“Papa?” I gingerly step into the dining room.
He sits at the table, his hands in his pockets, and he looks up at me like he hadn’t spoken my name in the first place. “Hey. Did you have fun?”
“Yes.” I stand by the opening, still unsure. “What… What are you doing awake?”
He shrugs. “Just couldn’t sleep, is all.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“You work tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Keep up the good work, Baby Bee.”
“Thanks, Papa.”
He stands up, scratching his head like I saw earlier. To me, his head-scratching has always been associated with nerves, which he usually hides tremendously well. But here it is, twice in one day, and he’s up late.
So is my mom, who I hear sniffling in the other room. I look at Papa, and he looks at me, and we both pretend we can’t hear her. He nods, shuffling out of the room. Confused, heart pounding, I turn and head in the opposite direction. I shut my bedroom door behind me and pray it keeps out that sad, quiet noise.
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.