could be rented.
"What size do you wear?"
"Eleven, I guess."
She narrowed her eyes as she looked down at his feet. "You don't know what size shoe you wear?"
"I know what size shoe I wear, but I don't know about bowling shoes."
The man behind the counter handed Michael a pair of boat-size shoes. He stared at the red, blue and tan shoes like they were a contagious disease.
"They won't bite."
"I'm not sure about that."
Maggie propelled him toward the benches behind their lanes.
Michael pulled off his tennis shoes and slipped his feet into the bowling shoes, making only a slight frown.
"You've really never bowled?" She tied the laces of her shoes and then straightened in the chair.
"Not once that I can remember, but I'm sure I'll be fine. How hard can it be? Roll the ball down the lane and watch it knock down the pins."
Maggie stood and he followed. "Oh, of course. You make it sound so simple. How hard can it be?"
For Michael it wasn't too difficult. Maggie watched as he hit his second strike and then she went in search of a snack. When she returned he was sitting on a bench waiting for her. He inclined his head to the seat next to his.
Maggie handed him the soda she'd bought for him and sat. She held out a bag of chips as she watched Chance prepare to stomp the competition.
"Are you surviving?" She swallowed a bite of chips that had far too much sour cream and onion flavoring.
"Yes, I'm surviving." He nodded toward Chance. "That kid has something special. He has a lot of anger, but he also has potential."
"A lot of these kids have potential, Michael. The problem is, nobody expects that from them and they don't expect it from themselves."
"You really take this personally, don't you?"
She didn't know how to answer that. She did take it personally, not only because she cared, but because she had been one of these kids, the ones that were pushed aside and unwanted. She had been the dirty, hungry kid in second-hand clothing. If it hadn't been for her grandmother, and a Sunday school teacher named Irene, she might not have survived.
For Michael she formed an easy answer. "Yes, I take it personally."
His eyes narrowed. He had more questions. "You're doing a great job with them."
"We try. If we can teach these kids to respect themselves, to believe in who they are and in whom God created them to be, we might change the entire course of their lives."
He stared at her as if she had four eyes.
"Is that too optimistic?"
"No, not at all. I just wonder if the kids realize how lucky they are to have
"No way at all." Turning to face the kids in the back of the van, Maggie aimed a warning look in their direction. "Okay, guys, remember the rules. Chance, rule number one?"
Chance sighed, playing the part of the injured teen.
"Don't leave the group without permission."
Maggie nodded her head and then focused on another boy.
"Brad, rule number two?"
"Show respect to the other bowlers. No bad words, no fighting."
"I think you covered rules two and three." Maggie smiled at all of the kids. "Rule number four— have fun."
In unison they groaned, as if being told to have fun was the worst rule of all.
Inside the darkened interior of the bowling alley a rush of activity surrounded them. First, everyone had to get shoes and then find the right bowling ball. Maggie scurried from one teen to another, trying to get them all taken care of.
When she finally had a free moment, she turned to look for Michael. He stood off to the side, looking like a lost child at the mall. She wanted to ignore him, but she couldn't.
"Did you get shoes?"
He shook his head, the lost-child look again. His long lashes framed his hazel eyes and a shy, out-of-place smile lurked on the firm lines of his mouth. Maggie hooked her arm through his, a gesture that should have been one of camaraderie, but when he pulled her close it changed. She pulled away and led him to the counter where shoes could be rented.
"What size do you wear?"
"Eleven, I guess."
She narrowed her eyes as she looked down at his feet. "You don't know what size shoe you wear?"
"I know what size shoe I wear, but I don't know about bowling shoes."
The man behind the counter handed Michael a pair of boat-size shoes. He stared at the red, blue and tan shoes like they were a contagious disease.
"They won't bite."
"I'm not sure about that."
Maggie propelled him toward the benches behind their lanes.
Michael pulled off his tennis shoes and slipped his feet into the bowling shoes, making only a slight frown.
"You've really never bowled?" She tied the laces of her shoes and then straightened in the chair.
"Not once that I can remember, but I'm sure I'll be fine. How hard can it be? Roll the ball down the lane and watch it knock down the pins."
Maggie stood and he followed. "Oh, of course. You make it sound so simple. How hard can it be?"
For Michael it wasn't too difficult. Maggie watched as he hit his second strike and then she went in search of a snack. When she returned he was sitting on a bench waiting for her. He inclined his head to the seat next to his.
Maggie handed him the soda she'd bought for him and sat. She held out a bag of chips as she watched Chance prepare to stomp the competition.
"Are you surviving?" She swallowed a bite of chips that had far too much sour cream and onion flavoring.
"Yes, I'm surviving." He nodded toward Chance. "That kid has something special. He has a lot of anger, but he also has potential."
"A lot of these kids have potential, Michael. The problem is, nobody expects that from them and they don't expect it from themselves."
"You really take this personally, don't you?"
She didn't know how to answer that. She did take it personally, not only because she cared, but because she had been one of these kids, the ones that were pushed aside and unwanted. She had been the dirty, hungry kid in second-hand clothing. If it hadn't been for her grandmother, and a Sunday school teacher named Irene, she might not have survived.
For Michael she formed an easy answer. "Yes, I take it personally."
His eyes narrowed. He had more questions. "You're doing a great job with them."
"We try. If we can teach these kids to respect themselves, to believe in who they are and in whom God created them to be, we might change the entire course of their lives."
He stared at her as if she had four eyes.
"Is that too optimistic?"
"No, not at all. I just wonder if the kids realize how lucky they are to have
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