The Project - Courtney Summers Page 0,15
you confirmed or denied that Lev Warren sees the future and brought a girl back from the dead?”
There are whispers about Lev Warren. I’ve heard them all, found them in Reddit threads, comments sections, read between the lines of various write-ups. Most people tend to accept Lev as a good man, but leaked audio of a late 2014 sermon where he seemingly predicted the outcome of the 2016 presidential election had them asking, sincerely, whether or not he could be a holy one. I received revelation, the sermon began, and it traced a path to our miserable present. It tends to resurface every time something new and terrible happens under the Trump administration, which is just about every day, these days.
Lev Warren warned us.
That he’s resurrected the dead feels like it must have been hyperbole at some point, but every year it becomes more and more reclaimed in the whispers between believers and would-be believers alike. The Unity Project refuses to engage with any of it, allowing instead for that faint shimmer of something more to attach itself to them. It’s one less ad they have to take out on Facebook.
“We don’t participate in that kind of rumor or speculation,” Dana says, “because it would begin a conversation that would detract from the work we’re here to do. Where did you first learn about The Project, Gloria?”
“Vice. They think you just might be a cult.”
She sips her coffee. “They do.”
“And?”
“And…” She sets her coffee down and starts ticking it off on her fingers. “The Unity Project has never asked me for more than I was willing to give. They’ve never asked for more from me than was fair to ask for. They’ve never asked me to participate in their cause under false pretenses or used me as a political pawn. I have never once felt unsafe or threatened in The Unity Project and I’ve always felt and have been free to leave, should I ever want to.” She pauses. “I couldn’t say the same for the army.”
Her eyes travel over my scar in a way that makes me brace myself for the gotcha, but it doesn’t come. Instead, her gaze becomes more intent, as though she’s trying to see what might be beyond it. It gets to be too much. I look away.
“I recognize your tone, you know,” she says. “I’ve heard it many times.”
“And what’s my tone?”
“Skeptical. Dismissive.”
“You think you’re chosen by God.”
“I was chosen by God.”
“Just so long as you pay the membership fee.”
“Actually, whether or not you become a member,” Dana says, and the brief look of confusion that crosses my face seems to satisfy her. “See, that’s what many people don’t really understand about The Project, Gloria. We have all been Chosen by God. His sacrifice was our calling. Over time, we lost the ability to access it. That’s the gift God gave to Lev: he sees it in us and enables us to see it in ourselves. That’s what’s going to happen to you today and you may reject your gift. You may embrace it. But it will always be your choice. And if you judge us for ours? That’s not our failing.” She appraises me. “You’re young … still in high school?”
“Nineteen. Dropped out. Got my GED, though.”
She nods knowingly. “Ah.”
“What?”
“We have a few members who eschew institutional, traditional paths. They all share a similar—edge, I guess.” She clarifies before I can invite her to: “An aversion to group work. A skepticism of the system. A need to buck it. It’s a certain type. You’re not quite a joiner, but you definitely want to make an impact, and that’s the part of you that can’t help but wonder what will happen if you get on that train today.”
A sharp burst of static crackles over the loudspeakers.
“Attention passengers: train forty-one from Morel to Bellwood, with stops at Peekskill, Croton-Harmon and Ossining, will be arriving in five minutes.”
Five minutes.
I’ve thought about all the ways this could turn out to be an unmitigated disaster. That’s the easy part, knowing that even if this whole experience ends with me feeling so helpless with rage I end up going back to my apartment and breaking everything inside there is to break—it still wouldn’t be the worst of what I’ve lived through. The hard part is this: the small, broken girl inside me clawing against the wall I’ve built to keep us separated. The one who still wants so much for certain things, despite all she knows.
There are more people