The Color Project

by Sierra Abrams

  “Nothing. Nothing.” And she turns back to the stove.

  But I’m still thinking about Levi, and his eyes on me, everything about him made from pure joy and delight and I just want to wrap myself in it, in him. I have to remind myself to breathe. “Mom?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Would it be weird if I liked him?”

  She glances at me. “No, not really. I like him already, and I haven’t even met him. He’s a potential Precious Heart, you know?”

  “You’re not allowed to like him. You’re too old and you have Dad.” I sigh. “And yes, yes I do know.”

  She sticks out her tongue at me.

  I laugh and slump against the fridge door, staring blindly at the back of my mom’s head as I wonder: What if some things are unavoidable? What if this is the ebb and flow of destiny?

  If it is, destiny doesn’t sound half bad.

  My mom has this Thing With People. There are Precious Hearts, and then there are…Regular People.

  She can spot these Precious Hearts instantly, smell them a mile away, because she is one. (She’d deny it to her grave, but…case in point.) The group consists of people like Florence Nightingale, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, Anne Sullivan, Marie Curie, Denzel Washington, and Lin-Manuel Miranda. They are people who give and teach and express love in ways that inspire the rest of us to do more, to be better.

  I cannot deny that Levi could easily make that list.

  (If I’m really honest, he already has.)

  I lie awake in bed that night, eyes on the ceiling, my mind not-so-far-away in TCP’s office, imagining meeting the rest of the volunteers. And even though Missy’s a drama queen, I wouldn’t mind working with her.

  I roll over onto my side with my arms tucked around my pillow like it’s a lifeline. Even as I mull over everything…serious Grown Up Things like my future and college…despite it all, I fall into a deep sleep.

  Behind my eyelids, I dream of Missy and Levi arguing over the last donut in a once-full box. Uneaten, it frowns at them, clearly unamused. Then it bursts into glitter just before I wake up.

  Chapter 14

  Here’s the thing about fighting: In my house, unless it’s between us siblings, we don’t hear it much. My parents, while far from perfect, don’t fight all that often. When I look at them, I see exactly what I want to have with someone, someday. They argue and have their moments, but I believe, in the end, their love is what counts the most.

  So when I hear them fighting later in the week, I halt in the middle of the kitchen so I can listen. (Thing You Should Know About Me #249: Sometimes I have no qualms about eavesdropping. It might be terrible, but hey, at least I’m honest about it.)

  My parents, I discover quickly, have locked themselves into their bedroom, conversing in loud whispers and rushed words. Even though I put my ear by the door for a few minutes, I can’t make out a single thing they say. I leave when my mom starts crying, her sobs creating an ache in my chest that makes me feel hollow.

  So I do the first thing I can think of—I get in my car. I drag my sisters with me, too, and I text both of my parents to let them know we’ve gone out. The girls protest—Astrid because she’s stubborn, and Millicent because she’s crying.

  “They’re going to get a divorce. I just know it!” Millicent wails.

  Despite my own worry, I almost laugh. Meet Millie, the resident Drama Queen. “What makes you think that, Millie?”

  She wails some more. “First last week, then the other day, now today—I just know it!”

  “Would you calm down?” Astrid scolds against the sound of Millicent sniffling.

  “Millie, I highly doubt they’re getting a divorce. All parents fight.” I don’t admit to her that I’m also upset by what I heard. Or, in this case, what I didn’t hear. Being left in the dark about something so tense makes my nerves go haywire.

  “This is the fourth time in two weeks!” Millie protests, as if that proves everything.

  I shake my head, feigning control, and buckle my seatbelt. I don’t respond until I’ve pulled out of the driveway. I’m trying to remember the last time my parents fought so much. “Stop, Millie,” I finally say. “You’re not helping anything.”

  “Where are we going, then?” she asks, still through tears.

  “I don’t know,” I answer, but really I do. I want to check if Levi is at TCP, even though there’s a chance he’s working at Mike’s. Still, I want my sisters to see the place, to meet him, to see what I saw. I think that—with a little change of scenery—Millie will grow back her usual smile and Astrid will lose her bad attitude.

  It’s not going to be easy. Astrid lets out a low groan when I pull up to the building a few minutes later. “Are we seriously going to see your boyfriend?”

  I groan as I exit the car, realizing that I’m going to have to change tactics if I want this to work. “No, because I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m taking you to get donuts down the street. And then I’m going to take you to The Color Project to see if I can get a phone number from Levi.”

  “You can’t just go to the car shop and, like, ask Keagan?” Astrid points out.

  I bite back a retort. “No. I don’t have the energy to deal with those boys today. I just want to relax. Besides, don’t you want a donut?”

  “I do!” Millicent pipes up, no longer crying, though her voice still sounds a little frail. “I want one. Can I get one with pink sprinkles?”

  I smile and hope it doesn’t look tired. “Sure.”

  She tosses her thick blond hair over her shoulder. “Good.”

  Astrid rolls her eyes again but says nothing. She’s quiet and contemplative as we hurry along the sidewalk. I lean into her. “Don’t worry about it, Astrid. It can still be a good day.”

  My words don’t inspire me like I’d hoped, but Astrid brightens some. After we wait in an extraordinarily long line, I order for Millie and myself, let Astrid place her order, and pay. I’m grabbing the box of sugary sweet donuts when—

  “Bee?”

  No.

  Nononononono.

  NO.

  I want to drop and play dead, but I can’t pretend like I didn’t hear him. I turn slowly, feeling like a very creaky tin man. Levi is standing in the line beside me, hands in his pockets, looking happy as usual. He probably just made someone’s day and is still high from the rush.

  “Hey!” I exclaim. (Great. Super awkward. Now fix it, you idiot.)

  He laughs. “Did you come back for the good stuff?”

  I nod, embarrassed. Something about him catching me here after the last two times I’ve been here with him makes me supremely uncomfortable. It’s like I’ve broken some secret pact of friendship. I also don’t want it to be obvious that more than half of my reason for coming back was to see him. (I’m a hot mess.) “I brought my sisters,” I say by way of excuse, waving them over. “I figured they have to try this as much as I did.”

  “Heck yeah, they do.” Levi quickly orders his donut and pays. When he has his bag, he comes to stand beside us. He shakes the girls’ hands, very politely. “I’m Levi.”

  “Millie,” my youngest sister says, blinking incredibly fast, eyes glued to his face.

  “Astrid,” my other sister mumbles. She isn’t nearly as impressed, but Levi takes no notice.

  “Nice names.” He sounds genuine, but I wonder if he’s trying to get me to spill the beans on my name. Hell no. He must see my expression, because he grins. “Want to come back with me? I have to grab some paperwork, and then I’m off for an evening shift at Mike’s.”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  Millie and Astrid have no choice but to follow. Levi is the first one to talk, walking so close to me that our elbows touch. “I’m glad I caught you before I left. Did everything work out okay? With your mom?”

&
nbsp; “Yeah,” I say. “Thankfully, I have a good track record.”

  Laughing, he opens the door to TCP, ushering us inside. I don’t see Missy, but rather a girl in her mid-twenties with short brown hair and misty blue eyes. She’s talking to an applicant, but quickly stands to open the blue door for us before disappearing back into the office.

  Levi lets us into the interview room. A boy is sitting on the loveseat, staring lazily at the pile of glitter specks in his palm. “Hello?” he asks, very politely, a light accent lilting his voice. “Levi, what’s going on?”

  “Want to meet Barbie?” Levi asks the boy, who I assume is Albert.

  There are a few moments of silence. Then I realize he’s referring to me, and everyone is glancing with uncertainty in my direction. Levi, because he expects a reaction; my sisters, because they have no idea what the heck is going on.

  The sound that escapes me is practically a snort. “Nice try.”

  That damn smirk again. He runs a hand through his hair and nods. “I was close. Wasn’t I?”

  “Not even a little bit.” I turn back to Albert. “I’m Bee.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He’s looking at Astrid intently. “You?”

  “I’m Astrid Jean Wescott,” she says, lips tight, wary.

  “And I’m Millicent.” Millie frowns when Albert doesn’t look at her. “Excuse me, what’s your name?” she prompts.

  Albert lifts his hand—palm flat—and blows, hard, into Millicent’s face.

  Millie sucks in a sharp breath—and instantly regrets it. “There’s glitter in my nose!” she screams, and runs straight through the open bathroom door.

  I laugh, but quietly, so I don’t feel like a terrible sister. Levi, on the other hand, looks terribly vexed. “Albert, please go get the vacuum.”

  Albert sighs. “Fine. Goodbye, Astrid Jean Wescott,” he adds. Then he scurries from the room.

  “Whoa.” Astrid is staring at the ground where the glitter lies in a heap. “He is so cool.”

  Levi puts his hand over his face. “Don’t say that. Albert’s glitter problem might just break me one day. I have recurring nightmares about it. There’s a vacuum filled with glitter, and it explodes, and I can never ever clean it up no matter how hard I scrub and how often I sweep.” Here he gives Astrid an exhausted smile, as if his dreams are actually sucking energy from him.

  Astrid crosses her arms. “I don’t see the problem.”

  Okaaaay, time to change the subject. “Thanks for the other day,” I say, abruptly, to get his attention off Astrid.

  Levi looks up sharply. “Who should be thanking who?”

  “Definitely me thanking you.”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Shrugging, Levi says, “I don’t fight about stupid things,” before turning to the bathroom. “You all right in there, Millie?”

  My sister comes out with her hair and eyelids sparkling, but her nose seems all clear. “Fine. Fine.”

  Levi nods gravely. “Albert gets to the best of us, Millie.”

  She brightens. “Okay.”

  We leave when Albert returns with the vacuum and Levi grabs his laundry from the bathroom. Albert stares at Astrid for a bit longer, his blond hair flopping into his eyes. When we close the door on him, Astrid’s cheeks are bright red. “He is so cool,” she repeats.

  The brunette at the front desk stops us on our way out.

  “Is this the famous Bee I’ve heard all about?” she asks, extending her hand to me over her desk. “I’m Clary-Jane.”

  Levi gives me a shifty look, like he’s embarrassed.

  He’s been talking about me, I think. I choke on my words as I shake Clary-Jane’s hand. “Hi, yeah, I’m Bee.” I clear my throat. “Nice to meet you! And these are my sisters.”

  Clary-Jane shakes their hands, smiling. Then she continues her work, stapling papers together and organizing them in a filing cabinet to her right. “I heard you had the tour last week.”

  “Yeah,” I say, sneak a glance at Levi. His cheeks are red.

  “Isn’t it awesome?” Clary-Jane asks.

  The genuine excitement of her tone gets me. “Yes! I love it here already.”

  “Good.” She glances at Levi before saying, “You should come to the fundraiser we’re hosting in a couple of weeks.”

  “Clary-Jane!” Levi exclaims in a pathetic voice, pouting his bottom lip. “I was going to invite her.”

  I glance between them. “What fundraiser?”

  “Basically,” Clary-Jane goes on, “we’re a bunch of artists are donating their paintings so we can host a gallery. People bid on the art, and the money we raise goes directly to the community.”

  Levi leans against the wall beside the window. “That was the original reason I named it The Color Project; I wanted to use art to help the needy. After a year, we’re finally getting to that point.” He gives Clary-Jane a withering look. “Don’t steal my thunder. I want to do the inviting.”

  She smiles with feigned innocence. “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Good. Now.” Levi frowns at the clock on the wall. “I have to be at work in ten minutes.”

  “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry,” I say. “We’ll leave now.”

  “I’m not kicking you out or anything,” Levi says. “Just letting you know I have to leave. I’m covering Keagan’s shift today.”

  “We’ll go with you, anyway. We should get home.” It’s nearly four o’clock and I have dinner duty tonight.

  Outside, the girls say goodbye to Levi before getting in the car and closing their respective doors. I linger outside a little longer. “Thank you for the introductions,” I say. “I think it’s incredibly amazing what you’re doing here.”

  He grins as if that’s the best thing he’s ever heard, as if he doesn’t hear the praise all day long already. “I’ll send along an invitation to the fundraiser, okay? Which reminds me…” He reaches into his pocket for his phone. “I need your info.”

  He holds it out to me. I take it. (Read: I have to physically restrain myself from excitedly ripping it out of his hands.) “Of course.”

  “Phone number and email, if that’s all right.”

  I give him my phone to add his number to, and add myself to his contacts as “B-E-E”. When I hand it back to him, he laughs.

  “Thanks, Bailey.”

  I shake my head no. “You’re really off track, you know?”

  “Well, how am I supposed to make any real guesses if you won’t give me any clues?”

  “You’re not.” I smile mischievously. “That’s the point. I know how to play this game.”

  He squares his shoulders. “I’m not giving up. Not now, not ever.”

  “That’s nice,” I say, distracted because Astrid is waving at me from the car, her phone in her hands. “What’s wrong?” I call out.

  “Mom called!” she yells through her window. “She said we should come home. The storm blew over.”

  I nod and wave in response, but when I turn to Levi, he’s got a question written all over his face. “A storm?”

  I swallow. “My parents were, um, fighting earlier,” I admit, although saying it out loud sounds a little silly. “Millie started panicking, so I took them out of the house. I told her it’s normal for all parents to fight, but our parents do this so little that I think it’s just weird for us all.”

  Levi, I realize, suddenly looks pained. Whatever I’ve said has set off a nerve, and I’m babbling. “I’m sorry,” I add, quickly.

  He shakes his head. “No, don’t be sorry.” He shrugs, his shirt moving with his form. “My parents are divorced.”

  I wince. “Oh, yeah. Keagan mentioned that.”

  “I’m okay with it, now. I live with my mom, and she’s great. I’m happy
I only see my dad once a month, if that.”

  “Gosh.” I open my mouth, close it, and open it again. I don’t know what to say.

  The smile starts to come back into his eyes. “Don’t be flustered. It’s not a big secret or anything.”

  (Don’t be flustered, he says. But I am, and it’s not just because I unwittingly brought up a rough topic.)

  He takes his keys from his pocket and loops them around his fingers. “I’m sorry I have to leave you, Bee, but I’m going to be late. Keagan will kick my ass for screwing up his shift.”

  “Oh, right! Yes! So sorry.”

  He shakes his head, reaching out to touch my arm. His thumb lingers on the skin above my elbow. His skin feels cold, but maybe that’s because in .5 seconds my body managed to retain the heat of a thousand suns. “You’re always sorry, Bee. Stop that.”

  Then he drops his hand and backs up a few steps, slowly.

  I grin, despite myself. I’m still thinking about his hand on my arm, and how even though he’s held my hand before (and shook it, and bumped my arm with his, and put his arm around my shoulder), this was far more intimate. This was deliberate. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. See you later?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good,” he repeats, and after looking at me for a moment longer, we part ways on the sidewalk, sunshine stretching between us.

  Chapter 15

  The third time I hear my mom crying, I’m walking into my house with one arm around my most recent floral creation (which I loved enough to purchase for myself). My stomach instantly clenches at the sound, every part of me going still, with my foot keeping the door half-open behind me.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  No answer, but the crying fades into soft sniffling. Whatever’s going on, she doesn’t want me to know about it.

  I close the door and tip-toe toward the living room, where I’m surprised to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch together. The mood is different this time, raw. They sit on opposite ends, my mom with her face in her hands, my dad leaning back with his eyes on the ceiling. I’ve never seen that expression on his face before, so I don’t know what to call it.