Page 7 of Intermission
Uh, yeah. That would be me.
“I have to say, she’s on to something. It’s like God’s own amphitheatre out here. If I’d known about this place sooner, I would’ve been out here all the time. I’m glad you mentioned the map, though. I doubt I’d be brave enough to try to find it again without one.”
A ping of possessiveness slides through my brain, tensing my muscles. This is not my waterfall, but I’ve thought of it as mine for as long as I can remember.
When Noah sighs, however, an odd weariness seeps through the sound, and compassion replaces my selfish emotion. I’m just about to ask if he’s all right when he breaks the silence with a question of his own.
“What brought you to the waterfall tonight?”
“Me? Oh, too many people in my house. I thought I’d use the stage—er, the waterfall, that is—to practice.”
Noah tilts his head.
“That vocal student Mr. B told you about?” I tap my gloved hand against my heart. “Yours truly.”
“Ah. Of course! And you’re practicing for . . .”
“I’m inAnnie. The performance is next weekend.”
“You go to KHS?”
I nod.
“Huh. What part do you play?”
“I’m the dumb hotel.”
“The dumb . . . ?” He barks out a laugh. “Lily St. Regis.”
“Yep.”
A grin stretches my cheeks. When I used that line on my parents, Mom consoled me, believing I had been cast as a building. Abuilding! I tell Noah the story.
His laugh is softer this time, a sound of genuine amusement. “Your parents aren’t big fans of the theatre, I take it?”
“No. They’re all about sports, as are my older siblings. I’m something of an anomaly. The artsy one. The family oddball.”
“Lily St. Regis must be a pretty fun part to play.”
“It is.”
“Have you seen the version with Kristin Chenoweth?”
“Iownthe movie. I’ve watched it so many times, it might be permanently burned into our TV screen.”
He chuckles. “Annieisn’t my favorite musical, but it’s a good one. And Chenoweth is fantastic in that role.”
“Which musical is your favorite? No. Let me guess.” I put my hand on his arm and then pull it back. “In the Heights. Wait.” If that were his favorite, wouldn’t he sing the correct lyrics? “Or... is it?”
“I like it okay, but I wouldn’t say it’s my—Oh.” His head drops, and his shoulders jump. “You heard me singing ‘Inútil.’”
“I heard you singing something that sounded like themelodyof ‘Inútil,’ but the lyrics? Not so much. Er, sorry. That sounded rude.”
“Not at all. You are... one hundred percent correct. I—” He breaks off. Clears his throat. “I do know the correct words.Sometimes I... Well, I adjust lyrics to fit the mood of the moment.”
Okay... I guess I interrupted a pretty dark, mournful moment, then. Wow. Awkward much, Faith?
His knees are raised, his feet crossed at the ankles, and his gaze is glued to the rock. Surely he’s not insecure. Is he? With that voice?
