The Color Project

by Sierra Abrams

  Chapter 9

  The rest of my night is split into tiny moments. Or stars, if you will.

  I see Tom and Michael, going into the dark water in nothing but their underwear. (I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a hot poker than see their soggy asses again.)

  I see myself, like an out of body experience, standing by Keagan, not doing the things I’ve dared myself to do.

  I see Levi chatting with that girl Elle again, although this time they don’t stand so close, and she’s wearing a Hannibal t-shirt that matches her hair. (I think I’d like to meet her.)

  I see Keagan stoking the bonfire to keep it going, warming his hands over the flames. His long, wavy hair casts a shadow over his face.

  I see Levi, rolling up his jeans and standing with bare feet in the small waves. His sweater is yellow, like the first time I saw him, and I feel a pulse of boldness.

  I see the tide, slowly receding, being pulled by the moon.

  I see the moon.

  I see Levi.

  I walk across our little corner of the beach, in our corner of the country, in our corner of the world, and I smile at him. A little hesitant, a little uncertain. But I say, anyway, “Can I ask you…um…a kind of…strange question?”

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I like strange questions. Shoot.”

  I take a deep breath. “Why do you wear bright sweaters?”

  I’m pretty sure his face glows, set off by the moon, or by his happiness, or by something magic in the air that’s also affecting me, filling my heart. “I was just waiting for you to ask!” he says, laughing. “You kept staring at my clothes.”

  Me, internally: I’m so relieved that you think I was staring at your clothes, of all things.

  Me, externally: “Well, everyone seemed to know why except me, but I didn’t know how to ask without it coming off as weird…so…”

  He smiles. “Will you let me show you?”

  To this, of course, I nod.

  “How about right now?”

  There isn’t a single thing I want more than that, but still, I raise one eyebrow. “It’s almost eleven.”

  “Yeah, but if you come to the office tonight, you’ll get to see everything all lit up.”

  He has an office. Of course he does.

  After a pause, I nod. “All right, but this better not be a prank,” I say, thinking of all the trouble Tom would get up to just for a scare.

  Levi just laughs. I pretend I’m not affected by his laugh, that it doesn’t make me want to laugh with him. “Okay then…” I say, but I’m still hesitant. “Not a prank?”

  “No.” He tilts his head to the side as if observing me, watching my expression change from worry to happiness. “Definitely not a prank.” He blinks, eyes catching the moonlight. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “Not one.”

  Levi grins, turning once more to the ocean, his shoulder brushing mine. “Good,” he says. “It’s better that way.”

  Chapter 10

  Tom drops us off on the corner of Escondido Blvd. and 10th Ave., which makes me suspicious. “I thought you said we were going to an office?” The only buildings I know along these roads are restaurants and thrift stores and hair salons. (And Levi’s house.)

  “We are,” Levi replies, getting out.

  Tom waves me out of the car. “I’ll see you at home,” he says, and the second my door is shut he drives away. Levi promised to take me home, and while I mostly trust him, it still feels a bit weird to be left alone with a Boy on a dark road at midnight. (Thing You Should Know About Me #33: I’m not a rebel.)

  Levi motions for me to follow him, so I do—only a few steps down the block. He stops at a dark building, its glass doors and large windows completely black. Unlocking the front door, he holds out a hand to stop me from following. “Take a step back and look up.”

  I do as he says. He steps inside, folding into the dark building like he never existed, and I swallow hard. “Levi?” I call out.

  A second later, I’m blinded. Colored lights brighten this corner of the street, bathing me in a rainbow. The sign across the top of the building reads THE COLOR PROJECT, in bright, curling, bold letters. It’s shocking, mostly because I was not expecting this much light, but also because I’ve passed this place a million times and never thought about it once.

  Now that there’s some light, I can (sort of) see Levi inside: his outline, his yellow sweater, half of his face. He smiles, waving—or is that him gesturing for me to come inside?

  “I’ve driven past this place before,” I call to him, looking up at the bright sign again.

  He steps into the open doorway, raising one eyebrow, and his mouth quirks in that way of his. He sweeps his wavy, messy, brilliant hair off his forehead. “Want to see inside?”

  “Yes,” I say, a little breathless, and join him. When he flicks the light switch, and all the fluorescents flicker into existence, I notice five things in rapid succession.

  First: the enveloping brightness of the room, blues and greens and oranges, all swirling on the walls.

  Second: the toys in the corner, organized inside wooden cubbies.

  Third: the window to an office, and a closed door beside that, set up like a doctor’s office.

  Fourth: the flecks of glitter on the ground. It’s not inlaid; rather, it needs to be swept off the floor. I wonder about it for two seconds before I’m distracted by Levi lifting himself onto the counter protruding from the office window. He kicks his legs out once and then crosses them at the ankles.

  Fifth: Levi.

  He just happens to be my favorite thing, out of all of this. He’s watching me closely, his expression equal parts pride and joy and contentment.

  “Is this, like, a second job?” I ask.

  He waves me over, grabbing my hand as I attempt to lift myself onto the counter. Considering my legs are not nearly as long as his, it takes more than one effort. Finally, when I’m firmly seated beside him, I cross my ankles like him and let go of his hand.

  “The Color Project is…everything to me.” His shoulders curve a little, in a humble way. “It’s a charity. People in the community come here, apply for whatever they need, and we provide the money or help via our sponsors.”

  I make a choked noise as I turn my head so I can look up at him. He looks down at me, meets my gaze, and I try to shut my surprised, open mouth. “Levi.”

  The smile he gives me is the best one yet. “I love it here.”

  “I’m so…surprised. Amazed?” What is the right word I’m looking for? Looking around me, I ask, “How…how does it work?”

  “You can pick up an application either from the box outside or the front desk. I have volunteers, ages fifteen to twenty-five, who come in at three-thirty every day and answer the phone, meet walk-ins, and sometimes conduct interviews.

  “When someone applies, we look at how much money they need and figure out where they are on the waiting list. Well, first we do background checks. There have been a few sneaky liars, but for the most part, everyone checks out. Then we compare it with how much money we have coming in. We have a stable monthly income from consistent sponsors, plus extra donations that come from random people throughout the year. We never turn anyone down, of course,” he adds, answering my next question, “but if there’s ever a budget deficiency, we put the least pressing applications on a special wait list. Anyway, when we have the funds for the next applicants, we call them in for an ‘interview’—” Levi makes quotations with his fingers “—and give them a check.”

  I let it all sink in, trying to close my gaping mouth. “I can’t believe this,” I say.

  He looks sheepish. “I’m hoping for a bigger facility someday, but right now this is all we can afford. We’re growing in sponsors every month, though, so that’s good. More people ar
e willing to give than I expected.”

  “Levi…you run this place.” It’s a statement, made purely out of awe and some disbelief.

  “Yeah.” He says it in an unassuming way, like he doesn’t want that kind of attention. (I love him a little bit for it.) While I’m mooning over him like an idiot, Levi jumps off the counter. “Want to tour the back? It’s just two rooms.”

  “You don’t even have to ask,” I answer.

  Levi unlocks the door by the office window. The hallway behind it leads to a dead end with a door on either side. The left door leads to the office I saw through the window in the lobby, but I only get a quick peek in. “Sorry it’s so disorganized right now,” he says. I brush him off, catching sight of glitter on the round table at the back. I start to mention it, but Levi’s already across the hall, opening the other door.

  “This is where we have interviews.” Levi turns on the light, and I step into a small, simply-furnished room. It has a desk in one corner, and a chair and love seat and coffee table in the other. To the left is a slightly open door that leads to what I think might be a bathroom.

  There isn’t much to take in, but I take it in anyway. “The Dreams-Come-True Room?”

  He laughs. (He has so much laughter.) “Yeah, I suppose it is. I like that name.” He sits on the arm of the chair, hands pressed flat between his thighs.

  “So, how many volunteers do you have?” I’m bursting with questions, but this is the first out of my mouth.

  “There are six, for now. Missy, Albert, Nikita, Suhani, Clary-Jane, and Elle. You saw Elle last night, yeah?”

  I smile, recalling her Hannibal t-shirt and blue hair. “She’s adorable.”

  He smirks. “Don’t let her hear you saying that. She’ll throw a fit.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Clary-Jane is the oldest volunteer, so she’s who I go to when I can’t conduct an interview or if something goes wrong. She takes care of things like a pro.” He looks up at the ceiling, as if going over a list in his head. “Elle usually runs errands, organizes events, and talks to sponsors. She’s tough and quick and…well, mostly professional.

  “Then there’s Missy, our front desk receptionist on most days. Her mom, Gabriela Alvarez, has always been a huge TCP supporter, which is great, but I think she really wants Missy to volunteer here because of her insane shopping problem. Just wait till you see her shoes.” He makes a face like he swallowed something sour.

  I laugh. “Are they that bad?”

  “Ugh.” Levi shakes his head. “They’re horrendously bejeweled and expensive.”

  “Wait…her mom…you mean Gabriela Alvarez, the news anchor?”

  “The one and only.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “So you’re on first name basis with a celebrity, huh?”

  Levi’s gives me a mischievous grin. “If I told you some of the people who have sent checks to TCP, you wouldn’t believe me.” Then he cocks his head. “You can sit down if you want.”

  I don’t want to sit. I’m bursting with energy—this place is buzzing with it—but Levi is offering, and he’s lovely, so I sit anyway.

  Levi makes himself comfortable across from me. “Nikita and Suhani are here because their parents are monthly sponsors. They really love our community.” He chuckles. “I dare you to ask them about their birthdays.”

  “Are they twins?”

  “Just ask,” he repeats. “And lastly, we have Albert, the youngest volunteer we’ve ever had—age fifteen. He’s a good kid. His family moved here from Germany a year ago, and while he’s adapting really well, they want him getting some cultural and language lessons after school. Oh, and, he’s obsessed with throwing glitter at rude people, so let me warn you to never be rude.”

  “He likes…to throw…glitter?” I ask in disbelief. But now my question is answered—that must be where all the glitter comes from.

  “Yes. I know. It might be the wildest thing you’ve ever heard. He says he thinks it will change attitudes, like it’s a social experiment.”

  My laugh comes out as a cackle. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Trust me, I know. But just wait till you get a mouthful of glitter. Then it’ll be obnoxious.” He takes out his phone; I catch a glimpse of the numbers twelve and seven. Levi gives a small laugh, his eyes drifting back up to my face. “You know, this might sound crazy since it’s midnight and all…but would you like to get donuts with me?”

  The rest of our conversation goes a little something like this:

  “But…it’s midnight.” (That’s me.)

  “So?” (Levi appears to be confused.)

  “Is anything open?” (I am also confused.)

  “Peterson’s is open twenty-four hours.” (He says it like I should know what this is.)

  “I don’t know what Peterson’s is…” (I sputter a little, but only because he’s pretty.)

  “Bee! That’s an atrocity!” (He grabs my hand.)

  Which is how I end up in a very short line of midnight-snackers in front of a street corner donut shop with outdoor seating only. The store is lined with windows full of fluffy pastries, and we have to order through windows outside, like getting tickets at a movie theater. The whole street is wafting with the sugary-sweet smell of icing and sprinkles.

  Levi looks down at me and says, very seriously, “Pick, and I’m buying.”

  “No, Levi—”

  He gives me a fake stern look. “I won’t have it.”

  I match his expression with equal determination. “I don’t want you to pay.”

  “I’m going first so I can just tell them to put your order on my dime.”

  I glare.

  He glares right back. “It’s one dollar, Bee. One dollar.”

  I sputter. “Fine. Fine. Surprise me.”

  He raises one eyebrow. “Stubborn, but I like your style. I’ll order you my favorite. You have to try it, but you don’t have to like it.” Then he leans to whisper, “But trust me—you will like it.”

  I wave him off. “Okay,” I laugh. But no matter how distracting the frosting-and-pastry smell is, my mind is still on The Color Project. I put my hands out, palms up, and exclaim, “I just…can’t believe you do all of this. Wait—how old are you?” (I’m totally not asking for my own benefit.)

  “Nineteen,” he says simply.

  I laugh. (It’s an incredulous laugh.) “You run a charity at nineteen. It’s so…noble.”

  “Nah.” He looks embarrassed, hands tucked into his pocket. “Not really. I love it so it doesn’t count.”

  “Oh, believe me, it does.”

  He looks like he wants to change the subject, so I let him. His expression is thoughtful but teasing as he says, “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

  Oh no. I must look funny because he laughs.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he comforts. “I just wanted to make sure… Your name: Is it just the letter ‘B’, or is it B-E-E?”

  I smile in relief. “B-E-E.”

  “Is it short for something?”

  “No,” I say, a little too fast. I almost answered yes, but how could I betray my own principles? The lie, however, sits in my mouth like vinegar. I clear my throat.

  He calls me on it instantly. “Liar.”

  “What?” I gape at him.

  “You blushed. You cleared your throat. You even glanced around like someone was following you. You are definitely lying.”

  I groan in embarrassment.

  “It’s really that bad, huh?” He nudges me with his elbow.

  “It’s the worst.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “No.”

  Exasperated, Levi orders for us, and a moment later he hands me a donut in a little bag.

  I accept it. “Before I try this…del
icacy…answer me this: If you work at Mike’s when you don’t have to be at The Color Project, do you ever have time off?”

  “Ha!” he laughs, then directs me across the street. I assume we’re walking back to his house, and my ride home. (I don’t want to leave yet, but I don’t know how to tell him that.) “Sometimes. I mean, I don’t come into the office on random days throughout the week, depending on the volume of applications and who’s volunteering. Some weeks are busier than others, but that’s just fine with me.”

  “Because you really love it,” I murmur.

  “Yeah. I really do.” Levi gives me a look. “I answered your question, so now you have to try it.”

  Sighing, I reach into my bag, grab the donut and a napkin, and take a deep breath before my first bite.

  Heaven. Just—heaven. “Oh, HOLY MOTHER,” I exclaim, crumbs dropping from my mouth. (Gee, I must be a vision.) “What have you done to me?”

  Levi’s laugh is like heaven, too, but I don’t comment on that. “See?” he teases. “I don’t know how you managed to avoid Peterson’s for this long, but now you can start living.”

  I take another bite.

  “Hey, wait,” he says, reaching for my donut. “You didn’t want this, remember?”

  I jump away, my laugh sounding like a shriek in the quiet of the neighborhood, but I don’t care. I’m having too much fun. “No way! I’m finishing this one.”

  Levi shakes his head in exasperation and makes another lunge for it.

  I jump out of the way again, shouting, “Donut thief! Donut thief!” down the empty street, and our laughter sends birds rising into the sky.

  “Do you want to come back, sometime, maybe?” Levi asks. “To The Color Project?”

  We’re standing in my driveway at one o’clock in the morning. I’m leaning against his car, finishing up the last of my donut. He stands just in front of me, looking especially tall, making me tilt my head to meet his gaze. “Of course I want to come back.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Mm,” I say, stuffing my face with my donut.