Chapter Fifteen
It’s Sunday, the morning after that final show of The Sound of Music, and my mind is still happily buzzing with the last vestiges of the performance high I’ve been riding all week. I’m all smiles when I join Dad—and Ryan, who stayed the night—at the breakfast table.
Mom’s absent this morning. Last night, when she found out Ryan went to the show with Grandma Maddie, she claimed a migraine and went to bed early. This morning, she fixed breakfast for Dad—only Dad—and then went for a run.
I’ve no doubt she’ll have it out of her system when she gets back, though. I mean, it’s Ryan. Not even Mom can stay angry at him for long.
“Listen to this, Dad.” Across the top of The Sommerton Journal, Ryan winks at me.
“Under the direction of Dr. Jeremiah Hitchings, the Leopold Community Theatre christened the newly restored Leopold Opera House with a standing-room-only performance of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s The Sound of Music.
It goes on, blah, blah, blah.” Ryan clears his throat.
“But here’s the good part: The high point of the first act was when Leopold Community Theatre newcomers Madeleine Prescott, in the role of Liesl von Trapp, and Noah Spencer, as rookie Nazi recruit Rolf, flirted their way through the most convincing portrayal of ‘Sixteen Going On Seventeen’ this reviewer has ever seen.
” Ryan tilts the page toward his father.
“Look, Dad. There’s even a picture of our little star, right there! ”
Dad lowers the medical journal he’s reading and takes the paper from Ryan’s outstretched hand.
He smiles at the photo taken during our duet. Tilting his head back a bit to peer through his bifocals, he reads the caption aloud. “Madeleine Prescott . . . Madeleine?” Dad arches an eyebrow at me. “Your mother’s not going to like that.”
“She already saw it in the program.” I’m surprised he hasn’t heard about it.
Dad sighs, shakes his head, and looks back to the paper, reading the photo’s caption aloud.
“Madeleine Prescott and Noah Spencer wowed the crowd with their flirtatious duet during the Leopold Community Theatre’s opening night production of The Sound of Music.
” He pauses. His mouth moves silently as he re-reads the caption.
“Noah Spencer. I know that name.” His brow furrows as he studies the picture. “Why do I know that name?”
“I’ve been riding with him to Leopold for musical practice for about two months, Dad. I talk about him all the time.” I roll my eyes and give my brother a look that silently conveys the duh I’m thinking.
Ryan chuckles.
“And he’s . . .” Dad re-reads the caption. “Sixteen? Seventeen? He looks older than that.”
“No. He’s nineteen. The song was ‘Sixteen Going on Seventeen.’”
Ryan shoots me a strange look. I mouth, “What?” to him, but he just frowns.
“Nineteen?” Dad pulls the picture closer. “That fits a little better. But you say he’s still in high school?” Censure overlays Dad’s words as he slides the paper back to Ryan.
“No, Dad. Noah is a student at the community college. And he works two jobs, besides. He’s saving up to transfer to a theatre school in England next fall.”
“A theatre school.” Dad makes a face as if he’s just smelled rotten garbage. “Well, that’s practical.”
Knife, meet chest. “It’s not just any theatre program, Dad. It’s the London Academy of Musical Theatre. It’s one of the most well-respected—”
“Right. Right.” Dad wipes a hand through the air between us as if he’s erasing the content of the conversation from his memory and then picks up the medical journal again, only to pause, lowering it.
“So if this Noah character is a student at the community college, what is he doing in a high school play?”
“Da-aad.” I groan. “It wasn’t a high school play. It was Leopold’s community theatre.” I enunciate each syllable, “Com-mu-ni-ty. As in, all ages.”
“And it was really good, Dad,” Ryan interjects. “Our little Faith has some serious talent. You should have seen her. She was awesome.”
“If all those late night practices end up affecting Faith’s grade point average, it won’t be so awesome.” Dad lifts his journal.
“Aw, c’mon, Dad.” Ryan winks at me, and some of the tension in my shoulders loosens. “You know how important it is for Faith to have volunteer community involvement on her college applications.”
“True,” Dad concedes without looking up. “But she has to keep her grades up if she wants to get into a good school.”
“My grades are fine.” I clench my teeth. “I learned my lesson when you and mom made me quit ballet last year.”
Ryan places his hand on my arm and squeezes, reminding me to practice restraint.
“Faith’s a responsible kid, Dad. Give her a little bit of credit. Oh! That reminds me. I have next weekend off, and I wanted to run something by you.”
“Two weekends off in a row? For a resident?” Dad lowers the magazine again. “How did you manage that?”
“New month. And the luck of the draw, I guess.” Ryan shrugs. “Danielle and I are going to Des Moines and—”
“More wedding plans?”
“Oh, probably a little of that, but it’s not the main thing. Danielle’s mom got a bunch of tickets to go see Les Misérables at the Civic Center.”
“Les Misérables?” My voice rises about three octaves over the course of those syllables.
He shoots me another wink. “We thought maybe we could take Faith with us this time.”
With an undignified squeal, I jump out of my chair, practically knocking Ryan from his as I tackle him with a hug.
Ryan gives me a squeeze. “What do you say, Dad? If Faith can drive up to Iowa City early Saturday morning, she can ride with us to Des Moines. We’ll go to the show Saturday night and stay overnight at Danielle’s mom’s house. We’ll head home Sunday after lunch.”
“I’ll be at a conference in Phoenix next weekend,” Dad says without looking up from his reading. “Check with your mother. See what she says.”
“Thanks, Dad!” I squeal again and hug Ryan a second time. “You’re the best brother ever!”
Ryan grunts from the pressure of my hug. “Yes, I am. I’ll even help you clear the table.” He lifts his eyebrows and nods toward the kitchen.
I start gathering the dishes, and Ryan takes what I can’t carry. In the kitchen, I turn on the water and start rinsing.
Ryan takes a plate from me and loads it into the dishwasher. “So tell me about this Noah Spencer,” he says in a low voice. “I have a feeling there’s a little more going on than what you’re telling Mom and Dad.”
“I’m working up to it. You know how they are.” I, too, keep my voice low. I glance toward the breakfast room. “Did you see Dad’s face when I told him Noah is transferring to a theatre program?”
“Yeah.” Ryan nods. “So they’re still giving you a rough time about wanting to major in musical theatre, huh?”
“Can you call it ‘giving me a rough time’ if they don’t even take it seriously?”
He sighs and loads another dish when I hand it to him. “And you say Noah’s a freshman in college? That’s a little old for you, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. We have a lot in common. And, um, he’s not a freshman.” I hand my brother a glass. “He’s in his second year.”
“I see.” Ryan is quiet as he loads another two dishes. “And I take it you’re a . . . couple?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I know Dad’s fairly oblivious, but Mom knows you’re dating him, right?”
“Um, no. Not yet. Like I said, I’m working up to it.”
“But you are going to tell them soon, right?”
“I’ll have to. I mean, we haven’t really dated-dated yet.
We’ve been too busy. Noah works a lot, and since he took time off for musical practices, there wasn’t a lot of other time available.
We rode together a lot. Hung out on breaks.
You know.” I shrug. “But now the musical is over. He wants to do the whole chivalry thing, you know? Come in, meet the parents.” I pantomime a shiver.
“It’s a little scary. Mom and Dad can be so—”
“Oh, come on. They’re not that bad.”
“Oh yeah? Remember when Gretchen went out with that boy from Sommerton who was planning to go to tech school for computer programming rather than a four-year school?”
“No.”
“Oh, yeah. You didn’t come home much that year.” I shut off the water and lower my voice to a whisper. “My point is that Mom and Dad are total snobs when it comes to that stuff. And Noah wants to be an actor. An actor, Ry! What if they say something really rude and hurt his feelings?”
“I don’t think the acting thing is going to be as big a deal as the age thing.”
It’s not something I think about anymore when I’m with Noah, but . . . “The age thing?” Gulp.
“Yes, Faith. The age thing. You’re only halfway through high school.”
“So you think I’m too immature?”
“I didn’t say that.” Ryan arches an eyebrow. “Usually, I would say you’re a lot more mature than other kids your age.”
I catch his meaning. The tone of my last comment was a tad petulant.
“But life experience informs a person’s natural maturity level. Face it, Faith. Noah might’ve played a teenager in The Sound of Music—and he did a great job—but in real life, Noah Spencer is an adult.”
“Nineteen is still a teenager.”
“And,” Ryan says, crossing his arms, “regardless of how mature you think you are, you’re still a minor.” He sighs. “Grab the dish soap.”
I fill the reservoir and replace the soap under the sink as Ryan closes the dishwasher door and starts the cycle.
“So,” he says, leaning against the counter, “are things getting, uh, serious between you two?”
“Yeah.”
A line forms between his eyes, just under the one creasing his forehead. “How serious?”
“Chill, bro,” I laugh. “It’s not like we’re talking about getting married or anything. Geez.”
“Well, are you being, you know, um . . .” He gives a deep, staccato grunt. “I mean, he doesn’t pressure you to, well, engage in—”
Clearing his throat, Ryan curls his fingers around my elbow, steers me out of the kitchen, down the short hall, and into the laundry room, where he shuts the door.
“Faith.” He turns the full force of his frown on me. “Are you sexually active?”
“What?” My mouth drops open. “No!” I hiss, wrinkling up my nose. “I cannot believe you just asked me that.”
It’s then I notice that, peeking out from beneath his russet-brown hair, Ryan’s ears have taken on a deep shade of red. If I wasn’t so embarrassed myself, I might laugh.
“Are you blushing, Doctor Prescott?” To cover up my discomfort, I focus on his. “Don’t they teach you how to talk about this sort of stuff in med school?”
“Shut up. You’re my baby sister. It’s different.” Smiling lopsidedly, he lets out a huff of air. “But just so we’re clear . . . you’re not having sex?”
“No-oo! Absolutely not. Noah’s not like that, Ry. And neither am I. He’s a good guy. In fact, some of the girls in Noah’s church choir are worried that I’m going to corrupt him.”
“You?” Ryan’s eyebrows lift and then narrow. “Seriously?”
“I know, right?”
“I want to meet him.”
“Today?”
“No. I have to head back home in a couple hours. But why not next weekend? I have tickets to Les Mis, remember? I figured you’d want to bring Jenna, but I guess if you’d rather bring Noah . . .”
“Really?” When he nods, I throw my arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek. “I love-love-love you, Ryan!”
“I love you too, you little goofball. But it’s not set in stone yet. I want you to get the okay from Mom and Dad first.”
“You ask them. But wait until Mom’s over being mad at you.”
“And here I thought you were so mature.”
“Oh, fine. I’ll ask.” I bite my lip. “But you come with me. For moral support.”
“Fine.” He chuckles. “For moral support. But remember, Noah still has to pass the big brother test.”
“He will. I promise.”
“I won’t be easy on him.”
“You’re going to love him, Ry. You’ll see.” A grin stretches my cheeks enough to make them ache . . . then falls. “But if Mom’s still mad at—”
“Pfft,” Ryan says, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I wouldn’t worry about it. She burns hot but fizzles out just as fast. As long as neither of us mentions Grandma’s name, she’ll act like it never happened. You’ll see.”