Page 96 of Intermission
“Thank you, sweetie. It’s called 186B, officially, but I’ve christened it Walnut Sunrise.”
I laugh. Of course she did. “The name fits.”
“It’s a new shade we just got in. But you, my sweet Madeleine Faith, don’t you color your hair until you have to.” She lifts up the back of my hair to put a fresh, dry towel around my neck. “Don’t tell my other clients I said this, but you can’t get anything this pretty out of a bottle.”
“Noah calls my hair ‘cinnamon.’”
“Cinnamon. Hmm. I like him already.” Grandma nods, smiling. “About a quarter of an inch off, you think?”
“Sure.” She’s the expert.
“Any boy who compares the color of your hair to an exotic spice sounds like a keeper to me.”
“Cinnamon is about as exotic as white flour, Grandma. But you’re right. He’s a keeper.”
“So, is he a trouble maker, this boy?”
“No! Just the opposite!”
“Holdstill, Madeleine.”
I freeze all but my mouth. “He’s polite, sweet, caring, and extremely... well,good. He has strong morals. The problem is,” I say, pursing my lips, but careful not to jerk my head, “Mom and Dad think he’s too religious and too old for me.”
In the mirror, her face scrunches up. “How old is he, forty? Good grief! I wasn’t even out of high school when I married your grandpa.” She laughs. “Of course, there might have been a metaphorical shotgun in my daddy’s hand.”
Yes, I know the story. And it certainly doesn’t help my case. Myfather was born only four months after that hurried wedding.
“Noah’s nineteen.”
“Nineteen? Pah. My Charlie was seven years older than me, and we got along just fine. So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t see a problem. Mom and Dad do. Technically, Noah’s almost twenty. His birthday is in September. I won’t be seventeen until—”
“October sixth. My much-belated twin.”
“They don’t trust me.”
“Ahh. A universal problem for teenage girls, I think. They love you, honey. They do. I know it probably doesn’t feel that way sometimes, but just hang in there.” Grandma Maddie puts a small mirror in my hand and spins the chair around. “Now, how does that look.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Just as Grandma unfastens the cape around my shoulders, the bell rings, announcing a walk-in. “And just in time, too. Am I good, or what? Hey, before you leave tonight,” she says as she reaches for the broom, “dig out a coupon for that young fella of yours. I believe I’d like to meet him. And if he’s as frugal as you say he is, he won’t be able to turn down a free haircut now, will he?”
All summer long, conversations at home revolve around romance. Whether it’s the catch Gretchen has landed in Justin the Great, Ryan’s upcoming wedding, or my parents’ thirtieth anniversary, everyone is allowed—and celebrated for—their romantic diversions. Everyone, that is, except me.
Even so, the officially tabooed name of Noah Spencer seems to linger in Mom’s mind, showing itself in the restrictions continuously enforced upon me.
My computer and phone are monitored more closely than ever. Thankfully, Mom doesn’t think to check for new apps—like the password-required one that gives me a just-for-Noah number. But if I’m even a little late coming home from a voice lesson, my job, or an errand, I’m subjected to the third degree. If invited to Jenna’s house, which is happening less and less frequently these days, Mom calls ahead to make sure my plans are legit... and that at least one of Jenna’s parents will be home to supervise.
But even with all Mom’s meddling, Noah and I still find small, safe ways to see each other.
Shortly after I drop the free haircut coupon in the mail, Noah shows up at the Kanton Korner Salon and Spa, as Grandma’s new signage now proclaims. Even after his coupon is spent, Noah appears at least once a week—sometimes just for a shampoo. One day, to my amusement, Noah even subjects himself to a facial, just because Lissa Reynolds is the only person with an open spot in the appointment book when he happens by.
I will never let him live that down.
Still, with his departure date drawing ever nearer, it isn’t enough. Finally, Noah reschedules his weekly Wednesday night voice lesson for Thursday morning, meeting with Mr. Barron at the high schoolinstead of the church, in a time slot directly before the half-hour allotted for one Faith Prescott.
He tends to linger, after those lessons. Every moment is precious and too short.
