The Astonishing Color of After(107)

“Leigh.”

I open my eyes again.

“She said that it was one of the best decisions she ever made. The bravest thing she’d ever done. She said she hoped that I would have that kind of opportunity in my life. I remember her words: ‘Once you figure out what matters, you’ll figure out how to be brave.’ I think a part of me knew, even back then, that she was talking about you and me.”

Brave. The same word Caro used.

Mom always had been rooting for us. She never said anything to me, but it was obvious.

I force myself to meet Axel’s gaze. In the last five years, I thought I’d learned to read every expression that could possibly fill those features. I thought I knew them better than anyone. I was wrong. The look he’s giving me now—that hope in his eyes, that bright wishing—I’ve seen it before. But I never realized it was meant for me.

“I understand if you need to think about it. And I understand if, after you’re done thinking, you decide it’s not a good idea. I just want you to know—”

“Axel,” I tell him. “Shut up.”

And then I do possibly the bravest thing I’ve ever done:

I close the space between us and kiss him, hard.

He’s surprised for only a fraction of a second. Then my hands are at his face, peeling his glasses up over his head and tossing them onto my nightstand. My body, drawing him down onto the bed. His lips, between my teeth. Our legs, sliding against each other.

My heart bursting with manganese blue and new gamboge yellow and quinacridone rose.

I pause and draw back.

He smiles up at me. It’s the perfect antidote to my panic. I look at his soft eyes, at the upward tug of his lips, and I feel the tension melting out of me.

“What color?” I ask him.

Axel strokes my arm for a long moment, still gazing up into my face.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “All of them.”





106





The day after we get back, the post office delivers all the mail they’ve been holding for us. That’s when I see the letter: The date stamp shows that it was delivered right after we left for Taiwan. Sent to our house all the way from Berlin.

KREIS—RAUM FüR KUNST is printed up in the corner.

“Well?” says Dad. “Are you going to open it or are you just going to stand there?”

“You open it.” I shove it toward him.

“No way. That thing is yours. Take pride in it, no matter what the outcome is.”

I pause. “Do you actually know what this is? Did Mom tell you?”

“Yes,” he says. “She did.”

My hands shake so hard I practically destroy the envelope in the process.


Dear Leigh Chen Sanders:

It is our great pleasure to invite you to join our international show for young artists here at Kreis—Raum für Kunst.



I start screaming after that first sentence. When I finally calm down enough to read the rest of it, a weight drops into my stomach. I look up at Dad, waiting for him to tell me this is impractical, that it’s not something worth pursuing— “What’s wrong?”

“I really want to go,” I tell him.

“Of course you’re gonna go,” he says, grinning. “And I’m coming with you.”

“Are you being serious?”

“I’m a hundred percent serious.”

My heart explodes into a million tropical colors, and I jump to hug him.

And then, obviously, I call Axel.

“I knew it,” he says.

“I’m screwed.” I let the panic spool out. “I was in Taiwan the whole time I should’ve been putting the finishing touches on the rest of the series.”

“How many pieces are you bringing total?” he asks, ever the voice of logic and reason.

“I had to submit three samples, and I can bring up to seven pieces in addition to those three. So up to ten total.”

“But you don’t have to send those in ahead of time, right? You just bring them with you?”

“Right, but—”

“And when is the show?”

“It runs for a week at the end of the month.… I’d literally get back the day before school—”

On his end of the line, there’s the noise of fumbling and shuffling. “Okay, so August…”

“Axel, what are you doing?”

“Looking up plane tickets, of course.”

“You’re… coming? To Berlin?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not missing this. Do you realize we’ll be there for your birthday?”

“But all your savings—”

“Are mine to do with however I please. Anyway, you’ve got this, Leigh. ‘Up to ten’ doesn’t mean you have to bring ten.”

I sigh. “There’s no way I’m going to be one of the winners.”

“So what? That’s not even the point. I mean, okay, maybe it was the point originally. But you’re in the show. That’s a huge deal.”

“Ugghhhh.”

“It doesn’t have to be about winning anymore. Now it’s something different. Now you’re just doing this for yourself. You can’t chicken out.”