Page 24 of Intermission
“Leopold has a lot of talent.” I lower my voice. “If it comes down to me or a local girl, I’m out.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure. Dr. Hitchings is new here. He doesn’t know who’s from Leopold, who’s from Kanton, or who’s from Timbuktu.”
Our food arrives, and once the waitress departs, we dig in.
I look up from my salad to find a smile playing on Noah’s lips.
“What?”
He gestures to my bowl with his fork. “Not a fan of the tomato?”
“Not remotely.” I look down at my salad, which I’ve habitually separated into edible and nonedible sections. “Do you want them?”
“I don’t want to be a pig, but if you’re going to leave them...”
I take Noah’s fork and, one-by-one, spear my discarded tomatoes and place them into his bowl. They disappear almost as fast as I deliver them, no utensil necessary.
He reaches for his glass, which is now sweating condensation. It does not cling to his napkin.
“See?” I point my fork at his glass. “The salt trick really works.”
“Huh.” He smiles. “I’ll have to file that under the ‘Life Hacks’ tab in my brain.”
I flourish my hand and give a mock bow. He grins.
We eat quietly until I notice Noah is eyeing my discarded croutons.
“Should I be watching my fingers?”
“What?” He swallows. “Oh. Sorry. Tell me I wasn’t drooling.”
“Only from your eyes.” I laugh. “Noah.” I enunciate each syllable slowly, like a preschool teacher might. “Would you like my croutons?”
“Yaaaasss.”
“Help yourself.” I glance at the oversized clock behind him. “It’s already 6:15!”
Noah looks at his phone. “Wow. I guess we’d better hurry. Are you about finished?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” I dab my lips with the napkin and glance at the ticket the waitress delivered a few minutes ago, upside down on a little black tray. Should I offer to pay?
“Don’t even think about it.” Noah swipes the bill with one hand and reaches for his wallet with the other. “My treat, remember?”
“But you’re saving for school, and—”
“And I’ve done a good job of it. Don’t worry. After all, how often do I get the chance to take a pretty girl out?”
My cheeks heat. “Well, I don’t know the answer to that, but... thanks.”
Between the café and the Opera House, we warm up our voices using exercises we both learned in Show Choir. “Charlie Chester chews cheddar cheese.” We sing up an octave and back down. “Susie Simmons saves small sweet seeds.”
When we finish a third time through our tongue twisting scales, Noah says, “Mr. Barronstillmakes me do those every week.”
“How? You graduated.”
“He goes to my church. I have a voice lesson with him every Wednesday night, after Bible study. I thought it would be good to keep working my instrument until I go to... wherever I end up.”
“Good idea.” It’s hard to picture Mr. Barron anywhere outside of the school, but I guess he actually does have a life. A life that includes Wednesday night Bible studies and... Noah.
