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.

"Thank you," I told him, still flushing. "But I was more asking about how the book collection usually goes."

"Which I can also help you with." He hit the blinker, and I found myself pulled to one side as he made a sharp turn out of campus and onto the main road. "It's pretty straightforward. We've got a section of the neighborhood to cover. They all received flyers a couple of weeks ago explaining what donations we're seeking—children's books, basically, anything from age five-ish right through to young adult. Nothing specific, whatever they've got lying around; we sort through everything and compile individual packages for the libraries anyway. Today's the day we show up and see what they've got."

"And what are you expecting?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," he said. "We've had some terrible hauls, and we've also had so many donations at once that I couldn't fit all the books in my truck. But that's the fun of it, Morgan. You just have to wait and see."

His enthusiasm was infectious; when I looked over, I couldn't manage it without evidence of my giddiness spreading all over my face. Because things like this didn't just happen to me. That a guy—let alone this effortlessly cool and all-round nice guy—would fix a volunteering schedule so we'd be paired up together was pretty much an alien concept. It might happen to Hanna, sure, even though any boy would be bitterly disappointed when they realized she wasn't into them or their entire gender. But not me. This was new, exciting, movie-magic kind of stuff. And now I'd got a taste for it, I never wanted it to go away.

***

Knock, knock.

"Who's there?"

Unless it was for comedic value, I wasn't sure the question was entirely warranted; judging by the volume and proximity of the voice behind the door, the person was standing right behind it. Which meant he'd already watched us park up, get out of the truck and walk the length of his driveway. Granted, we weren't on first-name terms with this complete stranger, but the immediate solution did seem to be staring him in the face.

Or it would've been, if he'd have opened the door.

"I'm Josh," he hollered, "and this is Morgan. From the volunteer group Leaders in Literacy? We're here to collect any books you want to donate—you should've received a flyer in the mail."

"You're here to what?"

"Collect your books," Josh called back. "For donation?"

"You want to take my books?" Now, the voice sounded alarmed. "Is this a robbery?"

"No, no, not at all," Josh countered quickly. "You don't have to give us any books if you don't want to. We're just collecting donations—but if you don't have any, that's perfectly fine, sir."

"What kind of a robbery involves knocking the door first?" the guy mused, more to himself than anything. Then, louder, "Alright, this is your warning. If you don't leave my property now, I'm calling the police."

"Sir," Josh said, holding a hand up to the peephole. "That's really not necessary. We're just—"

"I'm serious!" he yelled. "Go, now!"

Josh and I exchanged one last sideways glance, one that read something along the lines of okay-maybe-we-should-get-out-of-here, before spinning on our heels and making a hasty exit down the guy's driveway. We only paused for breath when we were back in his truck, the doors slamming protectively behind us, and Josh started up the engine so the guy could see we were trying to get away.

"Well," I said, as he hit the gas pedal a little too forcefully and I lurched back against the seat, "he was crazy."

"Definitely crazy," he agreed, running a hand through his hair. "That's a new one, though. I've not had that reaction before."

A smile crept onto my face. "What? Being accused of robbery?"

"Yeah." He caught my eye, and I felt the now-familiar flutter in the pit of my stomach. "But I guess there's a first time for everything."

One street in, and the whole book collection thing had turned out to be a lot more adrenaline-fueled than I was expecting. The first two houses had been a hit, offloading a couple of boxes each, followed by a few no-shows and then a tight-lipped old woman who refused to donate on the grounds that we'd use the books as 'tools of liberal indoctrination'—whatever that was supposed to mean. Topped off with the most recent near arrest, the afternoon had been a rollercoaster I wasn't really expecting. And I kind of liked it.

"So," I said, "where next?"

Josh handed me the sheet of paper on the dash. "Check the list."

I moved down the collection of addresses with my fingertip. "Highland Grove. Numbers one through ten."

"You got it," he said, hitting the blinker. "Let's hope these guys are a little more trusting, huh?"

His hope was well founded. We tackled the next set of houses over the course of an hour, and came away with two dozen more boxes in the back of the trunk—all without any surprise appearances from the Davidson County Police. In fact, the sheer number of boxes that came from 5 Highland Grove was so out of the ordinary that it was a little suspicious. Either the woman who lived there happened to be both a lifelong hoarder of children's books and feeling exceptionally generous—or she was using us as a free collection service for all her household crap. And since the boxes were already double sealed with duct tape when she handed them over, we couldn't even really check.

"These are all children's books, right?" Josh had asked, as she stacked another couple of boxes in his arms. "Age five and up?"

"Of course, of course!" Her red-lipstick smile was a little too wide. "All for the children. Such a great cause."

"Well, thanks," he said. "This is really generous."

She waved her hand dismissively. "It's nothing. I'm just glad I can help."

Whether she was as honest as we liked to believe, we would only find out when Josh and I headed back to the storage facility—where the volunteer group had some permanent space reserved—to unload the afternoon's haul. The sun was beginning to set as Josh parked the truck as close to the unit as possible, and he plucked the key from his keychain to unlock the metal door.

As it slid upward, revealing a dimly-lit space already half full with cardboard boxes, Josh turned back to me.

"Let'sload this in," he said. Then caught my eye. "And maybe sneak a peek, becauseI'm curious. I really want to knowwhat's in that woman's boxes."

-----------------------

Aaand back to the past for another BEFORE chapter... hope you guys enjoyed! 

Question of the chapter: how are you feeling about Morgan so far? She's had a lot thrown her way in a short space of time, and now there's this blossoming relationship with Josh, so I'm interested to know how you think she's handling it all.

As always, I reply to all comments below and love chatting to you all about the story!

- Leigh