Intermission

Chapter Two #2

“A little.” I nod. “Freshman year we did a careers unit in . . . I don’t remember what class it was for, honestly.

Doesn’t matter. Anyway, we had to research schools that offered training for a job we thought we were interested in.

Since my job choice was,” I bend my fingers into air quotes, “‘Broadway Star,’ I researched musical theatre programs. The London Academy was one of the schools that came up.”

“Ah. I didn’t move to Kanton until eleventh grade. I guess I missed out on that assignment.”

“Not really. As assignments go, it was pretty lame.” I smile. “That’s cool you got an audition.”

“Yeah. It would be cooler if I knew if I bombed it or not. I haven’t heard a word out of them. Not a rejection, not an acceptance . . . nothing.”

Janey perks one ear and swivels her head toward him. She must have caught the same things in his tone I did. Frustration. Exhaustion. Sadness.

Like his wrong-worded song.

“I’m not the most patient person, I guess. I just want to know if I made the cut. Or if I should throw in the towel and become a . . . a pipefitter or something.”

“What’s a pipefitter do?”

He groans. “I have no idea.”

“If it helps, I thought you were awesome in Guys and Dolls.”

“Thanks.”

Noah scratches Janey’s chin, and she stretches her neck forward to give him better access.

“I auditioned for the London Academy once before,” he says. “My senior year of high school. I got in, but I couldn’t afford it then.”

“Your parents wouldn’t help you out?”

“They would if they could. My parents are missionaries with five kids. I’m the oldest. Not a lot of extra money lying around.

And there aren’t a lot of scholarships for B students wanting to train in musical theatre overseas, so .

. . it’s all on me. And that’s okay. Really.

I’m willing to pay my dues. I just wish I knew . . .” He trails off.

The silence is heavy. I lift it. “So . . . your parents are missionaries.” So weird. “In Kanton?”

“No.” Noah laughs. “They serve in the Czech Republic. We were in the States for my last two years of high school because my parents were on furlough.”

“I thought furloughs were for people in prison.”

“Yeah, they are.” He laughs again. “As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling— Sorry. Randomly quoting the Bible is one of the hazards of being a missionary’s kid.

A furlough is what they call it when a missionary comes home to raise financial support.

” He sighs. “Anyway, I graduated from Kanton around the same time my parents’ furlough was up, and I decided to stay here.

I thought it would be a lot easier to earn money for school in Iowa, where I already had a job, than halfway up a mountain in the Czech Republic.

But since I haven’t heard from the school, I’m beginning to wonder if it was the right choice.

I guess my faith is failing me or—” He breaks off with a laugh. “No offense, of course.”

“Believe me, I’ve heard them all. But since Faith is actually my middle name, I don’t let it bug me too much.”

“You go by your middle name? Is your first name really embarrassing or something?”

“Not at all. Madeleine. I like it, actually. I was named after my grandmother.”

“Madeleine Faith. It has a nice syncopated rhythm. Kind of melodic. It’s too dark for me to know if it fits your face, but I’d have to say it fits your voice.”

“Thanks.” I bite my lip, warmed by the compliment, however oddly framed.

“Why don’t you use it?”

“Long story. Family politics.”

“Sounds interesting.” Noah shifts position to face me, cross-legged.

“Believe me, it’s not. I was the unplanned third child, the family’s fifth wheel, as my sister likes to say.

Mom claims she was all hyped up on pain meds and thought it would be sweet for me to share a birthday and a name with my dad’s mother, but that she regretted it as soon as the drugs wore off.

According to my older brother, all was well until I was a few weeks old.

Apparently, Mom and Grandma Maddie got into a huge fight about something—I have no idea what it was—but after that, Mom refused to call me by Grandma’s name.

She decided it was too much of a hassle to change my birth certificate, so I’m still legally Madeleine, but I can’t recall her ever calling me anything other than Faith. The end.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. My mom is the world’s foremost authority on how to hold a grudge. So if you need faith, then you may have to wait a little longer. Technically speaking, I’m not it.”

“Ah, well. It was a pretty cheesy straw to grasp.” He doesn’t sound too upset, though. “So, you need to practice, right? Go ahead.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Do you want to sing ‘Easy Street’? I can fill in the other parts, if you’d like. You’re the dumb hotel, so I guess that makes me Rooster.”

In my dreams. I cough over the thought. “Rooster and Miss Hannigan. And, honestly, most of the song. My part is pretty small. Just harmonies and a few nasally-delivered lines.” I frown.

What felt like an awesome achievement for a sophomore at KHS a little bit ago seems a bit pathetic now, considering my present company.

“I guess it’s not the best song to duet,” he says. “We could give it a try . . .”

“Nah.” I sigh. “It’s okay. I guess we could sing something else if you wanted. A real duet.”

Did I just suggest we—?

Oh, I did. I did. I cannot believe I—

Kill. Me. Now.

“Forget it. Sorry.” I squeeze my eyes shut, glad again for the darkness.

“No, we should. I mean . . . the acoustics here are phenomenal. It would be a shame not to use them. Let’s sing something. Do you have a favorite duet?”

I’ve been addicted to show tunes since age three when a family vacation to Orlando introduced me to some princesses, a life-sized mouse or two, and a show featuring selections from the Broadway version of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, but my mind is a sudden blank. “Umm . . . you pick.”

As if he caught the theme of my princess-y train of thought, he says, “Do you know ‘Ten Minutes Ago’ from Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella?”

I nod. “Mm-hmm.”

Noah shoots to his feet, singing the opening line before he’s even fully upright.

My jaw drops. I mean . . . dang. He’s all so . . . Prince Charming. I close my mouth in time to take his offered hand, and he pulls me to my feet just before my part—Cinderella’s—begins.

It’s a fairly short little song—thank goodness! And somehow, somehow, I manage to pull it off, even while my brain is mushy-mcmushkins that this amazingly-voiced Prince Charming is singing to—I mean, with—me in the moonlight, on top of a waterfall.

“That was fun,” Noah says as we sit down, both of us dangling our legs over the waterfall’s ledge. “Your voice is . . . rich.”

“It’s the acoustics here. They’re—”

“No, I mean it. Sincerely. You’re good. I wonder why you didn’t get cast in a bigger role for Annie? Speaking of that, are there still tickets available for the show next weekend?”

“Last I heard.”

“I’ll have to get one.”

“Really? Mr. London Academy of Musical Theatre wants to come to a measly little high school musical?”

“Sure.” His grin widens. “I know the girl who’s playing the dumb hotel.”

“I’m honored.” And my face is on fire. He wants to see me on stage!

Noah pulls his phone out and wakes the screen. “Oh, man.” He groans. “I have to be on a job site in six hours.”

“A what?”

“I work for MacIntosh Contracting.” He covers a yawn. “Sorry. I also wait tables at The Smoked Salt Grille in Sommerton. I worked the lunch crowd shift today after school. I’m taking a few classes at Sommerton Community College. You know, general ed requirements. Just in case I don’t get in . . .”

He winces.

“Wow.” I fill the gap. “You’re busy.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I like to be busy. But I should probably call it a night.” He stands, offering his hand for the second time. “It was very nice to meet you, Madeleine Faith.” He tilts his head. “Sorry. I don’t remember your last name.”

“I don’t think I told you.” I take his offered hand to rise. “It’s Prescott. Madeleine Faith Prescott, of Faith & Janey’s Rescue Service, at your service. Come on. We’ll walk you out.”

The hike to the entrance of the nature preserve is a lot longer than—and in the opposite direction of—the hike home.

But because I’m talking about the theatre with someone who not only gets my obsession, but also shares it, the trail seems half its normal length.

I’m almost surprised when we reach the gate.

“Nice truck.”

“Yeah.” Noah moves around to the tailgate. “Too bad it’s a loaner.” He peers to the left and then the right. “Where’s your car?”

“At home.” At Noah’s blank look, I explain. “I walked. I live in Parre Hills.”

“That’s pretty far from here, isn’t it?”

“If I were walking by road, yes. But it’s not far at all from the waterfall.” I smile. “This was . . . fun. Thanks for sharing your rock with us.”

“Thanks for sharing your waterfall.”

“Any time.” I mean it, too. “I guess I’ll see you late—”

“Wait. I could drive you home. If you want.”

My stomach does a little jump. “Really?” Noah Spencer spent the evening with me . . . and now he wants to drive me home? Uh, yes, please! Act cool, Faith! “I mean, I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

“It’s the least I can do after you rescued me and all. Will Janey mind riding in the back, though? It’s my boss’s truck.” He pats Janey’s head. “No offense, girl.”

“She won’t mind. In fact, she’d be offended if she didn’t get to ride in the back.”

He opens the passenger door, and I climb in. Sudden shyness has me looking at my lap when Noah gets in the driver’s seat, but once he climbs behind the wheel and the dome light goes off, our conversation resumes . . . and my brief moment of shyness disappears.

When we reach Parre Hills, Noah pulls up to the manual code entry box. I recite my gate code, and he punches it in.

“Turn left at the Y,” I say once we’re through the gate. And then, “Take the next left.” A few curved hills later, “Turn right, there. That’s our driveway.”

“Are you sure there’s a house down here?”

“Fairly certain,” I quip. “There’s a little curve to the driveway. That and the trees block it from view. But it’s back there, I promise.”

I’m surprised the house is dark. Gretchen and her party must have moved elsewhere. It happens sometimes. Another upturn for me.

I cringe at the selfish thought and shoot a silent prayer into the night, hoping there are a few designated drivers mixed in with Gretchen’s party crowd. Considering the number of cars that were here but are now gone, however, it’s doubtful.

Noah pulls into the now-empty U-shape in front of the house, and the motion light kicks on, illuminating the area. “Is here okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I open the door and slide to the ground.

“I’ll get the tailgate for Janey.”

After he lets the dog out, Noah comes around to where I stand. He puts his hands in his coat pockets, rocks back on his heels, and smiles. “Ah, so that’s what you look like.”

“What? Oh. Right.” I squint up at the motion-activated light and back down. The harsh artificial glow makes Noah’s skin seem pale next to his sandy-blond hair. There’s a hint of stubble on his chin and a few specks of dirt on his face.

Remembering the feel of splatter from one of the times Janey shook herself dry, I touch my own cheek, finding texture uncommon to my skin. “I have mud on my face, don’t I?”

“A little.” Noah rubs his hands down his cheeks. “Probably no more than I do.” A dimple tugs his right cheek inward as he smiles. “I guess I’ll see you next Sunday.”

My mind is a sudden blank. “N-next Sunday?”

“I’m coming to see the dumb hotel at the Sunday matinee, remember?”

“You’re really going to come?”

“Well, I can’t promise,” he hedges. “Sometimes my work schedule changes at the last minute, but I usually have Sundays off.”

“Cool.” My grin is a little too wide. I try to contain it. “Can you find your way home from here?”

“I’m not that directionally challenged.” He chuckles. “I do okay out in civilization.”

“Okay. Well . . .” I glance toward the house. “Thanks for the ride.”

“My pleasure. Besides, if you and Janey hadn’t come along, I’d probably be cutting branches to build a shelter right now.”

I laugh.

“Goodnight, Madeleine Faith. Thanks for a great evening.”

“You, too.”

After turning the deadbolt on the door, I peek out the sidelight window. To my surprise, Noah Spencer stands exactly where I left him, staring at the door with a thoughtful, almost bemused expression.

Suddenly, he wrinkles his nose, gives a slight shake of his head, and moves toward the truck.

As he rounds the driveway, I press my cheek against the window, watching until his red taillights disappear, thinking of Sunday, and wondering if he’ll like my version of a dumb hotel.

If he likes . . . me.