Chapter Thirteen
Over the next few weeks, my name appears more and more frequently on the community theatre practice schedule.
Even when I’m not at the theatre, Noah and those few sweet kisses we shared at the pond—not to mention a few more we’ve shared since—are on my mind.
Too much on my mind, maybe, since I don’t realize I’ve been neglecting my best friend until I ask her to sleep over one Saturday night and she is . . . surprised.
Jenna:
Srsly?
Faith:
Duh. Let’s pig out & binge watch something til we’re stupid.
Jenna:
Yaaaaaaas.
Jenna:
Speaking of pigs, will there be bacon?
Jenna:
& chocolate?
Faith:
LOL. I’ll see what I can do. But you know my mom.
Jenna:
Grr. Fine. I’ll bring the bacon & chocolate.
Faith:
Enough for two?
Jenna:
Depends on how hungry I am.
Faith:
LOL
At one end of the large family room in my basement, a bar/mini kitchen is well-stocked with healthy snacks—thanks, Mom—and Jenna’s not-so-healthy additions.
In no time at all, we’ve arranged a beautiful selection of boxed candy on the coffee table and melted butter to drizzle over Mom’s healthy air-popped corn.
We’ve microwaved enough boxed bacon to clog a year off our arterial life—or so Mom says when she comes down and sees the pile on the plate.
Jenna sticks her head out of the movie closet of my large basement family room. “Action, comedy, romance, or . . . the boys?”
“You have to ask?”
“We’re still vowed to silence about our secret love for boy band deliciousness, right?”
“Yep.”
“Sweet. Girls’ night! Finally.”
A few moments later, Jenna comes out of the closet holding the two DVDs we both own but would probably not admit to still watching with any of our other friends.
“This Is Us or Where We Are?” she asks, holding one DVD in each hand. “Or, should we spend the next two hours buffering through YouTube, watching the video diaries from their adorably awkward fetus days?”
“It’s all good, so I don’t care.” Behind the family room’s built-in bar, I pop open a can of soda and divide it between two glasses of ice. “You pick.”
“Hmm. I don’t feel like fighting the buffering spinner thingy tonight. Let’s watch this one.” Jenna kisses the DVD case holding One Direction: This Is Us.
Ignoring the sofa’s intended use, we sit instead on the floor, leaning our backs against it. As the opening sequence begins, Jenna reaches into the bowl and takes a handful of popcorn. I do the same.
“So . . .” Jenna shoots a glance toward the empty staircase and then gives me a sly smile. “Noah’s a pretty good kisser, huh?”
With a handful of popcorn halfway to my mouth, I freeze. “How did you—?”
“I knew it! I can’t believe he finally kissed you and you didn’t tell me!”
“Shh!” My eyes dart toward the stairs. “Don’t let my mom hear you!”
“Okay, okay.” Jenna laughs but keeps her voice low. “This is huge! I need details! It was totally romantic, wasn’t it?”
I nod.
Jenna squeals. “I knew it! Deets, girl. Spill ’em.”
My smile is probably wide enough to carry sunshine to the next county.
I glance at the stairs again and lean in.
“We were at a pond, out in the country, under the stars.” A shiver travels across my shoulders at what is officially the best memory of my life so far.
“It was totally romantic. He asked my permission first, of course—”
“Of course he did.” Grinning, Jenna rolls her eyes, and I know she’s hanging on my every word when she prompts, “And then . . . ?”
“His hand was on my face—it was so sweet, the way he kind of held my chin with his thumb and forefinger—and then he put his arms around me and . . . he kissed me.” I can’t stop the sigh.
“Awwww.” Jenna sighs, too, but a moment later, she frowns. “That is so unfair. The first time Cole kissed me, he missed and got my nose. I was just getting over a cold, and it was all red and chapped. I was mortified.”
“I remember.”
“So . . . Noah’s probably, um, pretty experienced, huh?”
“With girls?” I tilt my head. “I don’t think so. Not the way you mean, anyway.”
“No roaming hands?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not his style.”
But the way Jenna asked makes me wonder . . .
“Does Cole have wandering hands?”
She looks toward the stairs again. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Are you guys, um, you know . . . ?”
“No! I mean, I think he probably wants to.” Jenna shakes her head. “When we started dating, I told him it wasn’t going to happen. But sometimes, when we’re making out, I wonder if it’s really that big of a deal.”
“It is a big deal,” I say, and I believe it. “You only get one first time.”
“I know.” She shakes her head. “And I know if we do it once, we’ll do it a dozen times and probably end up having a huge fight someday, and then he’ll mouth off to his friends, tell them I’m some sort of slut, and then everyone will talk about me the way they used to talk about your sis—” She cringes. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I know Gretchen has a bad reputation, and I don’t doubt its accuracy. But she’s still my sister, and it makes me angry and sad that she’s so reckless, which is part of the reason I’m determined to live differently beneath her shadow.
“But, Jen . . . if Cole starts being a jerk about it, you just give me the word, and I’ll bash in his kneecaps. Or his man parts. You know, whichever seems like a better idea at the time.”
“Right back atcha. So you might want to warn your song and dance man. Oh. Shh! Louis solo alert!” She grabs the remote and turns up the volume.
“But seriously, Jenna, if Cole—”
“Shh!” She smacks my leg. “Hush. Forget Cole. Forget Noah.” She gestures toward the TV with both hands. “All other boys cease to exist when Louis Tomlinson is singing.”
I quiet as commanded, because although Louis is singing now—like the pirate version of an angel, I might add—I know that Harry is about to do a vocal riff, and he totally kills it on those.
On the carpet beside me, my phone vibrates.
Noah:
I’m on break. Missing your smile.
Faith:
*melts*
Noah:
That was the goal. Hope you’re having a good time with Jenna.
Faith:
Yep. We have bacon & chocolate.
Noah:
Sweet.
Noah:
…and salty.
Faith:
Cute. Your humor is well-cured.
Faith:
I can’t believe I said that.
Faith:
My brain-to-thumb connection is fried. I blame the bacon.
Noah:
I thought it was funny.
“No boys!” Jenna presses pause on the remote, grabs my phone, and scoots away so I can’t grab it. “I take that back. Boys, yes. But only unattainable British boy band boys.”
Jenna types something into my phone. Waits. It buzzes. She types something else, grins, and hands it back to me.
Faith:
This is Jenna. We’re having a girls-only night. Go away.
Faith:
Except for realz, no boys aloud. (still Jenna, btw)
Noah:
But I’m being very quiet.
Faith:
***
Noah:
You said ‘no boys ALOUD’
Noah:
I think you meant: “allowed”
Faith:
No wonder she likes you. Nerd.
Noah:
I like her, too.
I quickly text back.
Faith:
Me again. Faith. I should probably sign off.
Noah:
Break is almost over, anyway. Have a good night with Jenna.
Noah:
…but I’m still missing your smile.
Faith:
Right back atcha.
“Oh, geez. Your face. Staaahp. What did he say now?” Jenna holds out her palm. “Lemme see.”
“Don’t worry. We’re finished.” Still grinning like a crazy-for-Noah fool, I give her my phone. “Only unattainable British boy band boys for the rest of the night.”
“About time!”
Jenna and I have been best friends since third grade, and although we have less and less in common as the years go by, we will always have “our boys.”
“It never gets old, does it?”
“Nope. Never.” Jenna grins.
We watch the movie in silence for a while, occasionally singing along. I’m used to Jenna’s pitch issues. I actually find them kind of endearing.
“So . . . about Noah,” she says when one of our lesser-favorite songs comes on.
“Would you say you’ve finally found your own personal Harry Styles?
Or is he more like Niall? Or Liam, maybe?
Liam seems like he would make an excellent boyfriend.
Please don’t say he’s a Louis, though. I don’t want to have to fight you. Louis is mine.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” I laugh, but the singers I’d held up as my romantic ideals of awesomeness in middle school fall strangely short when compared to Noah Spencer.
“He’s like all four of them combined, only . . . better. He may even have a little bit of Zayn’s soulful—”
“Oh, barf. So he’s perfect.” Jenna’s tone is dry. She pantomimes being sick and then wiggles her eyebrows. “At least he’s a good kisser.”
I grin. “He is that. Now shut up and watch the movie.”
“You get to kiss him on stage, right? At the thing in Leopold?”
“Yeah. Now shush already.”
“I am so buying a ticket to that stupid musical.”
That stops me short. “Really? But you hate musicals!”
“You hate volleyball, but you still come to my games.”
“I don’t hate volleyball.”
“Liar.”
“You’re right. I hate volleyball. You’ll really come?”
“Of course I’ll come! How many times does a girl get a chance to see her best friend make out with a guy in front of her parents?”
“Don’t remind me.” I groan. “Dad’s on call at the hospital all that weekend, but my mom is going to opening night.” I wrinkle my nose. “I was secretly hoping they were going to be out of town.”
“Because of the kiss?”
“No. Okay, a little, I guess,” I admit when she arches one eyebrow and gives me that look. “But mainly it’s because I’m always so nervous when they’re in the audience.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t do anything right. My mom’s never been in a play in her life, but she’s the expert on everything I’m doing wrong.”
“Come on, Faith. I’ve heard her tell you how good you are.”
“And every single time it’s followed with a, ‘but next time you should try to . . .’” I grab a handful of popcorn. “It’s not just that, though. I’m nervous about her meeting Noah.”
“Why? He seems like a good guy. Hey!” She points at the TV. “Niall’s looking at us. He is looking at us!”
It’s what we imagined when we were younger, every time one of the guys looked at the camera. But even the happy sight of Niall singing directly to me—er, the camera—can’t completely ease my tension about opening night and what will come after.
Eventually, Noah will have to meet my parents.