And Sarah! Oh my Lord, I didn’t even think about Sarah. That poor thing was just left in the dust by us too. Oh, Mark—how could we have let this happen?

Clearly, I’ve made some terrible mistakes as a mother, and I don’t know how to undo them. Please forgive me for leaving. I’m so sorry. I love you, sweetie. So much.

Mom

From: Mark Andrews

To: Levi Andrews; Linda Andrews

Subject: RE: College

Linda,

Obviously we have some mistakes we need to work out concerning Levi, and Sarah also. Maybe we should talk on the phone? Do you still have my new number? I only check my e-mail on Tuesdays.

Mark

From: Linda Andrews

To: Levi Andrews; Mark Andrews

Subject: RE: College

Mark,

I agree. A good long phone conversation is overdue. Yes, I have your number still. I’ll give you a call later this week.

Linda

I sit back and gape at the screen. Well. Okay. My parents are talking—maybe even on the phone. This is good. This is a start.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Leaving me was careless of my parents. But they didn’t stop loving me. And who am I to judge them when I abandoned Pixie in the same way?

My life fell apart, a shambles everywhere, and the only thing left standing was Pixie. And then I left her. God, I still can’t believe I did that.

With a deep breath, I reply.

From: Levi Andrews

To: Linda Andrews; Mark Andrews

Subject: RE: College

Mom and Dad,

I think we all might have a lot of guilt and blame we need to let go of. Charity’s death was hard for us all. Even though I don’t understand your leaving, I forgive you guys. We’re just human. And it’s not like I’ve been a model son this past year, but I want to fix that. Maybe we could all talk on the phone one of these days?

Levi

P.S. Sarah is doing okay. She misses you guys.

I click Send and feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. Hope.

I stare at the tube of red paint as the storm outside rages on. There’s something inside me, something untamed and fearless, that wants nothing more than to run out into the night and feel the storm on my skin, the rain in my hair, the thunder in my bones.

Which is exactly why this is perfect painting weather.

I haven’t painted with colors since last summer. For no reason other than I just wasn’t feeling… colorful. But these past few days, something has been growing inside me. Coming to life. Waking up with demands. And I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

So I dusted off the many unopened boxes in my room and tore through them until I found my colored paints. Then I threw on some Florence + the Machine at full volume, and now here I am, standing before this blank canvas with no idea what I want to paint.

I look down at the tube again.

Red. It’s such a statement. Passionate. Unavoidable.

I turn the bottle over and squeeze a drop onto my palette. There it is. Red.

Now I just need to dip my brush in it and—oh, what the hell.

I turn my hand over and squirt a handful of paint into my palm and smear it against the canvas. It looks harsh and unwelcome against the smooth white. Like a blemish. The corner of my mouth turns up as I squirt more red into my hands and start to spread the crimson every which direction until the canvas is no longer a blank square, but a collection of red movement.

Once the red is emptied, I grab a blue bottle and fill my hands with the color of peace and calm, wiping it alongside the red.

Then green. Life. Beginning. Healing.

Then yellow. Happiness.

Purple. Hope.

Colors fill my eyes until I can’t imagine anything without them. My heart is on fire, like it’s been frozen for so long and has just now started melting into this blaze of… God, life.

I pull colors through my hands as lightning flashes and thunder booms. It’s madness outside, madness inside. And it’s beautiful.

And then I hear Levi’s TV turn on.

I watch TV and try not to think about what the girl next door is wearing as she paints away—which I know she’s doing because Florence + the Machine is blasting through the wall, and that is most definitely her painting music.

Three pounds sound on my wall.

“Turn it down!” she yells.

I turn the volume up two notches.

More pounding. “Turn it down!”

“Shh! I can’t hear my show over all your pounding!” I shout.

“Aaaagh!”

Victory is mine.

As I go back to my show, the wind howls outside and I frown at my window. I just know my day is going to be full of yard cleanup tomorrow.

The power suddenly goes out and I clench my jaw.

Pixie.

In a storm? Really?

Stomping out of my room, I go down the hall and throw open her door, more amused than angry, but still.

Two things surprise me.

One—the innocent look on Pixie’s face in the gray light from the mostly hidden moon outside.

Two—she’s wearing nothing.

Well, not nothing exactly. She has on a see-through tank top and a pair of panties that leave little to the imagination. But she may as well be wearing nothing because all I see standing before me is a naked Pixie, covered in paint.

“What the HELL are you doing?” She’s pissed, and manages to look a little embarrassed by her outfit, which confuses me. “What makes you think you can just keep barging in here?”

I scoff. “Maybe the same thing that makes you think you can just blow the fuse whenever the hell you please.”

“I didn’t blow the fuse!”

“Next time, just threaten the fuse thing and I’ll turn the goddamn TV down to save myself a trip outside.”

She takes a step forward so now she’s standing right in front of me. “I didn’t. Blow. The fuse.”

Lightning flashes into the room, and a loud clap of thunder shakes the window. That’s when I realize the storm knocked out the power. Not Pixie.

Well, shit. Now I feel like an idiot.

She stares at me in the foggy light, and her expression slips into one of… well, want.

I should leave. Right now. I really should.

But Pixie’s eyes are on mine, and she’s so damn close to my body that I can’t seem to do anything other than stare at her with want and need and desire and every other hell-born pleasure known to man.

But I’m not going to kiss her.

I’m not.

If I kiss her, there’s no going back. If I kiss her, I’ll touch her. And if I touch her, then I’ll forever kill any other guy who tries to touch her and then I’ll be royally screwed.

But my head and my heart and my body all want the same thing—and when the hell has that ever happened before?

This is Pixie.

I shouldn’t want her. I don’t deserve her. I shouldn’t… I don’t…

Levi is looking at me with nothing but hunger, and I’ve never wanted to feed anything so desperately.

My chest is in front of his, breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Life in. Life out.

My hands run with all the colors of the rainbow, dripping onto the floorboards and my bare feet and legs as I stand before him.

Lightning strikes, brightening the room for an instant, flashing against our faces with urgency. I see the hesitation in his eyes, the fight between need and guilt, the fight both he and I have been losing for a year.