"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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In a matter of weeks, I became a fully-fledged member of Leaders in Literacy.
It wasn't an easy process; there was a lot more to it than, as I first assumed, scrawling my name on a sign-up sheet. Perhaps it was designed that way to keep the flakers out. First, there were the training sessions: twice-weekly extensions of Josh's first hour-long talk, which went into more detail about the values and expectations of the group. An interactive workshop on best-practice fundraising, with more rules and restrictions than I ever could've imagined. Then, the online modules on child protection and safeguarding, since some of the activities involved going into schools.
Only once I'd passed those with flying colors did the bright-green polo arrive in a package outside my dorm room, and my name appeared on the official schedule.
Mom was thrilled.
"Oh, that sounds great, Morgan!" she practically squealed down the phone when I told her. "Stuart, did you hear that? She's signed up for a volunteering group. Something to do with books, I think. Oh, honey, it sounds like it'll be so good for you..."
I hoped so, considering all the time I'd invested already, but my experience so far had been nothing but positive. By the time my first scheduled activity rolled around—a door-to-door book collection in a nearby neighborhood the following Saturday—I was genuinely excited to get started.
And not just because of whose name was listed next to mine.
"Well, would you look at that." The voice came from the rolled-down window as the dark-blue Chevy pulled into the parking lot outside my dorm, right on time. "What are the chances?"
I had to hold back my smile as I pulled open the passenger door, catching Josh's eye before I climbed inside. "You definitely planned this."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Who does the schedule?"
"Someone other than me," he said, before swiftly changing the subject. "The polo looks great, by the way. There's something about you that really suits luminous green."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" I asked, even though my sharp tone was undermined by the flush blossoming up my neck. I couldn't help it—he just had some kind of effect on me.
"Of course," he said, glancing over, and the loaded silence that came after only caused the heat to intensify.
I cleared my throat. "So how does this usually go?"
"Well, usually when someone gives you a compliment, you say thank you."
I gave him a look. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Wasn't it?" he asked, the corner of his lip twitching. "The opportunity's still there, you know."
I tried to stare him out, holding his challenging gaze, but it didn't really work when he'd already pulled out of the parking lot and now had to focus on the road. It was probably a good thing, anyway. His quick wit and mischievous humor caught me off guard in the best possible way, keeping me on the edge of exhilaration—but I couldn't come close to dishing it back.
