Page 14 of Intermission
Mrs. Tulley grabs a small piece of lavender paper—not as pretty a shade as the roses—and scribbles a note. “Here you go, honey. Excused tardy. I added a couple extra minutes so you have time to go to your locker if you need to.”
“Thank you.” I slide the bow back around the box but stick the card in my pocket. “Can I leave these here until the end of the day?”
“You bet.” Mrs. Tulley nods, and I nearly float to my locker. I exchange books quickly, so I can text Jenna.
Faith:
Noah sent me roses!
Jenna:
Noah Filchman? Eww.
Faith:
No, you dope. Noah Spencer. Cute waterfall guy.
Jenna:
Oh riiight! THAT Noah. Gimme the deets!
Jenna:
Gotta stash my phone before Mr. G sees. C-U @lunch?
Faith:
YES!
As soon as I get home, I add Noah’s flowers to the vase holding my opening night bouquet.
“There.” I smile, pleased with how the additional flowers perk up the slightly-wilting arrangement Mom most likely nabbed from a grocery store display on her way home from work Friday night. “Perfect.”
I pull the card from my pocket and re-read Noah’s note before pinning it to my bulletin board. The dry-erase calendar above my desk shows nothing but an open square for next Saturday, so I grab a marker and fill the square withLCT Auditions. I surround the words with a heart.
Shooting a glance toward the mixed bouquet on my desk, I wrinkle my nose. “How old are you, anyway?” I wipe the childish doodle away with the tip of my finger. “It’s a theatre tradition. It’s not a romantic gesture. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But as I pull my homework from my bag, I can’t help the dreamy little smile that tilts my lips upward, because maybe... maybe it could.
I’m not generally a morning person, but Saturday finds me wide awake a good ninety minutes before my alarm is set to go off. Dusky sleepiness surrenders to the buzz of excitement hurtling around in my brain. It takes me a moment to remember why I’m so fully awake. When I do recall the reason, I grin.
The auditions are today.
Since I’m too wired to go back to sleep, I throw off the covers and go downstairs for a bowl of cereal.
“You’re up early.” Mom, dressed in a turquoise and gray tracksuit, is putting on her gloves. “I’m going for a run, but I can wait if you want to go with.”
“Um, not really.” I open the cupboards. “But thanks.”
“Okay. Would you mind starting a pot of coffee?”
“Sure.” I reach for a brightly colored box.
“One of these days, I’m going to make you start buying that stuff for yourself. You have no idea how ridiculous I feel buying cereal with a cartoon character on the box. If I ran into my trainer at the store, I’d be mortified.”
“But Mom, they’re magicalanddelicious.” I reach in the box, grab a handful, and then tip my head back to drop the cereal in my mouth.
Mom shakes her head, but I smile and offer the box to her, careful to keep my lips closed, lest I ruin a rare relaxed moment with her.
