Chapter 12

I drive to The Color Project first thing after work on Wednesday, my fingers tapping against my steering wheel to the beat blasting through my speakers. I feel a strange sense of calm, almost like my brain has shut off due to overwhelming excitement. (And probably a fear of me puking.)

I get to see Levi today. I’ve been counting down the hours.

Even though I park directly in front, four feet away from the door, the sun blasts me so hard when I get out of the car that I’m starting to sweat by the time I’m inside. (It’s the end of June, when dry California briefly turns humid.) Inside the office, the air conditioner is blasting at full force. I stop at the window, where a young girl sits, chewing her nails and texting. She’s got her dark hair in a high ponytail, glitter on her eyelids, and even more on her shoes, which are propped up on the desk between us. Even her arms, chest, and neck shimmer with glitter lotion.

I stare blankly. So this must be the infamous Missy Alvarez.

“Hi! Is Levi here?” I ask, tearing my eyes from her shoes. They’re the kind of footwear you’d expect to see on Beyoncé during a red carpet event—not on a girl wearing jeans and a t-shirt in a charity office in Escondido.

But, here we are.

Missy smacks her gum. She’s about to answer when The Boy sticks his head into the room behind her. He smiles. “You!”

My lips break apart in a wide grin. “Me.”

Levi stands behind Missy’s chair. “Missy, meet Bee. Bee, this is Missy.

“Hi,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

“Is she a new volunteer?” she asks Levi, and then blows a spectacularly large bubble. It pops perfectly, as if she’s practiced this moment again and again.

He looks at me for a second, then at Missy. “Not unless she wants to be.” His words are loaded with invitation and (I think) hope, but his tone is unassuming, letting me off the hook.

Missy groans. “You should get someone to take over some of my hours. I just don’t have enough time in the day, you know?”

I swear Levi’s eye twitches. He opens his mouth, as if to say something—and then blows out a deep breath. “I’ll open that for you,” he says, nodding to the door on my right. He disappears, and a few seconds later it swings open.

“Bethany?” he asks.

I shut the door behind me, a little too hard. “Bethany who?”

His face falls. “That’s not your name?”

“Oh, um, no?” I laugh out loud. “Of course it’s not. I would be relatively happy if my name were Bethany.”

He harrumphs, but his eyes tease me. “Well, I was going to say. Bethany is a beautiful name, and you looked like you might be one.”

“Thanks, but no. I’m not.”

I follow him into the interview room, where Levi heads straight for the desk and grabs three pieces of paper, stapled together. Then he ushers me over to the sitting area. “Ready to see what we do up close?”

I’m so awkward; I don’t know what to do with my hands or how to sit (I feel like a stiff board). But for once, I do know what to say. “I’m so ready.”

The corner of his mouth shifts upward. “You’re not a Bonnie, are you?”

I almost choke. “Bonnie? No.”

He looks at me directly in the eyes and says, “Hmm. I guess not.”

I want to tell him to stop trying to guess when there’s a knock at the door and Missy stomps inside on her four-inch pumps. She steps to the side to allow someone in, a woman around twenty-five-years-old. Her hair is light blond, cut to the shoulders, and she has blue eyes that actually sparkle. I’m struck immediately by how happy she looks, shaking Levi’s hand.

Then he’s turning to me, and I snap into focus. “Stacey, this is Bee, one of our volunteers.”

I shake the woman’s hand, smiling at Levi’s words. I’m pretty sure he’s said this for Stacey’s benefit, because explaining my presence would be complicated otherwise, but I like how it sounds anyway. I think Levi knows this, the same way he knew I would care about The Color Project in the first place.

After the introduction, Levi and I sit on the love seat together. (I don’t think about this too hard.) He hands me the paperwork and points to the main paragraph in the middle of the first page. I read over it, barely listening to their conversation so I can catch up on Stacey’s story. She was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, the paper reads, an early stage the doctors think will be easy to control, but her treatments are going to be harsh.

By the time I’m done reading, it’s only been a few minutes. I look up at them, captured by how they’re laughing and talking. It makes this seem more like a coffee date with a friend than an interview with an applicant.

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.