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“Last week, when my football player got hurt during practice?” Cam asked and laughed. “I apologize if taking a student to the ER trumped filing your request.”
British’s eyes narrowed on the director. “I’m ten seconds away from filing a complaint.”
The superintendent stood. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Carres, with limited funding, my hands are tied here. Only one program in the school applied for the bonus.”
Kimber spoke up. “What about an after-school group?”
The lights flickered once again and gave everyone a glimpse of intrigue on the superintendent’s face. “You have an after-school group? I don’t recall a budget for one.” He looked over at the principal of Southwood Middle School.
“Mrs. Carres uses the recreation center located directly off the school,” Principal Terrence advised, beaming. He offered a wink in British’s direction.
“All of its members are from the school?” Herbert Locke asked British.
British nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Who funds this project?”
“I do,” admitted British. A lump formed in her throat. When her husband, Christian Carres, died five years ago due to complications from a car accident, he’d left her a lump sum of money. There was nothing she’d wanted more than to help the girls of Southwood, Georgia, so she’d poured the money Christian left her into equipment, safety features, you name it.
“Interesting.” Herbert stroked the patch of red hair growing on his chin.
“You’re not seriously contemplating her request?” Cam squawked.
“If Mrs. Carres turned in her paperwork and you failed to turn it in—” the superintendent went on “—I don’t feel comfortable not supporting them.”
“But my robotics team,” Cam said through gritted teeth. “We already ma
de plans. I’ve seen the competition from Black Wolf Creek and Peachville. We’ve got this in the bag.”
“And how do you know?” asked Coach Farmer. He rose from his seat. The hem of his white pullover shirt acted like a hammock for his protruding belly, which lapped the waistband of his red shorts. He spoke in American Sign Language, which he’d initially learned to communicate with the quarterback. For practice and perfection, he always signed now. “Are you spying on the competition?”
Cam sputtered. His bright face reddened. “Competition? What competition?”
Whispers of doubt spread among the committee. British loved to argue her point but if she stood here and let Cam explain himself, she didn’t have to say a word.
“So you’re not worried about them,” baited British, “but you’re worried about my girls?”
“Stop trying to make me out to be some sexist, Home Ec.”
“Hold on, now,” said one of the high school science teachers. “We have a couple of STEM and robotics teams at Southwood High that stepped back for the middle school to receive the funding, but if we’re opening the door, we don’t mind stepping up to the plate at the competition.”
A disgruntled conversation began. All the science teachers, including at the elementary level, wanted a shot to go to Districts.
“All right. All right.” Herbert motioned for everyone to settle down. “I have one pot of money—we can split it evenly or winner takes all.”
“Winner takes all,” British and Cam chorused.
“Sounds like we have a Southwood competition.” Herbert clapped his hands together. “Two weeks from tonight. That will give everyone enough time to enjoy the Thanksgiving break, have time to spend with their families and then get back to the labs and find something interesting to entertain the Christmas Advisory Council. We’ll let them decide the winner. Half of the group is made up of organizers for the school drive, and they may just want to have the CAC do this every year if there’s leftover funds.”
Thunder rumbled outside at his final words. The school district board members gathered their belongings and attempted to file out the double doors in an orderly fashion. British lingered behind the glass doors of city hall, Kimber keeping her company.
“Don’t you guys need to get on the road and head for Villa San Juan?”
“Yeah, Nate and Stephen already left with their families,” said Kimber. “I wanted to come out and support you.”
British linked her arm through the younger girl’s. They locked elbows and began walking out the double doors. Rain pelted the brick walkway. “Did you bring your umbrella?”
“Of course not.” Kimber laughed. “But I love walking in the rain.”
