Page 13 of Intermission
“Mm-hmm.” She nods, her eyes sparkling. “See? Nothing to worry about at all.”
I let out a deep breath.
“Great job in the musical, by the way. I almost didn’t recognize you in that blonde wig. And what a fun accent! What was that? New York?”
“Joi-zee.” I take the box from Mrs. Tulley’s grip. “Thanks. Do you know who it’s from?”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Nope. Don’t have one.”
“Oooh... a secret admirer, perhaps?” She winks. “There’s a card. Go on, Faith. Open it.”
I put the box on the counter and pull the card out from under the bow. The envelope is sealed withMadeleine Faith Prescottscrawled in cursive on the front. I don’t recognize the handwriting as my grandma’s, and no one else in my family would put “Madeleine” on the card.
I pull the card from the envelope, but it’s simply the contact information for Kerri’s Flowers & Gifts.
“Noah who?” When the secretary speaks, I jump. “Sorry.” Mrs. Tulley has the good grace to blush. “I don’t mean to be nosy. There’s writing on this side.”
I flip the card over to read the message.
Great show, Madeleine Faith! Sorry I couldn’t stick around after. Hope to see you at the LCT auditions on Saturday.
The message is written in a tiny, precise script. Below the message, a bolder signature leaves only his first name, but those four letters almost fill the remaining space.
Noah.
I read the message again.
Auditions? What auditions?
“So...?” Mrs. Tulley looks like she’s going to burst with curiosity.
My stomach, which had just started to recover from being called to the office, flutters. “Um, they’re from Noah Spencer.”
“NoahSpencer.” Mrs. Tulley squints as if trying to put a face to the name. “Noah Spencer, Noah Spencer.” Her eyes widen. “Oh!Noah Spencer. The missionary boy. Such a sweet kid. Always so polite. Wasn’t he in your sister’s class?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I slide the bow from the box, pry the lid up, and draw in a fragrant breath. Inside, five long-stemmed, lavender-colored roses nestle in a soft bed of baby’s breath. I run a finger over one of the velvety petals. No one has ever sent me flowers before. Not even on Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s Day? What am I doing, thinking about Valentine’s Day in November? This isn’t a romantic gift. It can’t be.
Can it?
No, it isn’t. Stage performers are often given flowers at the end of the performance. Even Mom knew enough to present me with a small bouquet after the curtain call when she came to see the show on opening night. Noah’s gift is a simple act of courtesy from one actor to another. That’s all.
A bright orange piece of paper, folded in half, rests across the roses’ stems. It’s a flyer advertising upcoming auditions for the Leopold Community Theatre’s winter production ofThe Sound of Music.
I read the card again. A smile tugs my cheeks.I hope to see you at the LCT auditions.
He’s auditioning. He wants me to audition.
He wantsmeto audition. He... believes in me.
It’s not something I have a lot of experience with. And coming fromhim? A guy once accepted to a London theatre school? I’m...floored.
The bell for third period rings. I replace the flyer and slip the box’s lid back over the roses. “I’m going to be late to class.”
