Page 148 of Just for the Cameras
Hints as to who did this.
I can’t believe it. I really can’t…
In shock, I send a text to Everly with a picture of me in front of the brilliant colors.
Maple:Showed up at work to find this. Oh God, Everly, I think he painted it.
She’s quick to text back, thankfully, as I make my way into the flamingo building.
Everly:Oh my God! Why do you think that? Can he even paint?
Maple:No idea, but all these hints in the mural lead me to believe that it’s him.
Everly:And if it is?
And if it is? Such a good question.If it is Graydon, I think he’s using a way other than words to say he cares. That he has heard me. That he’s sorry.
Maple:I don’t know. I think he might have just stolen my battered heart.
But can I actually let him take it?
This has been the longest day ever.
It has dragged on.
I swear, anytime I check the clock, only five minutes have passed.
I take a long lunch, debating on texting Graydon, but every time I think about it, a piece of me pulls away because of how he hurt me.
I resign myself to work instead, and focus on talking to guests and watching in excitement as everyone is pulled toward the mural. They’re forming big crowds, to the point that Phil set up a kiosk next to it with flamingo merchandise—which has sold out twice today.
I hate to admit that his merch idea works, but it does.
The whole thing has transformed an area that was once just walked by into a prominent attraction at the zoo.
All because of some paint.
“The wall’s pretty cool,” Hank says, coming up to me. “I wonder who Phil paid to do it. Smart idea.”
“Was it his idea?” I ask.
Hank shrugs. “Seems like it, given the kiosk. Also heard him talkingabout getting some T-shirts made ASAP with the phrases on them. He’s going all in.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” I say. If anything, Phil is an opportunist.
Phil walks up to us with the biggest smile on his face. “We ran out of flamingo stuffed animals. We put in an order for so many more. This is incredible.”
“Great idea with the wall,” Hank says, patting Phil on the shoulder.
“Oh, it wasn’t my idea, but I’m certainly exploring how we can apply this to every exhibit moving forward.”
Of course he is.
I roll my eyes and then step forward into the crowd, lingering in case anyone wants to ask questions.
“Go ahead,” a mom says. “I think you can ask her.”
A cute little girl with pigtails walks up to me and says, “Why are the flamingos pink?”
