Chapter Nineteen Crime and Punishment #2
There are only four other kids here today, Noah, Kennedy, Ash, and Braden. They’re all at one table, and Braden and Ash are talking about something. But my eyes go straight to Noah, because he might as well be the only one here.
He’s in black jeans and a huge band shirt again.
But today’s shirt (the Cure, I think) is cream instead of his usual dark color, and it makes his tan skin glow.
And he’s still wearing my black tourmaline evil-eye necklace.
He smiles when he sees me, a genuine, happy smile.
I squeeze next to him, wishing I could kiss him.
He picks up my hand under the table right away.
“Now, I was going to split you into two groups today,” Lainey says, “but I think we’ll work all together because…
” Lainey briefly glances my way before addressing the group again.
“Anyway, I have paint scrapers, sandpaper, and some nails and hammers in case any boards on the bandstand are loose. And a ladder. Tomorrow Jeff will bring a chop saw and some wood scraps and help us replace any boards that can’t be salvaged.
I also have gloves and dust masks for all of you today.
Safety first! Let’s get started on that bandstand! ”
Noah and I walk together but don’t hold hands on the way, because I know Mom’s going to be calling Lainey.
When we get there, Lainey shows us how to scrape off the old chipping paint with a scraper.
She makes sure each of us is wearing a mask and gloves, because she says this old paint may be toxic.
Noah and I go straight to the back of the bandstand, away from the others.
I try not to think too much about what we were doing here yesterday, because I know it will show all over my face.
But when I sneak a peek at Noah, his skin is tinged pink, so maybe he’s thinking about it?
I wag my eyebrows at him, making him laugh with embarrassment.
He’s so adorable that I can’t even stand it. Even with an ugly white dust mask on. I pull out my camera and take pictures of everyone starting work on the bandstand, then sit next to Noah and get to work.
I run my scraping tool along the wood floor, but none of the paint comes off. I frown, trying again, but again the paint does not budge.
“You’re going to have to actually use force,” Noah says. “And hold your scraper flatter on the wood. Like this.” He shows me.
I try, and my third scrape is a bit better. “We’re going to be scraping paint all week,” I say, looking at the sheer size of the bandstand. Especially with only five of us working with little handheld scrapers.
“They probably didn’t want to give us chemical paint strippers because they think we’d huff the fumes to get high.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Adults spend way too much time imagining what trouble teens can get into, when in reality all we want to do is chill with our friends and listen to music,” I say.
“How are things at home?” he asks. “Mom still mad?”
“Still not talking to me.”
He shakes his head. “How long does she usually stay mad?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. She’s never been this mad at me. I have to be on my best behavior, or she’ll pull me out of CROP.”
“Do you still think she’s going to force you to go to Randell in September?”
“She’d better not.” Despite not wanting to go back to Toronto now, I don’t want to be here in September.
Randell seems terrible, and I really, really want to do that BEAD mentorship program in person.
Plus, I love my arts-focused high school in the city, and I want to graduate with the people I’ve been with for four years.
But if Noah is here in September, then when will we see each other if I’m in the city?
I know we’ve only been together a day, but I have no idea if we could survive long distance.
Especially since my parents don’t want us together.
Maybe I shouldn’t be telling him how much I don’t want to be in Cherrybridge in September, when I know that he doesn’t have a choice about being here.
But Noah has understanding in his eyes. “You don’t want to go to Randell, believe me.
Randell kids are the absolute worst. I would break up with you if you went there,” he says, voice full of teasing.
I know that he’s saying it because he doesn’t want me to even think about giving up on my dreams for him.
Noah is the best. I don’t know why no one can see that except me.
“Hey, how did your friends like the Summer Glow Festival?” he asks. “I heard it was amazing.”
While we work, Noah and I talk about the festival in Montreal, showing each other clips of the show we found online.
We talk a bit about his guitar lessons and his annual recitals at the music school.
I tell him about photography exhibitions I was in through my school.
He’s so easy to talk to, and the time flies by.
Thank goodness Mom didn’t pull me out of CROP when she grounded me, because yeah, I’d prefer to be alone with Noah, but it would be infinitely worse if we couldn’t talk like this every day.