Page 78 of Intermission
“Did you hear back from Noah?”
“Yeah. He’s picking me up at six.”
“Cool. Hey, Justin should be here in an hour or so, I think. Will it creep you out if he stays over tonight?”
Umm, yeah.“In the guest room?”
“Sure. Yeah. The guest room. In the basement,” Gretchen says, nodding. But from her hesitation, it’s safe to assume Justin will not be in the guest room alone.
“What time do I have to be home?”
“Just stick to the normal curfew, I guess,” she says and then laughs. “Which means, whenever you want.”
“It might have meant that for you,” I say, arching an eyebrow, “but if I’m home even one second past midnight, I get grounded.”
“Seriously?” She blinks. “Wow, Mom and Dad sure are getting strict in their old age. Okay, let’s just say... I won’t be mad if you miss curfew, but don’t stay out so late that I get worried, okay?”
I give her a salute. “Aye-aye, Cap’n.”
Since Gretchen’s hair is shorter and has a bit of natural wave, it doesn’t take as long to do her curls as it did mine, but she’s still finishing her makeup when Justin arrives.
Wearing a blue oxford over a white t-shirt, designer jeans, and deck shoes, Justin looks like just the sort of insufferable yacht-club type my mom would assume to be the perfect man.
Yep, that seals it. With Justin at her side, Gretchen’s reign as the favorite daughter is secure.
He’s nice enough, I suppose. Handsome, too, if a girl is into preppy guys who like to walk by mirrors and check themselves out. Justin comes from a wealthy family and is pursuing a respectable career, planning to join his grandfather’s law firm when he finishes school. He’s exactly the sort of guy Mom and Dad would pick for me, if given the chance.
And nothing like the one I’ve picked for myself.
As the afternoon wears on, I decide I don’t like him. At all. The way he looks at Gretchen, you’d think she’s some sort of medal he’s won based on his own awesomeness. It’s kind of sickening, to be honest, and makes me want to go upstairs and burn all her bras in protest. Regardless of how she acts like an airhead—clearly for Justin’s benefit—Gretchen is not an idiot. How can she like a guy like him?
I mean, sure, I suppose it must be nice to date a guy our parents approve of, but if their approval comes from such surface ideals as wealth and specific professional ambitions, I’m not interested in earning it.
Not that I ever will.
By five forty-five, I’ve had enough. Excusing myself to wait for Noah outside, I sit in Mom’s favorite Adirondack chair on the front porch.
The evening sky has taken on a bit of gold and lavender, harkening twilight. It’s peaceful, and I don’t mind the slight chill if it keeps me out of theGretchen-hearts-Justinsnugglesphere. Within five minutes, my ears detect the approach of Noah’s car, and I stand, willing my hands not to shake. It seems like forever since I’ve seen him.
I wrestle Eliza’s door open and slip into the passenger seat beforeNoah has a chance to get out of the car. He may not have come to a complete stop, actually.
“Hey.” My voice is breathless, and my cheeks are tight from what is probably a ridiculously goofy smile.
“Hey yourself,” he says, smiling. His eyes widen as he gets a good look at me. “Wow. Your hair is... wow.”
“Thanks.” A little heat rises to the surface of my cheeks. “I curled it. Too much?”
“No. It’s just—it’s... wow. It’s really beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Sorry. I sound like an idiot. I was so jazzed about coming here, I was practically shaking, and then you get in my car, looking all, like...wow. It’s a lot to take in, considering I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see you again.”
I wince. “Yeah, I was wondering that, too. How bad was it, with my mom last week?”
“There wasn’t time for it to go bad. When she opened the door, I said, ‘Hello, Mrs. Prescott. I’m Noah Spencer.’ And, just like that, she slammed the door in my face. Not a word. Not a chance.”
That was all he got for his effort? A door slammed in his face? How could she treat him like that? She treats vacuum cleaner salespeople better. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” He shrugs. “So... you’re ungrounded now?”
“Technically. I don’t have my phone or keys back yet. Mom said a week. That would be over today, but... she must have forgotten.” I bite my lip.
