The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(106)

But before I tell him any of that, I need to make a few things right.

I rush back to our dorm and gather every last bucket of paint left in the closet from the time we painted the rooms pink. There’s still a can of white from when they all had to repaint, so I take that too. I grab anything I can get my hands on, and I let myself into the boys’ room to take all of their things too.

I have to stuff things into a blanket and throw it over my shoulder just to get it downstairs. I’ll never be able to walk it all the way to Houston’s house. I ask a girl with a piercing through her nose and eyebrow smoking out front if she has a car. She looks at me like I’m about to break out in a flash mob, checking over her shoulder for the rest of the joke. When she realizes I’m not kidding, she shrugs, stomps out the butt of her cigarette, and tells me “Sure.”

We don’t talk, other than me telling her “Thank you,” when I get into the passenger side, and her telling me to pay her ten bucks for the gas it takes to drive point two miles. Rather than arguing, I decide it’s a bargain, and flip a ten on the center console when I get out of the car.

Hitching a ride was easy compared to this next part. I drag my blanket full of supplies up Houston’s driveway, bundling it all in my arms before I lean in to ring the doorbell. This move…it’s strategic. I feel like a physical barrier between Joyce and me might somehow make me braver.

When she opens the door, I feel a little doubt, but I stand tall and breathe deeply, smiling anyhow. “Hi,” I say, pushing to the back the tears I know she’s cried since the last time I was here. There is no forgetting the warning she gave me though. That’s why I’m here really, to prove my worth. When she lets me in, and even helps to tug my load of junk through the door, I feel like I might have led with the right foot forward.

“Paige, hi,” she says, sounding genuinely happy to see me. “Houston’s…he’s working.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s why I’m here. He said…”

I’m not sure how to explain everything. There’s just so much. I unravel the blanket, letting the cans of paint roll out, the pillows unfurl, and the scraps of material and rollers and brushes fall loose.

“He wanted to fix up Leah’s room, but he didn’t quite get to it. I thought maybe I’d surprise him,” I say, standing on one side of the blanket from her that’s now stretched out like a do-it-yourself picnic between the two of us. When I glance up, I fully take her in for the first time. Her eyes are so tired as they graze over the supplies I’ve brought into the house.

“I’ll do it all. I didn’t want to make any work for you,” I start, but she jumps in.

“I wanna help,” she says, her lips in a soft line, the smile there when I look closely enough.

Taking one end of the blanket while I take the other, we both walk everything up the stairs, opening the door to Leah’s room and surprising her. Leah’s surrounded by stuffed animals, and when I glance to the small television on her night table, I see her favorite cartoon.

“Paige!” she squeals, running to me after taking a leap off of the end of her bed. Her force into me sends me back a step or two, but I hug her just as hard as she embraces me, bending down and kissing the top of her head. This is the first time I’ve ever kissed her. She feels like home.

I glance up at Joyce again, and her smile is growing.

“I hear you want a new room?” I ask. She runs back to her bed and stands on the end of it, bobbing on her toes, her tiny body teeming with nervous, excited energy.

“I do!” she says, clapping.

“Well, how about we make you one and get it all done before your dad comes home so we can surprise him?” I ask, my mind realizing the amount of work I’ve just signed up for. As creative as I am with my pencils, I’ve never really liked the doing it part of design. But I know I’ll have to embrace it one day, and I can’t think of a better way to start.

Without pause, we all jump in and begin removing things from her room, Joyce thoughtfully giving Leah directions to do small tasks that will keep her busy and invested without getting in our way. We work for two straight hours, painting her walls swirls of white and pink, and I spend another hour drawing a castle on the wall behind her bed with whatever paint is left. Exhausted, Joyce and I finally lean against either side of her doorframe admiring our work, watching as Leah spins in circles taking in her new surroundings.

“Do you love it?” I ask. I probably should have waited for her to say it on her own, but I’m just so anxious to know. She turns to me and grins—but then bites her lip. There’s something more; I can tell.

“Tell me,” I urge, hoping her request is something I can pull off.

“I was kind of hoping…that maybe I could live in the tower,” she says.

I look to Joyce, a little breathless. Leah wants to live in my fairytale—the one I made up just for her—and it makes my heart feel happier than it has in months. That, combined with the puzzled look on Joyce’s face, makes me laugh enough that my eyes water.

“She wants a tower,” I say.

Joyce is shaking her head; I think maybe begging me to find a way to divert Leah. But I won’t let her down. If she wants a tower, I’ll find her one.

Sucking in my top lip, I look around at the few things left in the hall that we pulled out of her room. When I see the hula-hoop, I know I’ve found gold.