Page 42 of Intermission
Faith:
Deal.
Noah is pacing beside a loudly purring Eliza when I come out of school.
“Why aren’t you inside the car?” I call out. “It’s freezing!”
He looks up, grins, and closes the distance between us. “I promised you a hug, didn’t I?”
Before I can respond, he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the ground, spinning two full circles. After the initial gasp, I laugh—three exhalations of varied pitches that free something I didn’t even know was trapped inside, imparting nothing less than relief as he spins me one more time before setting me down and taking a step back.
“You, Madeleine Faith Prescott, are a sight for sore eyes.”
“You, too.” I’m grinning, the cheek-aching kind of grin. “It’s been forever.”
“Too long. Hungry?”
“Starving. Today’s mystery meat selection did not appeal.”
“Does cheese-free pizza sound good?”
“Sure.” Cheese sounds better, but dairy before a rehearsal is a hard no.
We eat at a little pizza joint on the square in Leopold. They do mostly delivery, but there are a few wobbly tables. It’s piping hot—much appreciated on this frigid January night—and so loaded withother toppings that I almost don’t miss the cheese. He insists on paying. After fifteen seconds of useless argument, I let him.
Even bundled up as we are, it’s a cold jaunt to rehearsal. Walking along the sidewalk just outside the Opera House, we amuse ourselves by trying to make fog shapes with our breath in the January air. We’re terrible at it, and the laughter we share takes the edge off the tension I’ve felt since I looked at the schedule and saw which scene we’re rehearsing tonight: our duet, “Sixteen Going on Seventeen.”
We’ve done the blocking, our lines are memorized, and we’ve practiced the song several times with and without Dr. Hitchings’s direction—even over the phone once or twice. Tonight, we’ll put it all together.
And finally add in the end-of-scene kiss.
I’m nervous. So, so nervous.
This is the first rehearsal Dr. Hitchings scheduled for a Friday. Lucky for me, it was an away basketball game night, so I didn’t have to perform with the Dance Team at halftime. We linger over our pizza but still arrive in time to see three other scenes, mostly featuring nuns.
I should sayNoahwatches three other scenes. But first, like the gentleman he is, he goes back out into the cold and retrieves my book bag from Eliza’s backseat. Yes, it’s Friday, and I have the rest of the weekend to do my homework, but I need something to focus on other than our upcoming kiss. Otherwise, the subtly fluttering butterflies in my middle might take over my brain.
My relationship with Noah is a strange incarnation of the friendzone. I can’t deny I have romantic feelings toward him, but ever since the age-thing came up that day at the waterfall, we haven’t spoken of dating, only of hanging out. The three months since we met have gone by quickly, but so... deeply. Somewhere on that timeline, I forgot that he’s nineteen and I’m sixteen and we’re the old best friends we’ve just met. Sometimes, our hands end up entwined. And ohmygosh, he gives thebesthugs. But...
But tonight—on that stage, in this scene—I am going to kiss Noah Spencer.
It’s just acting, I try to tell myself.We’re just actors, acting.
Still, my heart is beating so fast, my breath can’t quite keep up. Ormaybe it’s the cold air still imparting the almost-dizzy, can’t-catch-my-breath feeling? Nah, we’ve been inside for a while now.
Every Noah-interaction leaves me crushing harder on him. What if this scene is our make-it-or-break-it moment? What if the execution of this kiss determines every future thing between us?
Acting. We’re just acting.
Acting, acting, acting.
Breathe.
Maybe this kiss is simply the proverbial bandage we need to rip off and stash in the “be a professional!” acting bin. Maybe we need to leave the offstage reality of our relationship safely within the friendzone.
Except... I don’t want to stay in the friendzone—or whatever this somewhat-romantic, hand-holding friendship thing is—with Noah. I think...
I think I’ve fallen for him.
