I look at the clock. There are ten minutes till two, so I busy myself by cleaning up the mess Tracy just made, my feet constantly tapping or moving, my fingers always holding or snipping. I don’t even mind when I trip over a loose bucket on my way out the back door, or that the minivan is stiflingly hot, or that it takes an hour and a half to get home instead of thirty minutes. I’m just so excited to pick up my car, to see new tires and feel new brakes.
And to never have to drive this minivan again.
The repair shop is dark when Tom and I pull up in his car. Everything is closed down except for one of the garage doors, where a single car is raised. Two legs stick out from underneath.
My brother parks in front and nods. “There’s Levi.”
I peer into the dim light of the parking lot, trying to better see the man under the car. “I’m rather put off that everyone knows him and forgot to introduce us,” I say.
Tom snorts. “He’s been at the shop for three months and you haven’t met him?”
I’m about to retort, but then Levi is climbing out from under the car, standing, wiping his hands on his orange sweater—
The Boy.
I nearly shriek. “Tom, I can’t go in there.”
“What?” He looks rather alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“I was staring at him, oh dear God, I was staring right at him three days ago, and he smirked at me, and I feel so awkward.”
Tom looks at me, completely blank-faced for exactly three and a half seconds before he bursts out laughing. His buzzed head tips back with perfect glee. If it were possible to roll around in a car, Tom would be doing it right now.
“What?” I hiss.
“You think he’s cute,” he says between gasps.
It’s not a question, not one bit. My brother knows me too well, and I swear I will punch him so hard if—
“Come on, Bee. He probably sees so many people come through here every day that he won’t even remember.”
“I’m not stupid. He knows Michael is my friend, he saw me talking with all the guys, and Michael told him I was coming tonight. He knows. He knows!” I’m hissing again, which means I’m about to overload on excitement. (Not the good kind.)
Tom gets out of the car and comes around to my side. He grabs my arm and helps—no, yanks—me to my feet. “Stop being such a wuss. He’s just a boy. Since when do you give a crap about what boys think of you?”
He’s right. I’m being irrational. I’m fine. I’m fine.
I’M FINE.
I straighten my coral cardigan and brush my hands down my dark wash jeans and take a deep, deep breath of serenity.
Levi greets us as we approach, his sweater and dirty jeans clinging to his form, hair mussed and twisted every which way. He shakes my brother’s hand like he knows him, like they’ve been friends forever. I’m tempted to shrink back behind Tom and just die, but then Levi is looking at me and holding out his hand, and his eyes tell me I was right: he knows. I probably look like a lost chicken, plucked clean of feathers, being placed on the chopping block.
I shake his hand anyway.
“I’m Levi,” he says.
“…Bee.” I manage to get the word out, chiding myself instantly for my ridiculous lack of control. But gosh-darn-it, he is beautiful. Even more so up close. (And I really want to touch his hair.)
“Your car is good and ready,” he says, smiling. (Oh, yes, he has a brilliant smile.) “We took care of her. Michael said, in these exact words, ‘Bee’s very in love with her car.’”
I nearly whimper, but hold back the tiny sound before it comes out of my mouth. “He did?” I laugh, breathy and unsteady. “Well, I do love my car.”
Do I sound like an idiot? Yes. Does Levi notice? I’m not sure. He just smiles at me and waves us around to the back, pulling my key out of his pocket. His nice sweater looks like it needs a good washing, and I’m seriously tempted to ask why he’s wearing it. But Tom is here, and Tom doesn’t seem confused or curious. I’d rather not be the one to ask a question when the obvious answer is lost only to me, so I press my lips together.
Levi unlocks my car and grabs some paperwork off the dashboard, then hands me my key. “Everything’s set to go,” he says. The light from the streetlamps along the road is a nice accent to the sharp features of his face. He grins.
“Thanks, dude.” Tom shakes his hand again and pats my shoulder. “Bye, Bee.”
When Tom is halfway across the lot to his car, I realize I’m still staring after him and that Levi is staring at me.
I face him, thankful for the semi-darkness to hide my blushing skin. “Thanks, Levi. I appreciate you staying late and everything.”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing. I was already going to be here.”
I smile, hold up the key, and reach for the door handle. “I’ll let you get back to it, then?”
He presses his lips together in a thin smile and doesn’t let go of my gaze. “Do you have a name for your car?”
I am completely taken aback by this question. “Oh, um. No?”
“Well, good. We started calling her Sylvie around the shop—because she’s silver. Just wanted you to know, in case she doesn’t come when you call anymore.”
It takes me a second too long to catch the joke.
Oh.
Oh, he’s good. Really good. So charming that I’m lost to his actual words. “Well, I suppose that settles it?” Bee, stop with the questions that are supposed to be statements.
He nods with finality.
I roll down my window and close the door, but he hasn’t left yet. I hook up my iPhone and ask, “So, how do you like working here?”
Look at me, making conversation with a cute boy all by myself!
“It’s a good time. Keagan got me the job—he knows I grew up on cars.”
“The guys are good company.”
Levi’s smile agrees with me (in more ways than one). “How come I’ve never seen you here?” he asks, as if he’s genuinely interested.
“Oh, just, graduation and a new job.” I smile at him as sweetly as I can, but inside…I swear there’s an angry gorilla in my chest, pounding out a jungle rhythm. “Thanks again,” I say. I need to get out of here. He’s so distracting, dammit. Distractingly beautiful. (Beautifully distracting?) Besides, I talk way too much when I’m nervous. I’m about to start babbling, and that will be the worst thing imaginable.
He understands I want to leave (Oh dear, I hope I’m not being rude) and backs up. “See you around, Bee,” he says, his voice lazy in that California way. I want to box it up and save it for a sad day.
Then, just like a snap of my fingers, he’s heading back to the shop, and I leave him behind.
See you around, Bee.
Chapter 5
“Bee? Did you pick up the bill?”
These are the first words I hear when I get home from Mike’s. I pause mid-stride, frowning, and backtrack. I put my head around the doorframe to find my mom sitting on the couch, checkbook in hand, her floral-patterned glasses falling off her nose. “What bill?” I ask.
“Didn’t Tom tell you?” she inquires without looking up.
I shake my head. “No.”
“He’s so busted,” Mama says, laughing, but I can tell she’s only half joking. “I told him to tell you to get the bill from Michael tonight. Remember the little job he did for your dad two weeks ago?”
“Oh, yeah. He can’t just mail it to you?”
“Well, he’s going to have to now. Unless you can pick it up tomorrow?”
I swallow. “Pick it up? Maybe.” I totally can, since I only work a four hour shift tomorrow, but the possibility of me making a fool of myself in front of Levi is very real. I already feel like I should be banned from spending extended periods of time with The Boy. If I can sneak i
n, grab the check, and get out before anyone can spot me, it will all be fine.
“Would you, please, baby?”
I swallow again—and nod. My social failures shouldn’t stop me from saving my mother from Tom’s lack of memory. “But only because Tom’s sleeping all day tomorrow. I have a few choice words for him…”
She chuckles. “Just make sure they’re nice. And Bee?” she asks as I turn again.
I smile at her over my shoulder.
She pauses over her work for a second, as if carefully choosing her words. “Do you…have any leads?”
My smile droops, because I instantly know what she’s talking about, and I don’t want to discuss it right now. “Um. No?”
Thing You Should Know About Me #601: I love a lot of things. I find genetics fascinating, and fashion trends, and gourmet cooking, and astronomy, and architecture and interior decorating and production. Which is why it is incredibly hard for me to figure out what to study and where to study. I decided shortly before graduation to take a gap year, which I think worries my mom. I’m pretty sure she imagines me homeless at twenty-five whenever this topic comes up.
“Are you doing research?” she asks.
I approach her and kiss her cheek. “Yes, of course,” I say, and instantly feel guilty for the white lie. It isn’t that I don’t want to research, I just haven’t had time these last few weeks. “I’ll have a lead soon, I’m sure.”
Possibly another white lie, but a very hopeful one.
My mom smiles. “Okay, Baby Bee.”
I smile back. “Okay. I’m going to get some sleep.”
She lets me go with another kiss and I hurry to my room. I try to shut my door behind me, but Tom appears out of nowhere and follows me in. He gives me a relieved look.
“What?” I ask as he leans against the doorframe.
“Thanks for saving my ass. I totally forgot.”
I shake my head at him. “Don’t you have to be at work?”
“I’m leaving in a few. Hey, I wanted you to know there’s a party tomorrow night at Keagan’s. You should come—it’s the first party of the summer.”
I raise both eyebrows. “Um…if I’m not too tired?”
“You can get the check from Michael, if you don’t want to go back to the shop.”
“Yeah, okay, probably.”
He stares at me.
“Okay, I’ll go.” I laugh at his look of pure excitement.
He grins. “Excellent. Maybe I can get you to play pool this time.”
“Don’t press your luck. Now get out and go to work, you turd.”
“Sleep well, Beef,” he says, kissing my forehead.
I roll my eyes at his stupid nickname for me, watching him go, and shut the door behind him. Since he sleeps most of the time I’m actually home (stupid night shift), I miss him more than I expected I would when he first got this job months ago.
I pull out my phone and text Michael to ask if he can bring the check to the party. Then I switch apps. As expected, Gretchen has messaged me, and she’s still awake—even though it’s one o’clock in the morning her time.
Bee
I’m sorry I’m late. Long day at work, and then I had to pick up my car.
Plus Tom was slow getting ready. He’s a pain in the butt, as usual.
Gretchen
Ha! But he’s a cute pain.
Bee
Ew. We are not having this conversation. I have something better for you. I met a boy today.
Gretchen
YOU MET SOMEONE? YOU. MET. SOMEONE. BERNICE, PLEASE TELL ME YOU HAVE A DATE.
Bee
Please! Goodness, no. He’s been working at Mike’s for a few months, apparently. I finally met him and OH MY GOD he is so attractive. Annnnnd…well, I may or may not have seen him before. When he caught me staring at him at the shop a few days ago. It was incredibly mortifying. I’m 1000% sure that he recognized me.
I describe Levi in detail, taking care to include his amazing hair and the bright sweaters and how freaking tall he is. I can practically hear Gretchen sigh in response.
Gretchen
He sounds like a dreamboat! I’ll sacrifice a goat so he’ll ask you out, like, yesterday.
Bee
A goat? Really?
Gretchen
I’M FLUENT IN GOAT SACRIFICE.
Bee
Oh my God, I’m cackling.
Gretchen
Just try to sneak a picture next time. I want to see him.
Bee
You know I suck at sneaky pictures. But I can tell you this: his name is Levi.
Gretchen
OMG. Sexy.
Bee
Of course he’s sexy. He has Douglas Booth hair.
Except….bigger and better.
In the end, there is no comparison.
Gretchen
………
…………………….
…………………………………..
Bee
What?
Gretchen
I hope you realize how many penis jokes I could make right now.
Bee
GRETCHEN!
SSSSHHHH
NO! NO PENIS JOKES!
Gretchen
Calm down, freak. I won’t….this time.
Bee
Never. Not a single penis joke ever or you’re as dead as Jay Gatsby.
I can just feel your smug grin. It’s disgusting.
Gretchen
Well, hurry up getting your claws into him.
(Oh, it’s even more smug and disgusting than you’re imagining.)
Bee
Shut up.
Hey, I have to go now. I’m falling asleep just thinking about what time I have to get up tomorrow.
And there’s a *party*.
Gretchen
Ooohhh. Tom talk you into that?
Bee
Yes. He knows how to sweet talk me into almost anything.
Gretchen
LOL! I bet he sweet talks lots of girls into lots of things.
No worries, I should sleep, too. Talk to you tomorrow, ok?
Bee
Oh, gross, thanks for that mental image.
And yes, of course. Love you. I think you’re crap.
I lock the screen and gaze at it longingly for a few seconds before setting it on the nightstand. I barely have the energy to change into my pajamas before I’m out, lost in dreamland. There are flowers, in this dreamland, and a beautiful boy named Levi wearing a bright sweater made of all different colors, all at once.
I swear he’s smirking at me.
Chapter 6
It’s way too early for a Saturday, but I’m here at the shop an hour early for Tracy while she makes an emergency run to the market. My only instructions are on a small note in the back.
Bee, go ahead and start cleaning up the mess I left. So sorry—I couldn’t finish everything before I started falling asleep. I’ll be there at eight forty-five, if I’m lucky.
I grab my ruffled apron and start washing buckets. This job takes a long time since Tracy left about thirty of them stacked together. It takes even longer than usual because I have to wrestle them apart. After a good forty-five minutes, I’ve washed them all, sprayed the insides with bleach, and stacked them upside down on the drying rack. The tower reaches well past my head, and I just pray and pray and pray there isn’t an earthquake today, of all days.
After I set up the signs and filter through the cooler for any old flowers to throw out, I turn on the computer. I’m not dumb when it comes to electronics, but this computer is way too slow for its own good. Tracy tells me it’s her next big purchase. (I’m counting down the days.)
I open the doors and let in the cool ocean breeze, then stand behind the counter at nine o’clock. It’s my first Saturday to work, and I’m not entirely sure what to expect: the manic insanity that Tracy described in detail, or just…busy.
So I wait.
For exactly nineteen seconds.
Three women appear in the door, propped up on four-inch heels and hoisting bulky purses over their shoulders. When they ask for a bouquet for a birthday brunch, I point them to the premade section in the cooler. “And if you can’t find what you want there, our designer will be in shortly and can create something for you.” I glance at the clock. Please, Tracy, hurry.
Lucky for me, the women find what they want, pay, and rush out in a number of minutes. Not-so-lucky for me, however, they aren’t the only customers to enter in the first twenty minutes. Before long, I’m rushing around, grabbing bags and ribbons and mugs and candles from the gift section.
And yes, I’m panicking. I’m trying my hardest to breathe deeply, trying not to count down the minutes until Tracy gets here, but—
My phone dings—a text from Tracy. I read it as I run to the back to grab a new vase to replace a broken one. (I’m amazed it didn’t cut the elderly lady who grabbed it off the shelf.)
Tracy
Stuck in traffic. Be another twenty minutes.
My eyes widen and my breathing quickens, but there is absolutely nothing I can do about this. I trade the flowers from the broken vase to the new one, then I ring her up with a discount, and send her on her way with a smile. (I hope she believes the smile.)
Finally, the busy morning begins to slow down. I lean against the counter, running my gaze over the room to make sure nothing has been broken or messed up by grabby customer hands. But I only have a few minutes before the doorbell makes a terrible racket as yet another customer pushes the door open. I cringe inwardly, twice—once for my aching feet and a second time because this woman looks mad already.
The Color Project Page 3