After another minute or two or maybe thirty (this place is like a time vortex), Levi stands and approaches the desk, digging through a small box of envelopes. He finds what he’s looking for and, without preamble, holds it out to Stacey.
She accepts the envelope, very warily. “What’s this?”
“Your check.” Levi sits next to me again, putting his arm around the back of the little couch.
(So, essentially, around my shoulders. Ha. No big deal.)
“What?” Stacey asks, her voice tight.
“That’s how it works,” Levi says. “You apply and come in for an interview. I meet you, talk with you, and send you home happy. I always like to tell our applicants in person that they’ve been accepted.”
Stacey holds back tears, just barely. “Thank you,” she whispers, pressing the envelope to her chest. “This will take care of so much.”
“That’s another thing,” Levi adds. “If it’s not enough down the road, come back and let us know.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, standing, letting Levi hug her. Then she reaches for me and engulfs me in an embrace, her arms tight and warm and oh-so-grateful. “Thank you so much,” she whispers, to me.
To me.
I just grin, not sure what to say. It’s not my thanks to receive, but I can’t tell her that. By then I have to say goodbye, so I stand back as Levi leads her out of the office.
After a few seconds of staring at the closed door, I slump heavily back into my seat and go over the papers in my hands. I glance at each page, trying to find a dollar amount. It’s on the next page—I see it instantly.
Ten thousand dollars.
TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.
Levi returns to find me gaping. Leaning against the arm of the chair across from me, he’s got his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly shrugged, and he looks nervous. “Well?” he asks. His voice is soft, bordering intimate. “What do you think?”
“Levi.” When I stand up, my legs are a bit wobbly. I hand the paperwork to him. “I don’t know what to say.” I’m whispering because I may or may not be on the verge of tears, and I really (really, really, really, really) don’t want to cry in front of him.
His gives me a smile like he knows I’m on a precipice—like he knows he put me there. It’s like he’s experiencing the same level of emotion that I am, but he’s used to it, he can rein it in. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, but it sounds more like a breath than a word. My mouth won’t move like I want it to. Why can’t I say the words that will tell him how badly I want to be a part of this? I know he already knows, to a certain extent. He made me a part of this, after all. But I want to say it. I want him to hear me say it.
He tips his head back. “Thanks for letting me show you. I thought you’d want to be in the loop from that first time I talked to you.”
I blink at him. I’m thinking about that first evening I met him, when he dazzled me with his charm. Which leads me to think about the other day, when he told me he thought I had a soft heart. Everything in me is warm except my words—those are frozen inside my mouth. Nothing I can say will compare with the compliments he’s given me, and the good he’s done here with The Color Project.
But, as it turns out, he doesn’t need my words. He gestures for me to follow him into the hall—where Missy surprises us, hands on her hips.
She is dazzling. And when I say dazzling, I mean even more than just her shoes. “Albert,” she seethes. “He threw glitter all over me because I called him a turd, and now it’s all over the mess that Nikita and Suhani left this morning.”
“Missy,” Levi says, placing his hands on her shoulders, “I don’t really feel bad for you. You unleashed the monster.”
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO. THE WORD JUST CAME OUT.” She isn’t just upset: she’s furious.
Levi’s smile is something mischievous. “I know. Just clean up the glitter and I’ll have Clary-Jane do the rest of the organizing on Friday. I’m coming back in thirty minutes. I want your checklist done.” He walks away, with me following close behind, and calls back over his shoulder, “And Missy? Freaking answer the phone when it rings. Remember what we talked about.”
We head out of the lobby and into the warm evening air. I pull out my keys, trying to figure out what to do (how to say goodbye).
“Do you want another donut?” Levi asks.
My heart thuds, a caged animal. I try to make my smile not-giddy. “So long as you don’t try to steal it.”
He laughs, stepping to the left so we can walk side by side.
I clear my throat. “So…am I going to meet them? The rest of the volunteers?”
We’re both facing ahead (studying the menu as if we’re not completely focused on each other) but I can feel his smile radiating off of him. “If you want.”
“Yeah, I do.” (Levi, you know I do.)
“Good.”
We order and sit down at Peterson’s outdoor tables, our fingers already sticky with donut glaze. Levi passes me a napkin from across the table.
“So what about you?” he asks. “I’ve shown you all the things I like to do—now it’s your turn.”
Whatever I’d expected him to say, it wasn’t this. “Oh, um… You don’t want to hear about my boring life.”
“No, really. I do.”
I bite my lip. “I…I guess there’s not much. I just graduated high school. I’m taking a gap year. I told you about my job, right?”
He nods. “Florist’s assistant. Delivery girl.”
I grin. “Right. Well, now I’m also part-time designer.”
Levi raises one eyebrow. “That’s pretty rad.”
(I’m blushing.) “It’s been fun. She says I have a natural eye. My designs have turned out nice enough, I think, even though sometimes I can’t be sure if she’s just being nice or…what.” I shrug.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” Levi says. He looks me over, like staring at me is the most normal thing in the world. (I wish I could look at him with as much confidence.) “I’d love to see something you’ve made.”
“Yeah, I will.” I take a deep breath in, let it out, and give him my most confident smile. (I probably look ridiculous.) “Hey, I have a picture on my phone of something I made earlier. If you’d like to see.” I don’t know why I’m doing this—why I’m not nervous about showing him my designs—but I whip out my phone and… Panic rises. “Oh no. Shoot. My mom called me, like, seven times.”
He grimaces like he understands. “Do you need to call her back?”
“Yeah, probably.” I click on my mom’s name; she answers after one ring. “Hi Mama,” I say quietly. “Sorry, I forgot to text you.”
“Bee, where are you?” She doesn’t sound angry, just…weary. I think about her crying the other day and mentally kick myself for forgetting to tell her I wasn’t coming home after work.
I breathe out. “I’m sorry, I’m, um…I’m with a friend.” I glance up at Levi, only to get distracted by his delighted expression. I shake my head to clear it. “He works at Mike’s. He helped fix my car.”
“Oh, okay.”
I sigh at the disappointment in her voice. Thing You Should Know About Me #3493: I’ve never, ever—not even once—worried my mother with my activities outside the home. I’m the model child for punctuality and phone calls and check-in texts and safety. She probably thought I was dead in a ditch somewhere, because if I don’t alert her of my whereabouts, it means something’s awfully wrong. “I’m sorry I forgot to call. I’ll be home soon. I’m at an, erm, a charity organization.”
She makes a surprised noise. “What?”
“Can I tell you about it later? I need to say goodbye.”
Levi gets my hint and stands up. After tossing our empty wrappers and napkins in the trash,
we take to the sidewalk.
My mom sounds much more relieved. “Sure, baby. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“No, I’m fine. Love you, Mama.”
“Love you, too.”
She hangs up. I give Levi an apologetic, I’m-so-embarrassed look, but he shakes his head, smiling. “You need to go,” he says. “I understand. I’ve had my fair share of worried-mom phone calls.”
I stop at my car, retrieving my keys from the bottom of my purse. “Thank you, Levi. This was so fun.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, a tad quiet, but his face is so happy that I don’t know what to do about it, or what to say, or how to process.
I raise my hand in farewell as I get into my car, tucking my purse under the tray between seats, and back out of the spot. I’m gone, too far gone, by the time I realize I forgot to get a phone number or an email address. I left Levi standing there, watching my car disappear around the corner, and I know I’ll have to come back a third time—a fourth, a fifth, a tenth, a millionth—because I can’t just forget about all this. I can’t forget about Levi, not ever.
Chapter 13
My dad sits quietly at the dining room table, eating fried chicken (his true love after growing up in the south) and reading Crime and Punishment again. He’s made very little progress, but I—the annoying book pusher—have to content myself with the fact that he’s made any progress at all.
“Did you just get home?” I ask, because he’s still in his work clothes and has (long-dried) paint on his cheek.
“Yep.” He stands, places his plate in the sink, and washes his hands. “Long day today.”
I frown. “I haven’t seen you, like, all week.”
He also frowns, an exaggerated version of mine. “I know. How’s work and your promotion?”
“It’s…actually really fun. Nerve-wracking, sometimes, but fun.”
He nods in understanding. “You’ll have to make something for your mother and bring it home.”
I smile. “When I get really good at it, I will.”
“And what about this afternoon? Did you have fun, wherever you were?” I assume he heard my phone call with my mom because his eyes are twinkling, teasing.
“Yeah, it was a lot of fun, actually,” I say, hoping he doesn’t bring it up. “Did Tom tell you about this local charity organization?”
“He did not.”
“One of Keagan’s friends runs it. Levi.” I quickly explain TCP while I still have my dad’s full attention. “He’s such a neat guy, Papa. I think you’d really like him.”
“I see. Why didn’t you tell us about this before?”
“Daaaad. I haven’t seen you all week, remember?”
He smirks at me. “Just be thankful you don’t have a criminal record, Bernice.”
“Shh,” I whisper. “Don’t call me that.”
“If that’s the only punishment you get for scaring your poor mother, you deserve it.”
I stick out my tongue at him. “Fine.”
He taps my nose, smiling, despite the exhaustion I see creeping into his eyes. “See you later, Bee. I’m going to bed early.”
“Sounds good. Love you, Papa.”
He hugs me quickly, then leaves to find my mom. I hurry to my room, passing Astrid in the hall. Her smile is fit for the Grim Reaper. “You almost got so busted, Bee. Mom was, like, so close to crying.”
“I wasn’t almost busted,” I argue.
Astrid follows me back to my room and leans against my door frame. “So, a charity, huh?”
“Yeah. You should come with me sometime.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, maybe.” So like Astrid. So…dry.
“I’ll tell you when I go next.”
“All right.”
“Okay, Astrid. Time to close the door.”
“I wasn’t even here,” she says with an air of mystery. “I’m a ninja.”
Then I watch as she pushes off the door, turns around—and runs smack into the doorframe. I burst into a cackling laugh (it rivals the Wicked Witch of the West’s), while Astrid rubs her forehead.
“See? I’m so ninja that the wall didn’t even see me coming.”
I gasp for a full breath amidst lingering giggles. “Go away, you dork,” I manage.
She complies, still rubbing her forehead, huffing an indignant breath.
I shake my head, coming down from the high of laughter, and pull out my phone to check for messages.
Gretchen
You disappeared again.
I hope aliens haven’t invaded California. Let me know if you need me to rescue you.
If I don’t hear back from you in 24 hours, I will DESTROY this planet to find you.
Bee
HA!
Thanks, but there’s no need.
Gretchen
That’d better be because you were on a date with that delectable boy of yours.
Bee
I just snorted out my water, thanks for that.
He’s not my boy, okay?
But.
Gretchen
I WAS RIGHT?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!
Bee
I was with him, yes.
Gretchen
HURRAAAAAAAAY! Is he still as delicious as last time?
Bee
Gretchen, you’re hopeless. He’s not food.
However, I will begrudgingly admit he is delicious. I spent an hour with him, and every moment of it was wonderful.
Gretchen
I seem to be missing something here. So basically…you’re saying it was a date?
Bee
You hush. I went back to The Color Project, to see more of what he does there.
I’d explained TCP to Gretchen over the weekend. While she’d seemed thoroughly impressed, she was far more interested in Levi, which is also probably why she listens eagerly to me explaining what I saw in the interview room today. My fingers hurt from typing everything out, but Gretchen’s reply is worth it.
Gretchen
WHY THE HELL HAVE YOU NOT MARRIED HIM ALREADY?
Bee
Because that’s a bit unorthodox, don’t you think?
Gretchen
He sounds like the most unorthodox nineteen-year-old I’ve ever heard of. Just make a move already. Please. You’re killing me.
Bee
Not happening. Besides, he probably has a girlfriend already. Wouldn’t want to face that humiliation.
I pause. Oh. I really don’t like that thought, not at all. I groan.
Bee
You know what? I hadn’t actually thought about that before.
….
I don’t like it.
Gretchen
Yep, you’re a goner. Nice knowing you, Bee.
Bee
Wow. Gee, thanks.
Gretchen
I was teasing you, dork. You’ll be fine. When will you see him again?
Bee
When do you think?
As soon as I possibly can.
That evening, when I’m helping to clean the kitchen after dinner, I finally get to tell my mom everything about TCP. She’s fascinated, and I think it puts her at ease. (I’m not sure if the worry lines on her face are from me or whatever was bothering her the night I heard her crying. I hope neither.)
“Mom, can you believe he’s nineteen?”
“What?!” She gives me a sharp look. “Is he lying to you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.” Shrugging, I pour the leftover noodles into a Tupperware and slide it into the fridge. “I’m excited to maybe…I don’t know…maybe volunteer a couple of hours a week.”
“Okay honey, I love the idea. Just don’t overwork yourself, especially if Tracy keeps bumping
up your hours.”
“I’ll be careful, I promise. But I think it will be a nice way to spend the summer. I don’t know…I think, maybe, TCP could become important to me.”
My mom slips her arm around my waist and hugs me. She’s so short that her head rests on my shoulder. (And I’m usually the short one.) I smile as she says, “Don’t let any pretty boys get you in over your head.”
“Oh, Mama,” is all I say because, honestly, I don’t know how to respond. Anything else would be useless arguing and lies. He really is a pretty boy, and I’m already totally in over my head. “You should come visit with me, sometime.”
“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”
Millicent pops her head into the room. “What’s his last name?” she asks.
“Were you eavesdropping, M&M?”
She gives me her most innocent smile, batting her eyelashes. “No, really. What’s his last name?”
“I…actually don’t know.”
“I think it should be Berenstein.”
“…why?”
She heaves a romantic sigh. “Bernice Berenstein,” is all she says, and it’s all she has to say. I lunge at her, a teasing snarl on my lips.
She screeches and jumps back. “Don’t kill me!” she shouts as she runs, a squeal escaping her. “Don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t killllll me!”
I tackle her on the couch, pinning her down. “I’m not going to kill you, but I will take my sweet time torturing you.”
She screams and laughs as I run my fingers up and down her ribs. “STOP! STOP! BEE, STOP IT!”
I finally get off her, adjusting my t-shirt and my glasses, which tilted awkwardly in the fray. “Millicent May, be thankful I’m not a terrible person.”
She giggles, standing up again, backing away. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, then closes it. Then says with an accompanying giggle, “Mrs. Berenstein.”
I laugh, a little too loud, but I can’t help it. “God, that is awful.”
“I know,” she says, grinning like she’s told the funniest joke in the history of jokes.
I roll my eyes. “You should get out of here before I bury you in tickles.”
She shrieks one last time before darting out of the room. I glance over at my mom, who is squinting at me, a tiny smile on her pretty lips. “What?” I ask.
The Color Project Page 8
